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vi-sigoth · 5 months

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how did you come to be able to trust and believe in men not to betray, hurt, or degrade you over time? i've never been in a situation where i was surrounded by "cuck" leftists as you say, and while i agree those men are awful in their own way, i'm also wary of right leaning men that tend to hide a general sense of contempt for women. a common example i have on my mind often is higher IQ men who willingly marry women who are significantly or at least noticeably lower IQ because they don't believe or care if there are women closer to them in ability, and they enjoy having such control and influence over their wives or live-in girlfriends. there's more but i don't want to throw you a wall of text lol

So, there’s really no good answer to this. I can tell you my own experience, but my life and yours are probably very different.

I have absolutely noticed a lot of conservative men marrying women who are lower IQ, (and tons of “racist” white men marrying poorer Hispanic, Asian, and even black women, which…we don’t have time to unpack all of that).

I would say—keep your heart open. But have your hand on the gate, ready to slam it shut and lock it when you see a red flag. I think a lot of women, because we tend to be more agreeable and less inclined towards hurting feelings with men maybe are afraid of asking the more difficult questions towards the beginning of the relationship (although I think that both men and women nowadays suck really hard at communicating with each other). There are some things you need to ask about that people don’t like—because they’re pragmatic and not very romantic, but in my opinion, women should be asking—

1. What are your religious/moral/ethical views?

My husband and I are the same religion. He and I discussed it very soon after meeting each other. I know that some people like to say that people who are extremely religious probably don’t get divorced because they’re afraid of the shame and stigma, blah blah blah, but I don’t buy that entirely. I think people who’s religious views (which inform your morality and ethics) don’t get divorced as much as non-religious people because their worldviews simply align more and because of that, they’re able to build more harmonious marriages. Going back to Conservative men marrying lower IQ women — I’ve noticed a bizarre trend, mostly with the older generations, of Conservative men marrying liberal women, or marrying women that have a different religion than them. It’s because those men in particular don’t care very much about their wife as a fully-fledged human being. Who cares, let her have her silly worldviews, as long as dinner is on the table; women are stupid anyway, I’d only talk politics with the boys down at the bar—type mindset. Make men tell you their religious views. How do those views inform the way they think about women and the treatment of a wife?

2. What are your thoughts on sex? Is it appropriate to go to strip clubs? To look at porn? Will you ever ask me to swing/have a threesome? How kinky are you in bed? Do you like doing anything in bed that would be considered outside of the norm?

Now this—people REALLY don’t want to talk about this. I’m going to be mega-cringe and cite Jordan Peterson here, but he was absolutely right when he said that nowadays, young men and women do things in bed that they can’t talk about with each other. But you HAVE to talk about sex with each other. I promise, it’ll save you massive heartbreak down the road. Can you imagine being nineteen and staring deep into the eyes of your boyfriend and thinking about how much you love him, only for him to completely blindside you and ask you to have a threesome? Haha. Yeah. (I said no). Talk about sex now, even if you are waiting until after marriage, you can absolutely discuss the act even if you haven’t done it yet. How many times a week does he expect sex? My now husband and I discussed this, and we both unequivocally agreed that strip clubs are out of the question, as is porn watching, and neither of us want to bring other people into our bedroom. We are also on the same page about which sex acts are fine, and which ones are gross and never happening. If guy is pissy about any of this or unwilling to answer or discuss this, major red flag. What it typically means is that he’s already doing those things or wants to do them in the future and doesn’t want to make a promise that he won’t do them knowing full well he won’t keep it. Don’t ever let a guy make you feel like you’re crazy, stupid, or nagging for putting your foot down about pornography and strip clubs. He engages in that shit? Drop him. Men need to be behaving better, but we, as women, also need to be more active in punishing men for bad behavior. Also, ask how will he feel if for some reason you’re sick or recovering from childbirth and you can’t have sex with him for a few months? He understands that there might be periods of time when that happens, yes?

3. How will you contribute domestically? What will our split be?

Whichever person works less hours out of the house does more housework. Period, the end. He knows how to do dishes, do his own laundry, cook reasonably well, and clean a bathroom, right? He better. You also need clear affirmation that he understands that just because a woman stays at home, doesn’t mean they just sit around and do nothing all day. If you are a stay at home mother, he’s going to step in at night when he gets home and parent his children to give you some downtime, and he’ll help you with household chores at night that you might not have been able to get done because you might have been too tied up with taking care of kids? The answer to that better be yes. Make sure he’s not one of those guys that think that all he has to do is go to work and come home, and NOTHING else.

So yeah, I would say, I came to start liking and trusting the men around me a lot more by making sure that I was thoroughly vetting the ones that were interested in me romantically. My husband showed me that he was loyal and trustworthy while he was still my boyfriend because, not only he did he agree with me about all the above things, but he showed me by his kind, sweet, and thoughtful actions. Not only does he agree with me about splitting domestic labor (we both work the same hours outside the house at the moment) he actually does it. He helps with grocery shopping, making our lunches, making dinner, taking care of my cat, as just a few examples. A man who loves you will always show you.

#long post #anonymous #sorry for the constant long posting

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theladykit · 1 year

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Thanksgiving HCs, pt 3: Food and Drink (cont.)

Everyone loves sitting around the big dining table in the main house. It’s one of the only times they’re ever all together, and it’s nice to take a break and be with family and loved ones with an excellent meal. They’ll sit and talk for hours, so long as it’s not politics, religion, or anything serious.

Though there was that one time it nearly came to blows over Star Trek: The Original Series vs Star Trek: The Next Generation. Kieran was surprisingly passionate about Captain Picard, while Lenny declared they could pry Nimoy’s Spock from his cold, dead hands when Trelawny suggested that Data might be a better iteration of the analytical crewmate. Bill and Mary-Beth nearly got booed from the table when they asserted that The Lord of the Rings was superior in all respects. Mary-Beth later turned on Bill when he admitted he’d only seen the films.

Strauss said nothing, as he thinks all television and films are excuses for mindlessness; for him, there’s nothing like sitting by the fire and reading dry economic tracts about 17-century Holland.

At the end of the day, though, they’re all grateful for everyone in their wild family, and they’re glad they have this time together.

Until Dutch says, “Of course, none of this holds a candle to the fine work of Uwe Boll,” and everyone pelts him with dinner rolls.

They are allowed a little bit of Charles’ homebrew, which he leaves for them, once the night settles and they’re around the fire some ways from the main house, as a kind of end-of-the-night treat.

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sweetbillwriting · 2 years

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Just You and I (part 5)

Description: This is a fiction with an AU Bill Skarsgård inspired by the real actor in a fictional story. The girlfriend and the daughter is nameless characters.

Warnings: 18+, cheating, smut, ddlg (sort of), fluffy fluff, toxic relationship, sibling rivalry, talk about religion and religious values.

Notes: I just want to say thanks again to @b-afterhours that always helps me with the language!

Gustaf sat by the dinner table in Bill's house. He himself worked there sometime so he felt really comfortable there. He watched his little brother make espresso for them like it was the only thing he’d ever done in his life. Maybe he had been a barista in an earlier life. Next to Gustaf sat a man in a gray suit with his thin blonde hair neatly combed back. He looked at his laptop that stood before him while he made an annoying trumpet sound with his mouth. Gustaf tried to not think about it but in reality it annoyed him so much he had inner pictures of smacking the lawyer in the back of the head.

"Well, I can't really see what you're afraid of Bill? You have many people that can prove you are a wonderful father. You have more than economic safety and she doesn't have anything on you that she can use in a custody battle," said the lawyer as he looked up at Bill.

"So if I break up with her, want shared custody and give her the apartment she can't really say anything?" Bill said and gave the lawyer and Gustaf an espresso cup. They had already drunk one so on the way back to the kitchen counter he took the cups to the dishwasher before returning to his seat at the table.

"She can always try to get custody alone but I don't think any lawyer would want to take that case. She has nothing on you. Or do you think she could make things up?"

Bill thought for a moment. “I don't know. Not really. I think she cares about our daughter too much but... If she gets angry... I have a new... woman in my life and when she finds out about that..." Bill sighed.

"Then it's good you aren't married to her. That would complicate things. But now... I can say with much certainty that you are safe. Is there anything more?"

"Yeah, well. Can she in some way take the house? And can she say that my work is hindering me from being a good father?"

"Do you own the house together?"

Bill shook his head.

"My company owns it. We said for a long time that she should become a share owner in it but it never came through."

"Then you have nothing to worry about and about your work... She could say that your schedule doesn't fit with being a single parent but then you would just get a family advisor so you can fix it the best you can. The Swedish state doesn't want parents to lose the rights to their children, so they will try to help you find a way."

Bill nodded and smiled for himself and took a sip from his own espresso cup. He heard the door open and close and the well known sound of Tiana's heels and the little whistle sound from her nose. She had a bit of a cold and always had a whistle sound coming from her nose because of it. Bill couldn't stop himself from smiling at the sound.

"Hey honey,” he said out in the air to her.

"Hey baby..." she said with a tired voice and came into the kitchen. She had a tight long-sleeved burgundy dress that matched Bill's knitted sweater. She smiled politely to the lawyer and then gave Gustaf a warm smile. She had met Gustaf a couple of times now and her positive impression of him had stayed. She felt really safe with him. Bill took a hold of Tiana's waist and dragged her close to him. Gustaf took a sip of his espresso to distract himself while his brother and his girl kissed. What surprised him was that he could see in the corner of his eyes the lawyer watching them intensely.

"I should leave you alone... I just sneeze and complain anyway..." Tiana said when Bill had let her go from his caress.

"Okay, I have some things on the bed, let me put them away for you." Bill stood up and followed Tiana to the bedroom, leaving Gustaf alone with the lawyer.

"Wow," the lawyer suddenly said. Gustaf watched him, surprised.

"She is hot! I can understand why he..." He stopped talking when he saw Gustaf's furrowed brows. Of course Gustaf knew Tiana was a really beautiful girl and that many would probably assume that Bill chose to be with her because of her looks but he wasn't pleased with people saying such things out loud. Tiana was much more than her looks.

"I'm sorry. That was unprofessional." The lawyer said quickly.

"Yeah it was." Said Gustaf sharply but didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. The lawyer began to collect his things in a hurry.

In the bedroom, Tiana changed into one of Bill's t-shirts and crawled into bed and Bill sat on the side.

"But you don't have a fever right?" He put his palm against Tiana's forehead. "Naah. You're safe." Bill smiled and kissed her forehead. "But you should start feeling better soon... I have a surprise for your birthday."

"You do?" Tiana perked up and caught Bill's secretive smile.

"Yeah, can you make sure you’re free Wednesday to Saturday?" Bill said and dragged his finger over her nose. She smiled and nodded. Bill smiled too and kissed her lips softly.

When he came out from the bedroom the lawyer was ready to go.

"Oh I'm sorry, I just disappeared. She doesn't feel so well." Bill said and shook the lawyer's hand.

"Thank you for all the help."

The lawyer gave him a strained smile and then gave Gustaf a nod before going. Bill looked after him confused.

"Ehhh... Just me or did he act weird?" He turned to Gustaf who was rubbing his eyes.

"....Sorry but he was an asshole so I may have destroyed the mood."

Bill just looked at him confused.

"He commented on Tiana's looks."

Bill got cold and felt the anger crawl up his back but he took a calm breath and then sighed.

"Thank you for doing that but I think I should probably get used to it..."

Gustaf smiled a bit amused.

"To not be the only eye candy?"

Bill smirked and shook his head.

"More like just be the old fuck with a hot young girlfriend."

"Did you just call her your girlfriend?" Gustaf teased.

"Yeah. I wish I could call her that everyday. But soon, yeah I will be that dirty old man showing off my trophy girlfriend. You know, that type that you are," he joked. Gustaf laughed and shook his head.

×××

Three days later Tiana was still worried that she wouldn't be well enough until Wednesday. She could almost guess he would take her away so they could go out and be free as a couple for some days. She had forbidden Bill to visit her now that she had become even more sick and with a deep sigh he promised to leave her alone but that didn't stop them from talking. They spoke or texted almost every waking hour so when suddenly Bill stopped responding Tiana got worried. Had something happened?

×××

"So you’re saying that you refuse to go?" Bill's girlfriend said annoyed.

"Yeah I think so. If I don't want to go I won’t go,” said Bill. He sat on the couch, his daughter sleeping with her head in his lap. His girlfriend wanted him to go to a movie premiere with him but he knew one thing, the time for being seen in public with her was over.

"Why not? It's not like you need to do anything."

His girlfriend said.

"Then go with your sister or something then. I don't want to."

His girlfriend sat and stared at him angrily.

"You never do anything for me."

Bill sighed and rested his head on the couch.

"Not this again..."

"What? You're going away to work on Wednesday and you can't even take me to a premiere?"

Bill just sighed. There wasn't a point in fighting and he didn't want to wake up their daughter.

"I don't even get why you have to leave Wednesday? Couldn't you stay here and direct that thing you talked about? Then we would both have work and we could do things together."

Bill looked at the TV with a tired expression. They had watched a series he had no understanding of at all because his girlfriend couldn’t stop nagging through it. He had lied to her and said he needed to go for an early meeting about the movie he would film in December. In reality he had booked one of Paris' best hotels for him and Tiana. The plan was to drink too much champagne and fuck while watching the Eiffel Tower outside of the window. He didn't want anything else than to be with her but they still hadn't arranged everything so that they could do it successfully.

"I scheduled a meeting with a lawyer," his girlfriend said, interrupting his thoughts.

Bill stopped looking at the tv and turned to her.

"You know? About the company? You said we should do it together, remember?" Bill didn't know what he should say. Why did he always choose the easy way out with her and give her what she wanted? Was he such a pussy?

"So tomorrow we can just sign the documents and then it will all be ours."

Bill felt the panic, in his chest, in his stomach, in his throat. Would he cry? Scream? Something wanted out but it wasn't what he expected. In a hurry he moved his daughter and ran to the bathroom but he didn't make it. He puked on the bathroom floor, not just once, but twice.

×××

Bill called Tiana early the next day. She felt much better and had taken a shower and sat with a cup of tea watching the morning news. After hours of waiting for a response from him, he just sent a simple text the day before stating that he would call her today so she was a bit worried.

"She's trying to take the company."

Tiana sat up on the couch.

"What? How? She can't take that! It's yours!"

"I won’t let her and for now I think she will let it be. When she said it I actually puked on the floor. Literally!" Bill laughed a bit.

He was at the office on the bed looking at a packed Samsonite suitcase in front of him.

"What? But..." Tiana sounded worried. Bill could see her face in front of him in his mind and smiled.

"Yeah but she understood that I don't want to give the company away and she accepted that. For now. But enough about that. When we get back we will fix all of this."

"Yeah. Yeah... But what do you mean by ‘get back’?" Tiana asked curiously. Bill laughed.

"Like you didn’t know that I have plans for your birthday!"

Tiana giggles a bit.

"I'm going to take Princess Tiana to Paris."

She made a squealing sound that made Bill laugh of pure happiness.

"Oh god, that's my dream trip!"

"Have you never been there?" Bill said dumbfounded.

"No, when I said I haven't traveled much I wasn’t lying. We couldn’t afford it when I was a kid and well, most of my adult life has been in a fucking pendemic."

"You will love it. We will act like insane tourists when we get there and stay champagne drunk the whole time!" He spoke energetically. It was even better that Tiana had never been there. This would be their city. The city of love. He had become so sappy. He had always heard that he was a bad romantic, now he thought things like "City of Love" and about kissing under a starlit sky. He should probably slow down a bit. He had actually thought about proposal when he perused the rings at Tiffany's. He imagined Tiana in a white dress contested with her dark hair and eyes. The only thing that made him stop was because of his roots in Christianity he saw his wedding in a church but she was a Muslim. Their wedding would probably be really different from the kind of wedding he saw in his head. But could he propose? If he continued to feel this way would he soon have a bank account titled "wedding"? What the fuck happened to him?

×××

Tiana had started to pack her things, she probably packed a bit too many clothes but she wanted options. She couldn't go to Paris and not have the perfect outfit. When her phone rang she was sure that it was Bill but was a bit surprised to see that it was Valter. They haven't talked for a while.

"Have you forgotten about me or something?" he said jokingly.

"No, there just hasn’t been much. Work and I’ve been a bit sick for a few days."

"Oh I see. I thought you might… Maybe met a dude or something?" He said like he was afraid to ask the question. Tiana looked around her bedroom and at all of the clothes she had pulled out from her wardrobe.

"...Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Eija said something about you, may be seeing someone?”

Eija had relayed to Valter that Tiana was possibly seeing someone so he would stop trying. She thought that it would make Valter give up on Tiana but instead it made him just wonder things.

"...Yeah I’m seeing a guy. But we aren't official or anything like that."

"Do I know him? Or is it someone your mother fixed you up with?

Her mother always said that Tiana needed a man and often had guys she suggested to Tiana to meet. She had told Valter this before. Tiana sighed. Even if it wasn't his brother she was seeing, she thought Valter's questions were a bit intrusive.

"I don't think you need to know that, Valter. I promise you that you will find out when he and I chose to be open about things but for now I want to keep it a secret."

Valter was quiet on the line.

"...I'm sorry. It's not my place. Fuck. It's just that I get a bit disappointed."

Tiana furrowed her brows and waited for him to say more.

"...I really like you Tiana. For real."

Valter and Tiana had always had fun together and it sometimes bordered on flirting with each other. Tiana saw it just as a fun thing and Valter had never really made serious moves past that so she thought he felt the same. When she hung up she knew she had hurt Valter’s feelings by calling him a friend or a brother but what could she say? She was preparing for a Paris getaway with his older brother. The man she loves. Her relationship with Valter was important to her in many ways so she didn't want to mess anything up but it was hard when she was forced to decline his romantic feelings. She sat with her phone in her hands. She just wanted to call Bill, talk to him about it but she didn't feel right telling Bill what Valter had said to her over the phone. As if she were speaking behind Valters back.

She sat and thought about it a while until she finally called Bill. Everything else felt weird.

Bill answered quickly.

"Did you succeed in packing just one suitcase now?" He said with humor in his voice.

"Yeah, can you come here? I just want to talk about something."

"...Yeah sure, is it something serious?"

"Yeah but it's not that serious that you need to worry." Tiana stood up and started to stuff her clothes into her over filled wardrobe.

"Okay. Then let’s do this. I‘ll take my luggage to your place so that way I can sleep over and then we can travel together to the airport?" Bill suggested.

"...Do you dare do that?"

"Sure, you are my assistant if anyone wonders." Tiana scoffed.

"PR manager if I may." She said with an upnosed tone.

"Or we just can say out loud that you are my sugarbabe."

"Bill…! Fuck you!" Bill laughed.

"Like I could get a sexy girl like you if I didn't pay for it…" he said with another voice. Mr. Skarsgård was out to play.

"...if you buy me a Chanel bag I would let you play with my ass." Tiana said with her most girly voice.

"Sold! …Fuck I'm already hard." Tiana giggled at that.

"Come here instead and spank me for making you walk through all of South Stockholm with an hard on."

"I'm coming as soon as I can, you filthy little girl."

Bill found Tiana lying in bed on her stomach when he came to her. She played with her phone and wore such a short nightgown where he could see most of her bum. She smiled teasingly when he came in and lifted her hips up so that he could see even more and reveal that she didn't have any panties on. When she stood on her knees and spread her legs he couldn't stop himself from walking up to her and smacking her left cheek.

"I was forced to pack all my panties…” She used that girly voice again as Bill admired the view.

"Haven't I bought you enough panties?"

"No, I get so wet all the time thinking of you that I have to change.”

Bill felt with two fingers how wet she was and then started to play with her clit. He was good at that. He always started so slowly and soft and sped up little by little.

Maybe he came to talk but it wasn't what they did with the night. The both of them wanted it hard. After Tiana's sickness it was exhilarating to get to manhandle her a bit. With one strong hand he held her head against the pillow while he fucked her from behind. He came inside her as usual. He knew he could trust that she took her birth control. She couldn't risk having a child, for her it probably was even more important than for him. He watched his cum drip out from her and then bent down to lick it all up. Tiana moaned so much it sounded like she was in pain.

Tiana had a bit of a hard time coming back to reality after. She had never felt that way with another guy but she had never really had sex the way she and Bill had sex before. It was always so intense and he could make her come several times, with previous guys she was ecstatic if she came once. They laid close together while Bill played with Tiana's hair. It had gotten much longer than that day at the restaurant. He wondered how long her hair could get. It was so thick and it would be curly if she didn’t perm it straight. He would love to see her hair in a mane of dark curls.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" He asked once he noticed Tiana's breathing had settled.

"Valter." She said and looked up at Bill. He looked confused and chewed on his lip.

"He confessed his feelings for me today. That he likes me. For real." She continued to analyze Bill's face, the big eyes that began to wonder and him chewing so hard on his lips she could see his dimple.

"Oh… Well fuck, he’s always making everything more difficult." Bill tried to joke but it fell quite flat.

"I think you should tell him. Eija knows, Gustaf, Sam… Their partners know…"

"Mom knows…" said Bill low.

"Your mom knows?" Said Tiana choked and moved her head back to really look at him. Bill rubbed his face with a hand.

"She kind of understood? She got a bit mad and said she didn't think I’d do something like this. But then… Fuck everyone sees how happy you make me. It's like they can't continue being mad when they see how fucking in love I am with you. I have never acted like this before. They often said I was too absent or should be more of a gentleman but with you it just… comes natural."

Tiana smiled a bit embarrassed, but also of amusement of Bill's rambling.

"I love you." She just said and continued to look at him. He smiled and kissed her.

"I love you too. And when we come back from Paris I will talk to Valter."

×××

Paris was gray and rainy but for Tiana and Bill it was still beautiful. The streets, the food, the museums and not the least the hotel room was perfect. Their hotel room looked like something meant for royals, with gold and expensive fabrics. The eiffel tower was so close they could see it from all of the windows and especially from the small balcony.

On Tiana's birthday she woke up to the sound of a trolley being rolled to the room and Bill's morning voice singing for her. She looked up and saw him dressed in a white robe rolling a trolley full of food. She couldn't stop herself from laughing, not because it was funny but because she was so happy. It was her 25th birthday. She was in Paris with Mr. Perfect. How couldn't she be so happy, her toes were tingling?

He had even fixed a Swedish cream cake with strawberries and two number shaped pink sparkly candles in the middle. Tiana gave Bill an applause before he attacked her with a kiss and a hug.

"You are such a big girl now!" He said and lifted her up to put her in his lap.

She nodded like a proud five year old and Bill laughed.

"Blow out the candles," he held her hair so she could lean forward and blow them out.

"And wish for something…" he whispered.

When she turned to him he had dug up a small mint blue box from the pocket of his rob. When Tiana looked a bit worried he laughed.

"I'm not proposing. It isn't a ring."

"But it is from…"

"Tiffany's so yeah, breakfast with Tiffany's instead." He joked and smiled brightly.

Tiana looked almost scared. God what had he bought? With Bill cheering on she opened the gift and saw the platinum necklace with a simple diamond. It sparkled like a star.

"Oh my god Bill…" He smiled and picked up the necklace from the box.

"I would buy you a diamond the size of a tennis ball if I could…" he said and laid the cold metal against her neck and closed the clasp.

"But unfortunately I'm not that rich." He smiled and watched Tiana's face of wonder.

"I don't know what to say…" Tiana said and touched the necklace.

"Say you love me." Tiana smiled and took Bill's face in her hands.

"I love you."

×××

While Bill and Tiana were out in Paris, eating French cuisines and drinking expensive wines his girlfriend was out at the opening of a new restaurant in Stockholm. It didn't leave much of an impression but she and her girlfriend's could get a bit tipsy on cocktails. When the alcohol had made them a bit lose one of her friends dared to speak up.

"So what did Bill say about that girl?" Johanna said and took a sip of her Gin Fizz.

"It was a fan." His girlfriend said and fiddled with her glass.

"No it wasn't. They walked a long way together."

Her friend Maria sighed and gave Bill's girlfriend's hand a squeeze.

"There are several people talking now… You know that…"

She just nodded at Maria's words. Of course she had heard. All of her friends had messaged her about seeing a woman go in and out from his house.

"Have you heard any names?"

"I just heard that they’ve seen the same girl with his sister." Maria said.

Bill's girlfriend just nodded. That bastard was cheating. And lied about it. With a younger woman. How old was she? Was she a real danger?

She could feel her heart in her throat out of anger, embarrassment and of fear. Would he leave her?

When the women were ready to go she saw a tall blonde guy by the bar and Bill's girlfriend thought at once of Valter. He stood with some friends. She had thought about Bill and the woman the whole night and now had a question for Valter. She left her friends without saying anything and went to join Valter, who smiled at her.

"Hey, how are you? Is Bill with you too?" He said and gave her a fast hug.

"No, he's working, L.A." Valter nodded a bit.

"...Does Eija have a friend whose name is Diana or something?"

Bill's girlfriend remembered that Bill mentioned he had met a friend of Eija. Couldn't be her? Or was it a long shot?

"Tiana? Yeah why?" Valter said with furrowed brows.

"How old is she?" When she saw Valter's confused face she laughed a bit. "Strange question I know but it's a friend of mine who was wondering. They might have met."

Valter smiled.

"If you have met Tiana you remember it. She's actually 25, today."

Twenty five, could it be her?

"What does she do for work?"

"PR… But where did your friend meet this person? If she wants to contact her I can fix that up."

"...She thinks she might be having an affair with her husband."

Valter grimaced. He couldn't see Tiana being with a married man but then he thought about their phone call…

"Can this stay between us? So it doesn't spread around?" Bill's girlfriend was suddenly afraid that Valter might talk to Eija or even with Tiana.

"Sure. Sure…"

Valter had said goodbye to his brother's girlfriend but also to his friends, he was alone in the night of Stockholm. He could hear the night life from the old town and some teenage girls laughing behind him. He took a deep breath and felt his lungs fill with cold air. He stopped walking when he realized he stood outside of Tiana's house. It was dark in there, her cat was probably not even there. He remembered the first few times he visited her home. Eija had opened the door for him and let him into Tiana's small apartment. He had expected a typical messy girl apartment but instead it was obvious she had cleaned to perfection just to have Eija and him there. Her apartment was colorful but otherwise typical Scandinavian. It smelled of coconut and caramel, a smell that now reminded him of her. When he thought about opening her bedroom door she had stopped him.

"That's private."

"What, because it's where you hide all your mess?" He joked but smiled apologetic when he saw Tiana's serious expression.

"You're a man, Valter." She shrugged her shoulders.

Eija laughed.

"That was the first time someone called Valter a man." They all laughed.

Tiana was flirty, dressed like most other girls and liked her drinks strong. But there had always been a side of her that made you understand she wasn't the typical South Stockholm girl. Could that girl really have an affair with a married man? Sure he knew she had casual sex, even dated guys that didn't share her religious history but when she had talked about marriage she did it always in a serious way. Like it was a constitution you respected.

Valter thought about what Bill's girlfriend had said and how she had said it. He thought about Tiana with guys she had dated, or flirted with. He thought about his youngest older brother.

Bill was always a bit hard to read. Eija and Valter would talk about him with annoyance sometimes. He often said one thing, then did another. He could be hard to get in contact with and sometimes seemed to be indifferent to others feelings. They both knew he just had a hard shell, just like Valter himself but the many years in the spotlight had formed them quite differently. While Valter felt a need to express himself Bill often put on a mask. In the past months he had heard several say that Bill seemed so happy and Valter had also seen how Bill's usual mask had dropped even in public. He had seen it happen before, but then it was often connected to his work and it was short lived.

Valter thought again about the night at the restaurant where Tiana and Bill met. Didn't he let the mask drop already then?

It all was quite obvious when he now thought about it. Bill's girlfriend's questions about Tiana. Tiana's secret guy. Bill's mood.

Bill was in an affair with Tiana.

Valter reached for his phone in his jeans pocket and searched up Tiana's Instagram. She had posted a new picture just a few hours ago. She stood on a balcony in a red silky dress showing off her curves with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Around her neck sparkled a diamond.

The best birthday ever. Happy 25th Birthday to little old me. I feel like a princess here!

Valter looked at the picture and felt his heart clench. Was Bill really in L.A?

He would later blame the alcohol in his blood for his actions. He would do everything to try to make his actions more defensible and less shameful but in that moment it was a broken heart that made him do it.

Are you there with Bill?

He left it as a comment on her picture. When Tiana saw the comment the next day the damage was already done and the chaos was already in full swing.

#Bill Skarsgård #bill skarsgard #writing #fanfiction #story #fiction

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 1 year

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Analyzing the Apathetic

Stephen Jay Morris

April 29, 2023

©Scientific Morality

Here is a thought experiment: It’s a game I like to call, “What If?” Ok, here we go...what if I’d gotten a career and had a traditional family? Let’s say, I was in good health. I had two boys and a girl. Knowing myself, I would have focused on taking care of my family. I would have shared the chores with my wife. We’d take turns parenting our kids. Being a parent is a sacrifice of your life. No time to hang out with friends from the past, no time for voting, no time for anything. You try to keep up with current events, but you spend more time trying to work out the family budget. Your salary is not enough, so your wife gets a part-time job. Your kids are having trouble in school, so you have meetings with their teachers. You can’t afford a gardener, plumber, or painter, so, you have to do it all yourself. You fantasize about retirement. Every Sunday, you go to Church and listen to your pastor talk about how evil the world is and who you should vote for.

If I had a life like that, I would have committed suicide!

I repeat here the shit I’ve said in the past: The traditional family is social engineering at its worst! As a parent, you are far too busy to rebel against the rich, the government, and organized religion. You are politically neutered. You are no threat to anyone in power. You are involuntarily apathetic.

Then, there are other types of apathetic. The swinging bachelor who is a hedonist, a playboy. He is self-centered. There is the God-centered—he doesn’t care for life, but is focused on the afterlife. There is the bastard who is money–centered, who thinks life is just about power and fun. Everybody has their own agenda in life. Oh—I almost forgot about this character—the seeker of inner truth, the New Age heathen. And let’s not forget the penniless Libertarian. These personalities are all voluntarily apathetic.

Now, apathy can be either intentional or unintentional, but man, it pisses off both sides of the coin! The Left is displeased with the apathetic, and the Right is pissed at them. And to me? They are like kids lost at Disney World, terrified over why food and gas cost so much. A lot of them are eccentric and some are angry. They realize that the traditional family is a lie. There is family drama and there are family feuds. They don’t understand what the problem is.

Don’t think that your naive innocence will win you sympathy. To the world, you are just a sucker to be exploited. You’ve got an organic computer inside your head. You just need to learn how to access the information.

What both sides of the political spectrum know is that, if the apathetic got political, they could take over the USA. They are trying to appeal to this demographic by way of T.V. commercials. The Democrats talk about dinner table issues. Just listen to a President Biden speech. It’s chalk full of folksy rhetoric. Such as a mother who has breast cancer, but continues to cook dinner for her family. And there is Republican alarmism. Yep, some drag queen is going have your kids touch his dick. And—yes—both parties are the same! Not in their rhetoric, but in their intent. The same rich donors give money to both parties to protect their greedy interests.

Sure, I worry that the USA will become some authoritarian nightmare. But it hasn’t happened yet. It’s because of apathy. What do I think or feel about the apathetic? I hate them, but I am grateful that they exist. They are a safety valve against Right wing authoritarianism and Left-wing totalitarianism.

That’s it!!

#stephenjaymorris #poets of tumblr #american politics #anarchism #anarchopunk #anarchocommunism #anarchoqueer #anarcho socialism #anarchocapitalism #anarcho primitivism #anarchofeminism #anarcho punk #anarchoindividualist #anarcho syndicalism #anti facist

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the-dance-of-italy · 7 months

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I thought i was the only one with this Jesus fixation lol can i ask you why it's a subject that interest you? (Yes it's also an excuse for talking about it)

Putting this on a read more

Couldn't tell you if I tried tbh. I've tried to find a reason, but since I was a kid I wasn't really indoctrinated into any religious group. Actually my mother wanted me to choose freely later on when I was mature enough to make that decision.

México is mostly Catholic so mentions and depictions are often seen everywhere. Mostly during Passover, recreations of the passion are popular so there's a constant reminder as to who the man on the cross is.

Funny thing is that I was terrified of seeing hanged crosses in churches and at my uncle's house, where there was a very detailed cross with Jesus looking down at the dinner table.

I wasn't sure what I was terrified of, if it was of him, his condition, that'd he'd get down from the cross and hurt me or that I could end up like him...

So I found out quickly I could look him up in a book and so I did.

I'm still figuring out why I'm attached to him.

Definitely not super religious, barely a little but only because of the social religious context I grew up in and I don't wish to fully convert or attend any church. (Just thinking about how my ancestors were forced to build such structures, attend and be stripped of their culture to impose a twisted vision of what Jesus wanted for people makes me sick...)

I do like the story of how there could have been a person two thousand years ago who's goal was to free his people and community from colonizers, spreading messages of peace, love and compassion. Befriending thieves, traitors, sex workers, criminals, etc. and just calling out those in authority who abused the people they were supposed to help and serve.

However you see his story, if it's mere useless fiction, a half truth, if you're religious and a believer of his divinity or whatever, you must admit there's something admirable in what he intended to do (when you actually look in deeper into his story all with social, political and economic context of the time) and how tragic in a way, his own efforts have been twisted to cause more harm, to the point where people nowadays who try and do the same thing he was doing, turn away from him, out of religious trauma or pure disdain for religion (which is a totally fair stance don't get me wrong).

Anyway I lost my point ✌️😅

#answered #tw catholicism #tw religion #tw christianity #tw religious mention #anon ask

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sirchicle · 1 year

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tw: vent, homophobia, anti-abortion mention,religion and politics mention.

I feel so frustrated and sad and angry and hopeless and helpless right now.

I was eating dinner at the table with my mom,my aunt,my aunt's fiance and my little cousin.

some hotdogs from the place we always buy from when we can, I forgot to tell them to not put onions on mine so I had to eat it with them,a bit unpleasant but bearable.

then my aunt's fiance started talking about politics (of my country) and that can never go well but as always I just tried to eat faster and quietly. He started talking about this one politician and how he doesn't like that she's pro-abortion and pro-gay marriage, which, y'know, I was annoyed at,but then again, he's a cop and ACAB and all that,so I was more "disappointed but not surprised" than anything (the guy seemed decent at first, but wanting to marry my aunt after seeing how she really is in itself is a red flag)

and then suddenly, my aunt was saying how this other politician hated homosexuals fiercely and how that was the only thing she liked of him.

now that, that got me.

I successfully remained calm on the outside,but as soon as I came to my room, I broke off crying.

the fact that my aunt said that so casually with a smile on her face, and that my mom,who knows I'm bisexual said absolutely nothing just, really ruined my day (and it had been going nicely enough)

and in the topic of my aunt, she's something I'd like to call "religiously homophobic (or we'll,more accurately,queer phobic)" which means people who believe, y'know "God created men and women blah blah blah" bullshit.

I still can't hate her completely, because I love her, I love my family, I hate that so much because I'm trans and bi and multiple other queer things and my family it's stopping me from being my most authentic self.

well not only them,the world too. my horrible queerphobic country where the only ""good"" thing is that being queer is not illegal,but where little kids know queer people by slurs first gay second,where being queer means you're either fetishised,ridiculized, outcasted,abused or all of the above.

It's so frustrating that, if I wanted to completely distance myself from people who are homophobic,no matter how little, I would end up with almost nobody.

I feel so so lonely.

I also feel scared,for myself, and for my little cousin who no matter what I do will end up listening to her mother and step-father and grow up hearing all of that, I'm scared because all I can do is show her cartoons like she-ra and the owl house to make her see that it's okay to be queer,but I don't know if that would be enough, I'm scared because I've lived with her her entire life but I know my aunt and her husband have plans to move somewhere else and I won't be able to reach her as easily as I can now.

I'm so frustrated and my head hurts and I feel so much impotence.

#vent #tw homophobia #cw religious mention #queer #lgbtqia

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vigorousmindsblog · 2 years

Link

#Conversations #Friendships #Politics #Religion

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justkeepdancing-nemo · 2 years

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Bird Song: A Game Of Thrones, Bard-inspired Playlist

I'll journey on, I'll sing and dance And the greedy ones can make their stance With pockets for souls they'll never fill With happy heart, I'm smiling still

Walk in the sun, stay in the light And when we're done, we'll take flight Only desire what you have Only desire what you have

So I thought it would be fun to try to find songs that Nemo would actually dance/sing/perform to while he is staying in King’s Landing! Descriptions below~

My Mother Told Me

To me, this song is a ‘prologue,’ and a kind of gather-around-the-campfire or dinner table vibe. Not only is it a classic folk song that many people will know the words to, but it mirrors Nemo’s own backstory as the song talks about a mother telling her son he would “Sail to distant shores.”

Angel’s Flight

This is a lovely instrumental song with some chanting/vocalization in it! I imagine this would be a wonderful song for a troupe of dancers to perform to. Gotta continue our flight motif for Nemo or who would I be tbqh.

Touch The Sky

Ah, from Brave! But let’s all pretend this is another common folk song. What I like about this song is 1. there is the flight motif and also 2. I love that it describes the kingdoms, persay:

“Where dark woods hide secret And mountains are fierce and bold Deep waters hold reflections Of times lost long ago“

As the Old Gods are important to Nemo, I also like how nature is personified in this song.

Bird Song

“Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home”

This is a song I imagine that Nemo could actually sing! Once again, it reflects the motif of Nemo as a bird. I also think it represents Nemo’s beliefs as someone who rejects classism and politics and all of that, basically.

Dragonfly Keeper

Another instrumental piece, which sounds lovely and would be wonderful to dance through. The piano is so light and fluttery, like the quick steps of a dancer...or the wings of a dragonfly, represented, say, by a fan ;D I can imagine Nemo using his fan to dance to this one is what I’m saying.

From Father to Son

I represented Nemo’s mother. Of course I gotta throw in a song for Marlin! This is another upbeat instrumental song but I love how boisterous it is. I imagine it’s like Marlin’s supportive and proud voice. This is a ‘get everyone up and dance’ song!

For the Dancing and the Dreaming

Another folk song that I imagine is popular throughout the realm and of COURSE it’s about marriage. I can see this being performed in honor of the marriage taking place in King’s Landing. I also like it because Nemo is a dancer. And a dreamer.

Five Bells

This is the ‘funny’ performance song, though I mean it’s not THAT funny, but it’s that song where you have two people doing a call/response conversation of sorts, it gets people laughing and clapping and chanting along. I like that it talks about travel since that’s a big theme of Nemo’s journey in this au.

Flaming Red Hair

This is another jig. I threw it in here because I like to think the ‘flaming red hair’ is both a slight allusion to Nemo’s og orange hair that I always associate him with, but also of the land of Dorne, the land of the Rising Sun. Fireflies

What can i say i love throwing a bardcore version of a modern-day song. Plus, fireflies are winged insects, much like dragonflies. I just think this song has very Nemo energy and once again feels like a song that perhaps worshippers of the Old Gods play.

Only Desire What You Have

This one is an excellent theme for Nemo’s particular story. He isn’t after money or fame or power. Instead, he values his freedom and he values his religion, and wants other people to have those things. It’s also upbeat and fun to dance to which is very important.

Where No One Goes

We all need an epic closer to any bard/troupe show right??? That’s this song. Big and bombastic, I imagine lots of breathtaking tricks. Lots of flips! Spins in the air! Fire-breathing!!! And of course the lyrics have my two themes: flight and travel. We just love a journey banger.

#yeah i did do his bio first so i could post this #i just love a playlist and we all know it #look... this playlist is good /says that about all my playlists #swyntask #music

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fizzingwizard · 3 years

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if you wanna know what my family life is like.

me: *says anything at all*

my dad: well thats why the DEMOCRATS are the SPAWN OF SATAN

me: ...

me: ... and so as I as saying, the cicadas have been particularly loud this summer...

#fizz's life #my dad lit cannot keep politics untangled from his personal life #he acts like that i dont agree with him in all things is an attack on him #meanwhile he's the one constantly calling others libtards and idiots and spawn of satan #like thats not an exaggeration he lit calls everyone satanists unless theyre fellow trumpers at this point #and he doesnt understand at all how this could be alienating to people he says he cars about #hes like but im RIGHT so i should be able to call you an idiot #or he says im not calling you an idiot im calling the people who think the same way you do idiots #then he emo-posts no one loves me and people who hurt have been hurt themselves on facebook because no one will talk to him #its like dude youre entitled to your opinion but so am i. and thats why they say politics and religion arent suitable for dinner table talk #but thats lit all he has to talk about anymore #get a hobby

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murderousginger · 2 years

Text

Protect You

Alfie Solomons x reader

Word count: 650

Warnings: none.

The bloody girl never stopped. No matter how many times he growled. No matter how he protested. No matter if he refused to react.

She always hugged him.

"I'm not a bloody hugger," Alfie growled.

"I am," she smiled.

"Touching women is forbidden in my religion," he protested. "No matter how innocent."

"Good thing it's not against mine," she sang, hugging the stiff man as he rolled his eyes.

"Get off me," he fought.

"You look like you need it," she giggled.

Finally, he stopped fighting it and just stood there as she smiled and hugged him. Slowly, he started to melt just a bit. He relented. He even looked forward to it a little. Would he say that out loud? He'd rather lose a finger.

She was just a girl who happened to share the same group of friends. Alfie wasn't very social, but occasionally he would go to dinner with them if only to remind himself that there was more to life than work. He came to know the group from a childhood friend that mirrored Alfie's quest to strengthen his community. His friend simply did it the legal way.

And she hugged everyone. He couldn't act like she was targeting him, but it felt like it.

So Alfie melted his frown slowly. He had come to expect it, and his growls lessened over time.

One such dinner, half of the group had not been able to make it and the restaurant could not fit everyone at the same table. His friend, absolutely knowing how irked she made him, smiled knowingly before offering the two to sit together at another table. They shared similar interests, he insisted, they would get on like a house on fire.

Something should be on fire, Alfie wanted to mutter.

Of course the table was across the room from the others. Of course they were taken to a dark table near the back. Of course a group of men eyed her the entire time they were escorted to their table.

Alfie bristled at their gaze. He knew that look. Hungry. Predatory. It set his teeth on edge.

He growled and rolled his eyes as she moved to sit facing the men. He scooted her from the seat, motioning for her to sit with her back toward them so he could watch them closely. They were already jeering and making comments a little too loud.

"What?" Her eyes twinkled as she sipped her wine. "Is something wrong?"

Alfie tried his best not to cuss and to make polite conversation. It was just one bloody meal, was it not? He could be on his best behavior for an hour or two.

As the meal went on, the table of men got rowdier and Alfie vibrated in his seat with anger. They all but shouted comments as Alfie grabbed the waiter's cuff.

"Can we sit somewhere else, yeah?" He said gruffly.

"We're at capacity, sir," the waiter said as he shook off Alfie's hold.

"Well empty that table there and you won't be," Alfie muttered back.

"What's wrong, Alfie?" She asked, with a pursed smile on her face.

"Those men are beasts," he growled. "They haven't let up since they've seen you."

"I know," she answered. "You've been radiating disgust for the better part of dinner. They've hardly been so crude that it would hurt your sensibilities. I've heard you speak, Alfie."

"They shouldn't talk about a woman like that," he sniffed as he stiffened. "Like a common street whore."

"Men talk about women whenever and however they want, Alfie."

"You don't deserve it," Alfie muttered as his jaw set and he locked eyes with one of the men.

"Because I'm with you?" She asked in an amused tone. Alfie's eyes snapped back to her, watching her finger trace the rim of her wine glass.

"Because you should be protected," he said softly.

"By you?"

"By me."

#peaky blinders #Alfie Solomons #Alfie Solomons x reader #storytime with murderousginger

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?”

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.”

His wife looked quite pleased with herself.

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.”

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.”

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-”

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.”

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?”

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?”

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out.

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live.

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.”

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.” Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.”

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because.

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili.

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction.

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.”

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...”

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting.

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.”

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child.

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere.

#hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #cult girl #cult girl 2 #cult girl doctorate

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fellulahh · 4 years

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How he’d be meeting MC’s parents (all characters!)

Lucifer:

- he might be a little awkward in that he’s really formal. He’d probably greet MC’s parents with a handshake and maybe even a bow (MC’s mum would joke saying ‘we’re not the royal family you know, you don’t need to do that here’)

- He’d be really poised and probably wouldn’t make any jokes at the dinner table but would have his hand on MC’s thigh the entire time

- His kind words about MC though win her parents over; he speaks so fondly of her! They can tell how much he loves him from just the way he talks about her

- He’ll probably warm up over the evening and will lose his stiff, serious demeanour (perhaps after a few glasses of wine)

Mammon:

- Mammon would be super shy and awkward when MC’s parents answer the door, he’d try his best to keep his cool but he’d probably trip over the doormat on his way in

- Immediately starts laughing at MC’s baby photos that are on the wall “Aw ya were a cute baby ya know?” “Mammon that’s a picture of my brother.” “Oh”

- He’d be pretty quiet at the dinner table, mostly because he’s terrified of MC’s dad

- Tries to compliment her parents for the cooking but just stutters the entire sentence, her Dad then makes a joke about his nerves which then causes Mammon to go completely red

Levi:

- (MC basically had to force him to come and meet her parents)

- “N—nice to meet you.” He mumbles to them as he hides behind his hand

- MC’s mum is really fascinated by his hair and asks “what hair dye do you use? Or do you go to a salon?” “Oh my hair isn’t dyed.” “...right”

- He probably wouldn’t talk much to her parents at first but they’ll see that he’s much more comfortable when he’s whispering to MC because they’ll see an unfamiliar smile on his face, as long as MC’s happy they’re happy

Satan:

- Satan would be smooth as fuck. As soon as he steps through the door he’d dazzle them both with his charm and eloquence

- MC’s mum is super impressed

- He’s a really smart demon so any conversation or question MC’s parents fire at him, he’ll know exactly what to say

- Gets super excited when he discovers they have a cat

- Compliments their home like a good guest should and then even offers to help with the dishes after dinner’s eaten

- When they’re leaving, MC’s mum pulls her to one side and demands that MC ‘keeps this one’

Asmo:

- he’s super excited to meet her parents, as soon as the door opens he’s probably grin and go ‘hello!’ While waving his hands

- Both of MC’s parents welcome his bubbly personality immediately, they think he’s such a nice character! One you can have a laugh with

- He’s really flattering toward her Mum, she absolutely loves Asmo! She’d only have known him for a couple of hours but can’t wait until he comes over again

- MC will get really anxious about how touchy he’s being with her in front of the parents (but in reality they hadn’t even noticed because they’re asking him about the aftershave he’s wearing!)

- what a well kept gentleman!

Beel:

- MC and Beel would probably have a pep talk before they knock on the door, “what are you not going to do tonight?” “Eat all of the food!” “And what do you get after we’ve left if you succeed?” “McDonalds!”

- Both of her parents are taken aback by the size of Beel as they open the door

- Her Dad immediately asks him, “so does a man of your size play any sports then?”

- MC’s mum whispers to her ‘where did you find such a rugged man??’

- Beel’s eyes light up when he sees MC’s mums over the top dinner table filled with way too much food

- Her Mum tells MC he’s welcome back any time because for the first time ever there was no waste left over at the end!

Belphie:

- he’d be quite quiet and shy but he’d still greet MC’s parents at the door

- In all truth he’s absolutely terrified because - not that it will ever happen - but what if her parents find out about what he did to her?

- He has to force himself not to overthink and with the help of MC squeezing his hand under the dinner table, he somewhat cools down

- Slowly, he begins to open up to her parents and will start talking about what a nice person their daughter is

- Her parents fully understand that he was just nervous and don’t hold his quietness against him

Diavolo:

- as soon as the door opens, MC’s mum practically falls in love with Diavolo herself

- MC can’t believe how well he immediately gets on with her parents, he has all the charm and charisma needed. He makes conversation at the dinner table, shares interests with both of them, makes jokes...MC’s left in shock

- MC’s mum would just stare dreamily at him whereas Diavolo and her Dad would share a father/son bond literally within an hour

- He’s so nice that her parents even offer for them both to stay the night so that they can have a family drinking night together!

- (MC’s mum demands ‘you NEED to marry him or else I’ll divorce your Father and then I will!’)

Simeon:

- Simeon does everything perfectly when he meets MC’s parents, he’s incredibly pleasant and easy to talk to, he’d compliment the home and the cooking, he shows genuine interest in MC’s parents - he basically does every just right

- He’s very smooth with his words. MC’s mum in particular seems to be put into a trance when she listens to him speak

- He’d hide his religion if he sees that MC’s parents don’t have the same faith

- Her mum jokes at one point to MC saying ‘have you brought home an angel? He’s lovely!’

Solomon:

- Solomon wouldn’t have any worries, he just spend a year in a realm filled with demons - he can handle meeting two humans

- He’d be very charming, as soon as he sees MC’s mum he’d probably use the line ‘I can see where MC gets her beauty from!’

- I can imagine he’d be quite cheeky with some of the things he says and will make a lot of jokes at the dinner table (he immediately gets along with both parents)

- Tells MC’s mum that her lasagne is the best he’s ever had - or in other words, he just got invited back for dinner again

- MC questions him on why he’s being so oddly charming (she finds it funny)

Barbatos:

- MC’s parents are a little intrigued with him at first. One, because he looks so deadly serious all of the time and two, his hair is teal

- However, even though he looks serious 99% of the time, he still holds a conversation really well. Her parents are impressed by his intellectuality and articulacy

- He’d probably be well prepared too and would bring some flowers or a bottle of wine to thank her parents for having them over

- He is incredibly polite for the entire evening and is just really pleasant company to be around, MC’s parents have no worries about the strange coloured haired man

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acollectionofficsandshit · 3 years

Text

The Ambassador’s Daughter

Max Verstappen x Reader

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 2,103 Words

Masterlist

I’d been staring out the window behind a random member of parliament for about 10 minutes, oblivious and deaf to the noise and commotion of yet another stuffy, fancy gala I was obligated to be attending as the only child to the American ambassador within England.

It wasn’t that I hated everything about the endless stream of galas, fancy dinners, and even the occasional traditional ball, the dresses and the shoes were always the upside, but I had no taste for the food and had trouble watching what I said to ambassadors for other countries, members of parliament, the prime minister, and even once the Queen.

My mother said I was just precocious and that the guests found my directness enchanting, my father said that the charm had worn off now I was 20. So, I was expected to keep my answers short, my questions trivial, and my smile wide. As the daughter of an ambassador, I had grown up surrounded by and deeply interested by the politics that governed the world, with endless questions about religions, cultures, and war. My father never failed to answer my questions unless we were with company, so I had resorted to gazing out the window.

The flash of cameras outside caught my attention and broke my moment of self-pity. Turning my face to my father’s, I raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the window. My father shook his head and motioned for me to sit back straight in my chair. I rolled my eyes but followed suit, the heavy and restrictive gown I’d be laced into tonight, although one of the more gorgeous I’d worn, was tugging to sit back properly.

I focused instead on the plate in front of me, picking at the tiny portions of fancy food I really had no interest in eating. I didn’t glance up, knowing my father would be glaring in my direction. But my head snapped up when I heard the doors open and the room fall silent as a newcomer was gestured towards our table and to the seat beside me. How had I managed to not notice the empty chair to my right?

I knew the boy as soon as he settled down beside me, smiling warmly at the entire table while apologizing for his lateness. My father, never one to forgive lateness, waved away the apologies with a carefree hand and a word of welcome.

“Max Verstappen, why are you at a gala?” I asked before I could catch myself, “you could have opted out, it’s god awfully boring and stuffy, plus the food is absolute shit.” I heard my father’s exasperated sigh accompanied by my mother’s gasp of horror. I tried to suppress a laugh, but failed to, at the stunned look on Max’s face, his blue eyes wide in surprise and his mouth hanging slightly open.

Everyone at the table stared at him down, waiting in silence for his reaction when he threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, and continued to laugh until he was close to tears. The rest of the table had returned to talking once the possibility of an offended celebrity had abated but I had crossed my arms and frowned at the brown haired, surprisingly bright-eyed driver.

“What’s the frown for?” Max asked, as he wiped away tears and tried to stop laughing.

“You’re laughing at me. I don’t like being laughed at,” I said irritably. That only made him laugh again.

“Bloody hell, I’m not laughing at you, I’ve just never heard a truer statement made at a gala before,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’m Max, but I guess you already know that.”

“Yeah, I do, I’m-” I started to say before Max interrupted.

“I know who you are, you’re the American ambassador’s daughter.” I raised my eyebrow at him.

“And why in the hell do you know that?” I asked, a little taken aback. He just pointed at the name card in front of me.

“Same last names, it’s not rocket science to put the two together. Plus, the papers love you. But lord, your father is the most mild-mannered person I’ve ever met and you, you’re a little hellion.”

“Do you even know what hellion means?” I asked rudely, quite aware of the fact that Max Verstappen, Red Bull’s wonder boy was mocking me.

“Now I do,” he said smugly, reaching out for the glass of champagne in front of him and taking a sip.

“I’m not a hellion,” I said, still smarting at his comment, “‘little hellion’ my ass.” Max just grinned at me. “Stop smiling at me! You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re a brat,” Max said before nodding in thanks to the waiter that brought out the main course.

“Oh yeah, like I’ve never heard that one before,” I scoffed, “why don’t you just go ahead and tell me that I’m spoiled and the only way I’ll get anywhere in life is if my daddy pays the way for me. Just go for the full holy trinity of ambassador's children’s insults.”

“I only said you were a brat; I know you’re not dumb. Everyone knows that the American ambassador’s daughter is going to the University of Oxford next year. The papers love it. A party girl with money and a brain,” Max said.

“I’m not a party girl,” I said and pushed away the empty dessert plate in front of me.

“Oh, social media and any tabloid would beg to differ,” Max laughed.

“Whatever,” I said and rolled my eyes at him. Everyone around us was standing up to go dance on the floor outside the now open double doors that led to the billowing white tent with heaters that covered the dance floor and some of the expansive snow-covered gardens.

“Want to dance?” Max offered me his hand. I grinned up at him, an idea having blossomed in my head, egged on by boredom, knowing how much it would bother my father, and just how attractive the Dutch driver standing in front of me was. “That look kind of scares me,” he said jokingly but didn’t move to lower his hand.

“Good. It should. I have a better idea than dancing, come on,” I glanced around the room to make sure everyone was preoccupied before grabbing Max’s hand and dragging him toward the door that led out of the ballroom and into the rest of the house. “Wait, shit, stay here, hold on,” I said, dropping Max’s hand.

“Yes ma’am,” he laughed as he watched me gather what I could of my heavy crimson colored gown into my arm and dash back into the packed ballroom. Grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne from the closest table I did my best to rush back out of the room in my six-inch heels.

I paused in the doorway, my heart pounding in my chest and the iced glass of the bottle still managing to chill my hand through my thick white nearly arm length gloves. Max was leaning against the staircase, running a hand through his neatly combed back hair and looking up at the painted ceiling.

Bracing myself before I lost courage, I kicked off my shoes, shoving them behind a potted plant in the foyer and grabbing his hand. He raised an eyebrow at the bottle of champagne but didn’t say a word, letting me drag him down the hall towards a closed door.

“Where are we going?”

“Sh!” I held a gloved finger to my lips as I glanced around making sure that none of the hired help was watching before I opened the door and dragged Max in behind me.

“We’re going to the coat closet. That makes a lot of sense,” Max said, laughing as he looked around at the piles of women’s furs and men’s woolen coats.

“Hush, and open this,” I pushed the bottle into his hands and yelped in surprise when the top shot off and hit the ceiling. We took turns drinking straight from the bottle, the chilled bubbles going straight to my head. Neither of us said a word, but slowly, with each sip, we moved closer to one another until my arm was pressed against his tux jacket. Max was the one that broke the silence.

“Would you mind if I took off my jacket? It’s hotter than hell in here.”

“Not if you don’t mind if I take off my gloves,” I said. Max nodded.

“Deal.” We fell back to silence as he dumped his jacket carelessly on the floor and I peeled my gloves off before throwing them on top of the pile of furs.

“Could you help me get my bow tie off? Somehow, I can never seem to manage it,” Max asked, and I shrugged my shoulders, turning to undo the tie for him. But once my fingers brushed his neck, everything changed. One moment we were innocently shedding tux jackets, white gloves, and bow ties while the next, his arm was around my waist and both my hands were gripping at his hair.

We were face to face, so close our noses nearly touched. His eyes were bluer at this closer vantage, the freckles on his cheeks more pronounced.

“Hi,” I whispered, noticing that our lips could easily touch.

“Hello,” he responded, his grip on my waist only tightening as he pulled it tight against his hips.

“The ambassador’s daughter and a Formula 1 driver in the coat closet,” I said.

“The gloveless ambassador’s daughter and the half-dressed Formula 1 driver,” he amended.

“With an empty bottle of Champagne,” I added.

“What would David Croft and Martin Brundle say?” Max asked, his eyes taking in my entire face and flickering down to linger on my lips.

“What would the Queen say? Or worse, what would Christian Horner say?” I said, making us both laugh.

“Just think of how the tabloids would spin this.”

“I’m terrified imagining social media catching wind of it.”

“This is hardly a scandal in the making,” Max offered.

“Then let’s make a scandal,” I said, pushing him back onto the pile of furs. His white collared shirt had become untucked, and his bow tie hung untied around his neck, and I could see how hard he was breathing.

“It’s still hardly a scandal,” Max said before pulling me down on top of him, my wide skirt pooling around me, “now it’s a touch more of a scandal.”

“I’d say it’s still pretty innocent,” I said, hoping to encourage him to make the move I was hesitant to.

“Innocent? I’ll show you innocent,” Max buried his hands in my hair before bringing his lips up to meet mine. I quickly lost track of the time, as I unbuttoned his shirt, and he kissed his way down my neck to meet the neckline of my dress. I sat up and pulled his lips back to mine, enjoying the rush of our hands on each other and the chance that the coat closet door might swing open at any moment.

Before either of us could let it reach the point, we both craved, the door did in fact swing open. We tried to jump apart, which only resulted in both of us toppling off of the fur covered sofa and onto the floor, before realizing who had opened the door.

Daniel Ricciardo was standing in the doorway and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “My bad, I’ll just come back later” he said laughing at the two of us laying in a pile on the floor.

“Please for once in your life, fuck off Daniel,” Max said, grabbing a random minx wrap from the sofa and flinging it at him but not before Daniel had closed the door and walked away.

“I’d say it’s a scandal now,” I whispered against Max’s lips, making us both dissolve into laughter.

“If every scandal involved a gorgeous girl in a tight red dress laying on top of me and a pile of furs, I’d be involved in a lot more scandals,” Max said, before his lips were back against mine.

“If you want a real story for the press, you could let me know the full list of drivers and teams present tonight and I’ll go kiss one of them next! Or you can?” I offer with a teasing grin, wagging my eyebrows wildly so he knows I’m kidding, and I have no intention of moving from where I am until I have to.

“Let’s just stop talking now, shall we?” Max whispers, before were tumbling back against the piles of furs and coats spread across the floor.

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

Note

Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаров – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #a phantom in enchanting light #mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan ff

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