#“my father taught me more lessons than I can count” yeah dog they were called CAUTIONARY TALES 😭😭😭

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 6: Andersen’s Fairy Tales

…in which Harry teaches Ezi how to read.

Word count: 4k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: please please let me know what you think. I can't write without motivation 😭

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When Harry finally decided to answer his mother’s call, he had prepared himself for some verbal ass-whooping. He was twenty-four years old, a celebrity and a millionaire, yet still getting scolded by his mother on a daily basis. Life was good.

“Is your date okay?” The first thing his mother said to him was this. At first, Harry thought he’d misheard it. But then she repeated the question in a more urgent and concerning tone. “Harry, is Ezili okay?”

His mother had never remembered the name of any girl he’d brought home. His mother always had a lot to say about the way those girls had dressed, talked, and carried themselves. Had Ezi charmed his mother with her siren magic?

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Y-Yeah...why?”

“Dawson told me you and Bax got into a fight at the manor.”

Harry smacked his forehead. Fucking Dawson. “How did Dawson know?”

“He found Bax lying on the floor.”

Although Harry hated to recall that night because he couldn’t imagine how scared Ezi must have been, it was funny to think about how pathetic Bax must have looked when Dawson had found him. The mental image made Harry laugh. “See?” he told his mother. “It wasn’t a fight if it was one-sided. I beat him up.”

His mother exhaled sharply. Harry could imagine her with her eyes closed, shaking her head. “The only reason I will let you get away with fighting your cousin in my house is because I know what he was trying to do with Ezili. So I called to ask if she was okay.”

“She’s okay. Don’t worry. I think she also scared him.”

“She’s a woman. Any strong woman would’ve been terrified in that situation,” said Harry’s mum. “I feel bad for having let that happen. I shouldn’t have invited him.”

“It’s not your fault, Mum. He’s always been scum.”

There was a pause, and Harry knew exactly what his mother was going to say. “Bax’s parents have always hated us. They envy your father. I think they’re trying to sabotage our wine business. Maybe if you’d change your mind--”

“Mum, we’ve talked about this,” Harry sighed. “I love my career. I can’t...I’m not a businessman like Dad. Isn’t Dawson doing a good job managing our family business already?”

“He is. But I know your father would’ve wanted it to be you.” When Harry stayed quiet, his mother knew it was a sign that this topic shouldn’t be continued, so she switched to another. “You should invite Ezili to lunch at the manor.”

“Mum, that wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense! Her first time in our house and she got absolutely traumatised. I’ll make up for it. I’ll send you an invitation in the afternoon.”

“Mum, there’s no need for an in--”

But his Mum already hung up on him.

Sighing, Harry sunk back into his chair. A staff member knocked on the door and informed him that he would have to return to the set in fifteen minutes. He told them he got it and intended to call his mum again and try to talk her out of the lunch thing with Ezi. That was when he got another call.

“Don’t tell me someone’s injured. It’s only been an hour.”

“Worse!�� Niall screamed. “Dawson kidnapped the girl!”

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Ezili didn’t know if the bookstore was small or Harry’s house was just too big, but she liked the cosiness of it in contrast to what she’d always been used to. There were bookshelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling. The walls were covered with hundreds of books of all sizes, and there were dozens of piles on the floor in the corners as well. But seeing that most of the furniture was covered in dust, Ezili guessed they didn’t often have visitors.

She wondered why nobody wanted to come into this fascinating place. She loved books even though she couldn’t read or write. She’d found a few books in her room and some of them had pictures, but she could only guess what the stories were about. So she wanted to read, but it would be something her mother would never approve of. If she learned to read, she’d become a laughing stock for her kind for sure.

Entering the bookstore, Ezili and Dawson were greeted by an old lady with crazy chestnut hair that looked like she was wearing a fluffy dog on her head. Her eyes were huge behind those thick round glasses that gave her a psychotic kind of look that absolutely terrified Ezili.

“Hello, love birds,” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. Ezili could not take her eyes off the shiny wires attached to this lady’s teeth. They sparkled every time she opened her mouth. This woman must be rich if she wore silver on her teeth.

“Oh, we’re not birds,” Ezili said as she pulled Chilli tighter to her chest.

The crazy lady hugged her stomach and burst out laughing. “She’s a funny girl,” she told Dawson, pointing to Ezili, then her face turned serious. “But no cats allowed.”

“She’s with me. Her name is Chilli and she’s very nice--”

“She can stay here while you pick your books.” Before Ezili could protest, the lady took the black cat and put it on the counter. “So what are you looking for?”

“Thank you. We’ll just have a look around,” Dawson said with a tight smile and pulled Ezili with him. They turned into one of the aisles and heard the lady telling them she’d be here if they needed help. What kind of help would you need in a bookstore? It wasn’t like books would attack you.

“The Book of Wisdom,” Dawson said as he took out one colourful book from a higher shelf. Ezili peered over his arm as he scrutinised the front cover. He smelled like coconut and summer, which reminded her of those tropical islands she’d visited with her mother. And the fact that he was a lot taller than her made her want to bury her face into his chest to get soaked in that homely smell. But then she remembered what Harry had taught her about consent. Realising her chest was touching his arm, she stepped back and felt him relax a bit more. She hoped he didn’t think she was sexually hairdressing him. She had no idea why they called it hairdressing, and she kept forgetting to ask Harry.

“Hey, why do they call it hairdre--”

“Lesson 1: Be polite.”

Ezili jumped and hid behind Dawson’s back, her heart pounding violently. “Did the book just..talk?”

“Yeah, it’s a talking book for children,” Dawson chuckled. “I like your sense of humour.”

He flipped to a new page and the book talked again, “Remember, kids, if you accidentally raise your voice with someone, always apologise to them. It’s not nice to yell at other people.”

Ezili couldn’t decide if she was in awe or creeped out by the talking book. Maybe a little bit of both. But then her eyes zeroed in on a picture of a beautiful siren on one of the covers. She passed Dawson to try and was trying to reach for the book when his hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see him grab the book without effort and hand it to her with a smile.

“You like this? It’s the new edition of Andersen’s Fairy Tale.”

“The Little Mermaid!”

“Yes.” Dawson’s eyes squinted behind his glasses. “You’ve never read Andersen’s Fairy Tales?”

“I have,” Ezili lied, hugging the book to her chest. “I want this book.”

“Great. I’ll buy it for you. As a gift.”

Harry had told Ezili that humans couldn’t just take the things they found because they would get arrested, and apparently, they couldn’t fight and kill each other for things either. It didn’t sound fair and was kind of stupid. Why were humans so dependent on these stupid papers they called money? Ezili couldn’t understand how their inferior brains worked sometimes.

“Hey, look,” Dawson said, holding up his phone that was buzzing in his hand. “Harry’s calling.”

Ezili couldn’t care less about Harry now. She let Dawson speak to him while she flipped through the book to look at pictures. But...why was there a picture of the prince and another girl? Didn’t he marry Ariel? She tried to look for the ones that revealed the new ending, which was apparently different from what she’d seen on the telly, but the rest of the chapter was just text and no pictures. She hated this. She wished she could read.

“Yeah, she’s here with me. The bookstore is just a few blocks near your house…” Dawson finished the call with Harry and turned back to Ezili. “He’s coming to pick you up.”

She found it strange that Harry would speak about Dawson with such hatred, like the way Koa would speak about Ezili, while Dawson had always been so nice about Harry. She couldn’t recall him saying anything bad about Harry when in fact, she could go on and on for days about Harry’s bad qualities. And she’d only known him for a week!

“Why doesn’t Harry like you?”

The question seemed to have caught Dawson by surprise, but he was quick to put on a smile.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m helping his mum run the business his father left for him. But he was the one who didn’t want it. He wanted to become a singer.”

“Harry’s mother doesn’t want him to be a singer?”

“No.”

Ezili closed the book and gave an understanding nod. “My mother never lets me do things I like, either. She never thinks I’m good enough because I’m not like her.”

“I’m sure your mother loves you,” Dawson said. Ezili liked the twinkle in his eyes and tenderness in his voice when he reassured her. Maybe he had a special gift that only sirens had. The gift to charm anybody they wanted. “Every mother has their own burdens and loves us in a different way.”

“But...if they love us, should they want us to be happy?”

Ezili didn’t know where that had come from. For the last twenty years of her life, she had never once thought of this. Why now? Why now that she decided that she could have been happier if her mother hadn’t been the way she was? But sirens were all supposed to be the way her mother was. Cold and dangerous like the ocean itself. So did it mean...did it mean her mother and sister were right? That she was too weak and emotional to become Queen?

“Ezi!”

The sound of her name pulled her out of her own head. She snapped her head up to find Harry padding toward her. He looked just like that night when he’d scolded her for biting his cousin. She hated this Harry.

“Let’s go home,” he told her coldly.

Before she could reply, he took her wrist and pulled her with him. The book fell to her feet and she was too appalled to even pick it up. She was about to remind Harry that Dawson was standing right there, but then she realised Harry had intentionally ignored his cousin.

“Ezili, your book!”

Harry and Ezi stopped before they got into the car parked out front. Dawson handed her the book and beamed. “I already paid for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Very nice. Get in, Ezi.”

Dawson seemed slightly annoyed by Harry’s attitude, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he gave Ezili another gentle smile and told her he’d see her another time. Then, he went back inside the bookstore.

Ezili wished she could have stayed with him.

“Rescue mission accomplished!” said an energetic voice as Ezili got into the back of the car. A stranger she had never seen before peered around the passenger seat and smiled at her before he started speaking in a funny accent, “You’re welcome, by the way. The name’s Niall.”

Chilli was sitting on Niall’s lap, licking her own paw, which showed that she was comfortable around Niall, and Niall wasn’t an enemy. To human Ezili, of course. All humans were enemies to sirens.

“I’m Ezili,” Ezili said, then, she recognised the funny accent. “You’re Niall...Horan?”

“You know me?”

Ezili could feel her grin stretch from ear to ear. “I saw you on TikTok! You’re so funny.”

“Look, H, a fan!” Niall exclaimed as he shook Harry’s shoulder, but Harry didn’t react as he manoeuvred the car back onto the road. “I like her already.” Niall laughed. “I’m Harry’s best friend. Are you following my TikTok?”

“Yeah. I’ve watched every single one.”

“Good, good, good,” Niall said, nodding slowly. He turned to the front and back to Ezili immediately. “Also, I’m sorry about what happened to you. The accident must have been awful.”

“What?”

“Niall,” Harry growled. “Seatbelt.”

Niall flinched. “Sorry.”

Frowning, Ezili hugged her new book and sunk into her seat. She hated this Harry. He reminded her of a whale with a toothache, and even with that image in mind, she still couldn’t laugh. That was how angry she was with him. Yes, she was angry with him being angry with her. And for pulling her out of that beautiful bookstore. For making her drop her book. For holding her hostage like a prisoner. For being rude to Dawson. She hated him. She hated Harry Styles.

So when they’d arrived home and he told her to go inside and hang with Niall, she had to chase after him and let him know how much she hated him.

“Harry Styles!” She called when they reached the white stairs leading to the enormous courtyard where he’d parked his car. “Why are you upset? You have no right to be mad at me after you lied to me.”

Harry stopped halfway down the stairs; it seemed like Ezili’s words had finally hit him. He slowly spun around with a stunned expression as if she’d accused him of manslaughtering. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said, his jaw tight. “I told you to stay in your room. You were grounded.”

“You didn’t tell me that you’d leave me with your assistant and Niall!”

“But I didn’t lie to you.”

“Telling half-truths is telling lies.”

Harry held Ezili’s gaze for a long moment before he started ascending the stairs. She stiffened as he stopped right in front of her, leaned in, and stared.

“Oh, so you’re so honest, aren’t you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “You’ve never lied to me?”

“Never,” she said confidently.

Well, that was also a lie. But since when had Ezili felt bad for lying? She’d eaten men like him. Why did his presence now make her nervous?

She hated that the more she stayed human the more human she became. That thought terrified her even more than the possibility of getting caught and killed in this foreign land.

“I’ve never lied in my entire life,” she added, making Harry's eyes grow wide.

He said nothing, and when he turned to leave, she hurriedly followed him down the stairs. “Speechless by my honesty?” she asked.

“Speechless by the lies that come out of your mouth,” he said. “Is your name even Ezi?”

“No, it’s Ezili.”

Harry let out a scoff but he didn’t stop, so Ezili grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Hard.

“Shit! How are you so strong?” he cried out, facing her again.

“Apologise.”

“What?”

Ezili folded her arms across her chest and sharpened her gaze. “Apologise right now.”

“For what?”

“For yelling at me.”

“And why should I apologise for yelling at you?”

Ezili bit her lip. The voice inside her head told her to push him down the stairs. She could just say it was an accident, and no one could prove that she’d done it. However, she needed him alive. Sucking in a breath, she said, “Because that’s what decent people do. A talking book told me that.”

“You mean those children's books you found in the bookstore,” Harry taunted, giving her a despiteful smirk.

She scowled at him even harder. “Apologise.”

“Fine,” he breathed. “I apologise for yelling at you. Now you apologise for stealing my cat.”

“I tried to save Chilli. You see, your assistant said something about the Master of the House being dead. I thought you were dead. But she was only talking about a show--”

“Yeah, famous Netflix show. It’s good. But that’s still no excuse for taking my cat.”

“Fine.” Ezili glared at him. “I’m sorry for stealing your cat.”

“And for getting into Dawson’s car.”

“And for getting into Dawson’s car.”

“And for leaving with him and liking him.”

“And for—What is your problem with Dawson?”

Instead of answering the question, Harry pulled out his phone, looked at it, and then told Ezili, “Go inside. We’ll continue this talk when I get back.”

He was just about to run when she pulled him back by his sleeve. He gave her a ‘what do you want?’ kind of look as she stammered, “When...when you get back…”

“Yeah?” He stressed out the word, an eyebrow arched impatiently.

“Can you teach me how to read?”

“What?”

“Teach me to read. Are you deaf?”

“You can’t read?”

When Ezili shook her head, Harry’s frown transformed into a smile. “That explains a lot.”

She smacked him on the arm and he gasped and leapt down two steps.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Why are you so aggressive?” Harry winced and backed away from her. “We’ll talk about this later. Now go inside and film a TikTok with Niall or something. I’m late for a photoshoot.”

Ezili opened her mouth to ask him what time he’d be home, but Harry had already run back to his car.

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Harry got home at around 10 PM. He’d had a rough day. His manager had been furious because he had run out on a magazine photoshoot without saying a word to anyone. In his defence, he’d been in a rush, and couldn’t figure out an excuse to cover up for the fact that he’d almost let a mythical creature get loose. He shouldn’t have been so careless and left her with his assistant and Niall. That was his fault. Also, he could never think straight when he was angry. He thought about the look Ezili had given him when he’d pulled her out of the bookstore. The look Dawson had given him. Fucking Dawson. If it wasn’t for him, Harry wouldn’t have had to be mean to Ezi.

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” Harry shouted when the light switched on and he saw Ezili sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. “Wha--Why are you on the floor? Get up.”

“This is Chilli’s favourite spot so I thought I might try to see how comfortable it is. Pretty uncomfortable, I must say.”

Harry rolled his eyes and offered Ezi a hand to help her get to her feet. “Why are you still awake?”

She pulled away from him and rushed over to the table to grab the book Dawson had given her. She shoved it at him. “You promised to teach me to read. This is a collection of fairy tales. Andersen’s Fairy Tales. I noticed that one of the details from The Little Mermaid story was different from the film, so I want to know how the story actually ends in the book.”

Harry sighed as he took the book and looked at the cover. When he glanced up, Ezi was giving him these big puppy dog’s eyes with her hands clasped together in front of her chest. “It’s late,” he said tiredly.

She shook her head. “You promised!”

“I can just tell you the ending.”

“No, I want to read!”

“Fine, fine.” He put his hands up, left palm out, the other holding the book. “I guess there’s still time to teach you the alphabet then we’ll call it a day.”

Harry could have sworn he had never seen anyone as excited about learning as Ezi was, which was quite amusing, he must admit. So they sat on the couch as he taught her the alphabet and how to put letters into words. She was a fast learner, so it didn’t take long for her to memorise everything.

“It’s been three hours and I still can’t read,” Ezili whined as she hit him with a pillow.

Shocked, Harry blinked at her. “That’s not how learning works. You need time.”

“You said my brain was more developed!”

“Yeah, but still!”

Scowling, Ezi kicked Harry’s feet. “You’re the worst teacher ever. I’ll never get to know how it ends.”

“Okay, Miss Drama Queen,” Harry scoffed. “How about I read you the story now, and when you can read on your own, you can practice by rereading it?”

Ezi thought for a moment, then the line between her brows eased, and she nodded once. “But you must teach me everyday until I can read.”

“Fine,” Harry breathed as he opened the book. His body stiffened when Ezi suddenly leaned on him like he was a pillow, her cheek against his arm, and he could feel every beat of her heart.

“Go on,” she urged him, giving him a nudge.

He cleared his throat and opened the book, trying to distract his naughty mind with the innocent words of a fairy tale.

Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for the diadem of a queen...

By the time they’d finished one-third of the story, Ezi had already fallen asleep with her head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wished he’d read this to her in bed so he wouldn’t have to carry her upstairs now. She was small and slender, but he’d had a bad day, so even the littlest inconvenience could bring down his mood. Cursing under his breath, he picked her up and carried her to the stairs as she curled against his chest like a little cat.

When her eyelids fluttered, he thought she was going to jolt awake, but then her brows knitted, and she murmured, “Mother, please...give me more time. I will bring you the heart…the heart...”

He chuckled and put her down on the bed.

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In -- Chapter 16

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warning: Some language, mild sexual talk

Since it’s been awhile since I last posted an update, in the previous chapter Madeleine had confronted Riley with a video after she left the ball. 

Thank you @burnsoslow for the preread and beta.

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Riley sat on a leather bench at the foot of the bed with a television remote held loosely between her hands, folded in her lap. 

Somehow her worn-out body managed to walk from the corridor after the encounter with Madeleine, up the many stairs of the quarters she shared with Liam and to their bedroom. The shock of the situation combined with exhaustion and throbbing pain in her lower back was secondary to the fear she felt at possibly giving up the man she loved. 

With trembling hands, she had slipped the DVD into the player and watched her nightmare play out on the screen -- It was all true. Madeleine acquired an illicit video of Riley and her ex-husband that the Queen had no clue was recorded of her or existed.

Her thumb grazed over the pause button several times, but she knew pressing it wouldn’t stop the hurt and embarrassment she felt at that moment at watching her former husband violating her trust and privacy. It wouldn’t stop Madeleine from releasing the video of it to the press and public. And it wouldn't stop the love she felt for Liam -- no one was powerful enough to take that feeling away from her.

But it was those words Madeleine threatened her with that got equal consideration with that video in Riley’s mind. She tried to envision how the scenario would carry out if the video was released and for those who would be affected by it: her father, her friends, her former students. 

Liam.

“It’s a shame that he’ll lose his reign, all because of you.”

“Would you really do that to Liam?”

“Do you genuinely believe you’re worth all the trouble it will cause him?”

Riley hit the pause button, her hands flying up to cover her tear-laden face as she bent over in sobs, shaking her head. She was wrestling with that inner voice, replaying Madeleine’s words like a broken record while struggling to remember everything Liam told her about trusting him and his love for her.

No matter how hard she tried to let his tender voice speak to that sacred place in her heart, Madeleine’s threats and taunts were getting the best of her. If there was even a slight possibility that the Countess was right, and Liam would get dragged through the mud in all of this, then there was no question what needed to be done. 

Those scattered bricks that formed the walls she came to Cordonia with, the ones Liam had broken down, were quickly stacking up again, one on top of the other. If something didn’t happen soon, Riley would be surrounded and suffocated inside that impenetrable cocoon that initially caused herself to doubt her worthiness to him in the first place.

All of those insecurities and fears crept up faster than a flooded riverbank, and she felt powerless to stop it from rising. Even if she could, she’d never allow Liam to suffer the consequences of something she had the power to prevent. To hell with whatever happened to her, but not him. He saved her weeks ago, and as her teary gaze slid from her hands to the wardrobe closet across the room, this would be her way of saving him.

Riley picked up the remote from her lap and tossed it aside. Determined to get out of the palace and Cordonia before anyone could see her, she swallowed her anger and grief and swiped a knuckle under each eye to dry the tears shed. 

She rose to her feet faster than she should have, feeling an intense shock of pain that began in her hip and shot down to her feet. There were no doubts that the fall from struggling with Madeleine injured her far worse than she wanted to admit to herself. With a shrieking whimper, she ground her teeth together and doubled over, feeling like she might faint. 

Riley grasped her back and gave herself a second to breathe through the pain before straightening up and staggering to her wardrobe to pack whatever she could as quickly as possible.

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Liam stepped off the dance floor with Olivia's arm curled through his and escorted her back to their table. The conclusion of the ball was nearly upon him, and most guests had already stopped on their way out to say their farewells and offer congratulatory well-wishes. When they'd ask about the Queen's whereabouts, he'd tell them she had something come up that needed her attention. No one dared press him on the issue.

Checking the time on his watch, Liam looked up as Maxwell ran over with his phone in hand and dropped into a seat. He looked curiously at the out of breath Beaumont and asked, "What's going on, Maxwell?"

"Sorry," he replied before plucking a flute of champagne from a passing server's tray and gulping it down quickly. Wiping the droplets that dribbled from his mouth to his chin off with the back of his hand, he panted. "I ran here as fast as I could. I just got a text message from Drake. He's heading back soon."

"Did he say what the results of the paternity test were?" Olivia asked.

Maxwell nodded. "Yeah. They're Bastien's for sure. Las Vegas officials are allowing Drake to leave, but they've detained Bas until he pays up the $200,000 he owes to Boom Boom. Drake's return flight is scheduled to leave tomorrow morning, Cordonia time."

Liam pulled out his wallet and tossed $100 at a smug Leo, who promptly counted them out and stuffed the bills into his pocket. "I told you those little dudes weren't mine, bro. Really, your doubt in me hurts." 

"I'll admit you were right, Leo. But you do have a track record when it comes to being involved in weird stuff like this."

"Yeah, I've gotten myself into some pretty hairy shit a time or two," he laughed as the memories came to him. "Ahh, good times, good times. But, y'know, it wasn't always just fun and games with me, Liam. During those few occasions when I'd show up to train on being the top dog of this place, Father taught me several valuable lessons. Wanna know what they were?"

"Not really," Liam answered dryly, then tossed back the rest of his scotch to prepare himself. "But I assume you're going to tell me anyway."

"Damn right I am! This is good shit to know, straight from the Big Kahuna himself." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You must never tell anyone what I'm about to share with you all. This is top secret, classified Cordonian shit we're talking about; lives are on the line here. Father would be pissed if --"

"Just spit it out already!" Olivia snapped.

"Alright, first, never jizz in a jacuzzi unless you want to be covered in a thin spiderweb-like amalgamation of your own gravy. Daddio said he learned the hard way on that one ..."

"Oh, God. Leo!" Sickened, Liam dropped his head.

" ... Next, when you kiss a woman's hand, do it on the thumb side. Most people scratch their asses with their fingers, but rarely their thumbs. I might be an exception to the rule on that one." Leo chuckled to himself. "And lastly ... Rys spermies are MEAN sons-of-bitches, and we should dip my balls in a mug of hot water every day to kill them before having sex." 

"What the hell?" Olivia grimaced as she lowered her coffee mug away from her lips and pushed it away. 

"My dad told me the same thing," Maxwell boasted. "Except he called them Beaumont spermies. I guess he heard the same story from someone different than your dad."

Liam lowered the hands that were covering his face and breathed out heavily, "Leo, did our father ever teach you about anything other than using protection and sex during these meetings? Anything about negotiations, taxes, treaties ..."

Leo considered him for a moment. "Nope. He said you'd do all that stuff."

Liam grumbled. "Of course he did."

Olivia looked between Leo and Maxwell and scowled. "Well, it's too bad neither of your fathers took their own advice." She grabbed her clutch from the table. "At least I'll rest easier knowing the two of you aren't reproducing. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"I'll walk out with you, Liv." Liam rose and left the ballroom, having had more than enough of his fill of Leo for the night. There was also an incredibly sexy woman upstairs he'd been dreaming of pleasing all day, and he was overly eager to make good on his promise to join her shortly. 

______________

Liam made his way through the residential wing and down the long hallway to his quarters. While undoing his tie, he stopped midway when he noticed a vase that usually sat on a decorative table along the wall, tipped over on its side with bundles of long-stemmed roses littered on the ground around it. 

As he stooped down to pick them up, he found it oddly peculiar -- they didn't just fall over like this on their own. If a member of the staff had knocked them over, they would have picked them up; he felt certain Riley would have, as well.  

After rearranging the flowers in the vase and situating them back on the table, Liam removed his key card from his pocket and swiped it through the key fob next to the door.

"Riley! I'm home," he called out in a sensual tone, knowing she was most likely upstairs -- hopefully naked and ready to get her ass spanked -- and wouldn't have heard him.  

Taking a moment to check his reflection in the entryway mirror, Liam smoothed back his hair and tested his breath against his palm, satisfied he was good. After a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of whipped cream and chocolate sauce, Liam ascended the stairs, two at a time, to his bedroom. 

"Daddy's ready for his dessert ..." his exuberant voice trailed off as the sultry smirk he donned quickly faded away when he walked into an empty room. "Riley?"

Glancing around the bedroom, the en suite door was still open, and the light was off, so he knew she wasn't in there. The bed was still in pristine form and didn't look touched. He wasn't at all worried; Riley likely went for a snack, even though that thought seemed rather odd considering how adamant she was about returning to their quarters earlier.

Liam placed the toppings on a side table and slipped out his phone. He plopped down on the bench at the foot of their bed, thinking maybe he'd missed a message or call from her. 

There was nothing.

He scratched his head; it wasn't like Riley not to mention to him if she'd gone somewhere, not that she had to. But in this case, she knew he'd be up soon. Thinking about the overturned vase Liam walked upon, something started to not sit well with him. 

With the cell still in his hand, he pulled her contact information up. Just as he was about to hit the dial button, he heard "Liam" in a low, raspy voice.

Relief washed over him as he stood and put his phone away. "Love, you worried me. Everything okay?" Her face was ashen, and her eyes red and swollen. Liam's insides immediately clinched.

Riley didn't answer as Liam crossed the room, frantically approaching her, worry engraved on his features. “Riley, love, what’s wrong? What happened?” His eyes were desperately searching for any clue as to what was clearly something wrong with his wife.

She held out her hand, preventing him from coming too close. “Please ... don’t.”

Bewildered, he asked, “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Riley turned her head away somberly; she couldn't bear to look at him. She had planned to get out of the palace before he returned from the ball; there was no way she would be able to face him. Liam would want an explanation that she couldn't give him. But when she got to the car, Riley noticed there was something important she forgot to give back to him, and there was no way she would take it. Maybe somewhere inside, even if she couldn't admit it, she needed to see him and do this right. “I ... have to go.” Her words were barely audible.

Liam's brows bumped together. “Go? You’re going somewhere this late? But you were tired before --”

“No,” Her head shook faster than she realized before she spat the rest out. “I’m leaving Cordonia. I’m returning to Las Vegas, and I’m not coming back.”

“Riley? What the hell is going on? You were fine and having a good time 30 minutes ago, and now, all of a sudden, you want to go back to Nevada. What am I missing here? Does this have something to do with what happened at dinner? Because I told you --”

“You’re not missing anything. I came here to prevent you from marrying Madeleine, and I did that. That was the agreement, and now ... I’m going home.”

Liam started to laugh and wagged his finger at her. “Leo put you up to pranking me? He's mad about me sending that damn monkey away and is trying to get me back, right? Because if he did, that's just … just heartless. And I don’t find it funny.”

“No, Liam.." She shook her head again. "Leo didn’t put me up to this, and it's not a prank.” Riley carefully pulled off the wedding bands she came back to give him and held them out to him.

He looked at them and gritted his teeth. “Put them back on,” he commanded.

“I can’t do that, Liam. They belonged to your mother, and I’m not taking something so sentimental with me back to Vegas.”

“You’re damn right you're not taking them back to Vegas with you because you’re not going!”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

Riley choked out into a wispy sob, “I’m so sorry, Liam. I'm so sorry!”

He said nothing as he stared at her in disbelief and saw that she was serious. “Why?” He asked as his throat clenched and the first tear slipped down his cheek.

Her body felt leaden, never having seen him this shattered. “Liam, I just want to go home, okay? I mean ... this has been an amazing experience, and I’ll never forget it, but I miss my home, and my job, and my friends ..."

“Fuck your home! I’ll buy you one here that looks just like it. Visit your friends all you want ... hell, bring them here if you want to; I don’t care. That's NOT what's going on! There’s something you’re not telling me. And I want to know, NOW!”

Riley startled at his yell, wanting to hold him and make it better. “Liam, I don’t want to be in Cordonia anymore, or be the Queen, or live in this palace. I want to go home.”

He motioned around the room.“THIS is your home, Riley ... Cordonia.  I’m your home! This palace is your home." Liam scrubbed a frustrated hand furiously over his face. "Again, you were fine 30 minutes ago. What changed between you leaving the ball and coming up here? You're not telling the truth for some reason, but I can’t figure out why. Did I do something to upset you? Did someone else do something to upset you?"

"No!" she responded expeditiously.

"I love you, Riley. You know that, right?" She nodded; the glisten in his blue eyes and the desperation in his trembling voice was destroying her willpower. "Do you …  still love me?"

Riley slammed her eyes shut. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and to tell him so in this very moment would only serve to prolong this hellacious situation. The only way to protect him from losing everything -- in her mind -- was to let him go. He would fight her on this, and it broke her heart to see the pain and confusion in his eyes, but it had to be done.

“Do. You. Love. Me?” he enunciated his question once more. The struggle and agony on her face were evident to him.

Riley turned away from Liam and faced the door. Did she have it in her to answer that question with a lie?

"... the council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of a queen on some American nobody but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Are you worth the trouble?"

The sadness crushed her. There was no other way to protect him. Riley swiped at her face and answered firmly.

“No.”

With that, the Queen walked out, leaving the King in an empty room with his shock, his confusion, and an unimaginable pain he'd never get over.

-----------

Tags:

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Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen

Fools Rush In tags: @narrytheworld @queenwalton​ @cordonianprincess​ @zaffrenotes​ @zilch3​ @drrookie​ @sfb123​ @secretaryunpaid​

[yeontanismypresident]

Our One and Only | 05

Word Count: 2,827

Genre: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Talk of past abuse, blood, (past) suicidal thoughts, alcohol, bullying, swearing, violence, I apologize if  I’m missing anything

Pairing: OT7 x Reader 

Summary: The members didn’t think they could be any more content than they were at the moment. They were getting to become known worldwide and have inspired a significant amount of other hybrids to follow their aspirations. However, when Y/n strolled into the room, they realized they could turn out to be quite a lot more satisfied.

If you’d like to be tagged, comment below <3

Chapter Five 

You led the way to your apartment, the boys following you close behind. You could tell they were excited to see your place just by their excited chatter. It was a short walk back to your apartment and it was filled with jokes and laughter. Taking out your key, you hesitated before opening your front door. The seven hybrids stood behind you and anxiously shifted as their noses picked up multiple scents. The three strongest being you, Yuna, and Hyuk. When your boyfriend's scent hit their noses, they growled low in their chests. You looked at them confusedly, not being able to pick up on what was aggravating them. 

"Is everything okay?" you quietly asked them as you walked inside, they followed you in, Yoongi closing the door gently behind him. Hoseok gave you a bright smile, talking loudly to try and cover up the continuing growls, "Yeah, we're all fine. You have a lovely place!" You returned his smile and chuckled, "I haven't even given you a tour yet, but thank you." It seemed as though the idea of a tour made them calm down and forget their anger. Swaying from side to side, you awkwardly looked at each of them, "So, uh, would you guys like that tour..?" The three youngest all nodded, their tails wagging, grins overtaking their faces.

“Obviously this is the living room, then if you go through this door we’ll be in the kitchen,” you moved your arms around awkwardly, allowing them to look around. Walking out of the kitchen, you led them down the hallway, “The door on the left is the bathroom, and this here, is my bedroom.”

They trailed behind you, eagerly looking around the small bedroom. On the walls, there were pictures of you and your friends. The bed was in the middle, with a side table on each side. There was a tidy desk against the wall, lots of nick knacks on it. Unbeknownst to you, they were all scenting the room, trying to get rid of his scent. Even though you wouldn’t be able to tell, it still made them feel more comfortable knowing there wouldn’t be a trace of him anymore.

“Why don’t we go into the living room and watch some TV?” you asked them, already on your way out of the bedroom door. Settling on the couches, you turned on the TV to a random channel, knowing no one was really going to be paying attention. As you suspected, they all started up different conversations. They all looked like they were at home, and the thought made you feel peaceful.

You took this time to actually look at them, to study them. Looking at Jungkook as he messed around with Taehyung and Jimin, you watch as a smile, kind of resembling a bunny, graced his face, his nose twitching. Jimin stole your attention with his giggles, his eyes scrunching up. If it weren't for the cat ears and tail, you'd say he was a dog hybrid by how energetic he was. Switching your gaze to Taehyung, you watched as his tail starts wagging fast, bouncing up and down on the couch. "What kind of music do you like to listen to Y/n-ah?" Jin's voice shook you out of your silent thoughts. You fixed your gaze on the four men sat on the couch across from you, “Uhh, I like all types really. My favorite is pop and hip hop though. It's really fun to dance to." They all nodded, but Hoseok looked to be the happiest. "You like to dance?!" he questioned, a heart shape smile on his face. You gave out a genuine laugh and shook your head, "More so for fun, nothing serious," you tilted your head and add on, "actually, I'm really bad at dancing." "I'm sure you're better than Namjoon Hyung," Hoseok reassured you, teasing Namjoon as well, earning him an offended 'Yah!' Hoseok just laughed, getting up and going over to where the three Maknaes were now looking at your gaming system. "Y/n-ah, can we play some games?" Taehyung asked you as all three of them pouted at you, and you couldn't say no to them, "Sure! Just be careful with it." They all whooped and hollered, turning it on and picking out a game.

Turning away from them, you saw Jin and Namjoon whispering to each other. Not wanting to intrude on their privacy, you looked around the room. Your eyes met with Yoongi's, his eyes holding some sadness and guilt, so you motioned for him to follow you into the kitchen. Standing up from his seat, he grabbed your outstretched hand, holding it tightly and allowing you to tug him along. Sitting down at the table, you kept your hold on his hand. "Yoongi, are you okay?" you asked him, voice gentle and calming. He stared at you, not wanting to seem weak and vulnerable in front of you, but you could see right through him, "You can tell me, I won't judge you Yoongi-ah." He took a deep breath and put his head down, hiding his face from you, "I...I feel like it's my fault that you didn't want to be friends with us," he paused for a minute, trying not to cry. Once he was sure he wouldn't start sobbing, he looked up, tears in his eyes, "I didn't mean to scare you when we met. I just, I just don't like when people touch my ears bec-" "Hey, hey, hey. you don't need to tell me why Yoongi. I understand," you softly stated, not wanting him to feel like he had to tell you.

He sniffled and shook his head, "No, I want to tell you. Growing up, I was never in a good place. My parents died when I was six. From then until I was seventeen I kept going from one home to another. Not all of them were kind to the hybrids though..." Yoongi's eyes glazed over, thinking of all the terrible things he had to go through, one in particular....

Flashback

He was only twelve at the time and staying a run down foster home. He should have been outside, playing with all the other kids, but he wasn't normal like them. No, he was a hybrid, a black panther more specifically. Everyone thought he was dangerous, didn't want to get too close to him in case he tried to hurt them. Even all the other hybrids were terrified of him. So it was a shock when he was approached by four hybrids. A monkey hybrid named Jung-woo, a bear hybrid named Chul, a German shepherd hybrid named Dae-hyun, and lastly a pit-bull hybrid named Hee-joon. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the sad and pathetic, excuse of a hybrid," Chul spat at him, causing Yoongi to flinch, shrinking in on himself. Seeing him ignore them angered Dae-hyun, "Yah! Look at us when we're talking to you!" Not wanting to create any trouble, Yoongi continued to ignore them, keeping his eyes downcast. It was when Jung-woo pushed him off of the bed that he finally looked up at the bullies. He kept his face blank, getting up off the floor, going to sit back down in his original seat. Before he could do so, Hee-joon pushed him towards Chul. Yoongi stumbled into him and before he could find his balance, Chul pushed him towards Dae-hyun. This continued on for a few minutes, all the while the bullies were laughing at Yoongi. They finally let Yoongi fall to the floor, not once stopping their laughter. Only when Yoongi jumped up, with tears cascading down his cheeks and a sneer transfixed on his face, that they quieted down. They'd never seen the panther hybrid look so enraged. He was always on the quieter side, never making a sound, hiding himself away in his room, away from everyone else, but it seemed as though he had finally met his breaking point.   It was silent, the only noises in the room being Yoongi’s heavy panting. His tail swayed angrily in the air, his hackles raised. He slowly stalked towards three cowering hybrids, threatening growls leaving his lips. "Awh you think you're so big and bad don't you..kitty?" Jung-woo, who seemed to be the only one not scared, taunted Yoongi. Although, that all changed when Yoongi lunged at him, pinning him down to the floor. Yoongi started throwing punches, wanting to hurt Jung-woo as much as he had him. The other hybrids in the room started to scream. Dae-hyun ran to get one of the foster parents, while Chul and Hee-joon tried to pull him off of Jung-woo. Despite all their attempts, they couldn't get him off, only getting bruises and scratches of their own. It was as if Yoongi was being possessed. Yoongi didn't even notice he was being pulled off of the battered Jung-woo, just kept swinging and kicking the air. "Enough!!" their foster mom, Nari, shouted while carrying Yoongi down the stairs and to the basement. He finally calmed down, and once he realized where she was taking him, he started to shake and cry. When they got down there, she put him in the middle of the room before undressing him down to his boxers. He kept repeating 'no, no, no' and tried to run back up to the main floor, but had no luck as it was locked. Their "father" figure, if you could even call him that, walked towards the young hybrid slowly, a belt in one hand and a bottle of soju in the other. Yoongi whimpered and curled in on himself, wishing he could just disappear. He knew what was coming. Every hybrid and human who misbehaved in any way was brought down here to be taught their lesson. He's been brought down here countless times, even has the scars to prove it. He was quiet and only flinched for the first few hits of the belt, biting his bottom lip, used to the pain. It was after he had been hit for five minutes straight that he finally made a sound. He whined and cried, trying to back away from the harsh belt. The man abusing him got tired of just using the belt, so he downed the rest of his soju, breaking the bottle over Yoongi's head and then proceeded to cut his legs. Yoongi screamed, giving up on trying to be strong. Blood gushing from the cut on his forehead, and he started to feel lightheaded. "Shut the fuck up!!" the man yelled when Yoongi started screaming for his mom. He left the hybrid on the floor to walk over to the table holding all of his "toys." Grabbing the duct tape and rope, he returned to Yoongi, duct taping his mouth and tying his hands behind his back. The room was sound proofed, but his screams were starting to annoy him. He leaned down and menacingly said, "Hope you're ready for a long night cat." And all Yoongi could do was endure the hits. Two hours into his punishment, Yoongi's eyes slipped closed as he lost consciousness, wishing he wouldn't wake up he next day.

End flashback

"And that's why I don't like when people touch me without asking," Yoongi sobbed uncontrollably, and you pulled him into your arms, tears of your own falling down your cheeks. "Oh Yoongi, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. You didn't deserve to go through that," your voice wavered, pulling him tighter into your chest. The guys had all walked in halfway through Yoongi's explanation, their noses picking up on the change in your hormones and smelling the salty tears. Glancing at them, you saw them crying, looking like they wanted to comfort their brother. Once you gave them the go ahead, they all rushed over and brought the two of you into a big group hug. Eventually everyone pulled away, and you cradled Yoongi's face in between your tiny hands, "Yoongs, I want you to know that I'm here for you, and I'd do anything to go back in time and to make sure you didn't have to go through that." He gave you a gummy grin, wrapping his tail around your wrist. You decided right then and there, that you like seeing him with a smile, and you'd do anything for it to stay.

"Jimmie stop!" you giggled, trying to escape the calico hybrid who was torturing you with his tickles. Hearing the front door unlock and open caused you to freeze in your spot. You tried to push Jimin off of you, but he wouldn't budge, too busy trying to hear more of your laughter. The others, who had also heard what you heard, tried to help you get Jimin off, "Jimin-ah! Get off her!" Before you guys could fully get him off of you, a throat clearing was heard. Everyone froze in their spots and slowly turned their heads. Letting out a breath of relief, you relaxed your tense muscles. It was only Jisoo, your best friend and coworker. "Well, well, well. what do we have here? Am I interrupting something? I can go..." Jisoo trailed off and smirked as she saw Jimin was still sitting on you. You quickly sat up, shoving Jimin off in the process, "No! Nothings happening! He was just trying to tickle me and you know how much I hate being tickled!" "Y/n, calm down. I was just joking, but didn't Hyuk tell you to get rid of any contact with them?" Jisoo asked you curiously. You could hear the confusion in Jisoo's voice and before you could answer her, Jungkook beat you to it, "Wait. So you do want to be friends with us! It was just your asshole of a boyfriend who made you text us that!" He was growling by the time he finished his sentence. You opened your mouth, about ready to defend your boyfriend, but Jungkook continued on, "See this is why you shouldn't be with him. He's already controlling who you're friends with. Next thing you know he's controlling everything you do!" It seemed as though his growls would never cease and it would be a lie if you said you weren't slightly scared. It was Yoongi who calmed him down, seeing you flinch away from the younger hybrid, "Jungkook-ah that's enough. You're scaring her." The thought of causing you any pain or fear broke Jungkook’s heart.

"I-I didn't mean to scare you Y/n-ah!" Jungkook tried to get closer to you but whimpered when you, once again, flinched away from him. Not wanting him to feel guilty, you frantically tried to make things right, "No! it's fine Kookie. I'm just not a big fan on the growling is all.." you trailed off, not knowing what else to say. There was an awkward silence before Jisoo broke it, "So, uh, I stopped by to see if you were still coming with Minho and I to dinner on Wednesday night?" "Yeah, Hyuk and I will be there!" you answered her, shifting from one foot to the other. Seokjin looked towards your friend, and politely said, "There's this really nice restaurant over by the movie theater. It's brand new too." Namjoon, having picked up on what his fellow band mate was planning, also spoke up, "You guys should check it out, I heard it's really nice." "Actually that's not a bad idea!" Jisoo exclaimed. She then turned towards you and gave you a smile before continuing, "I'll make reservations and meet you guys there. Bye Y/n! Tell Hyuk I said hello when he gets back!" Before you could utter a response, she left your apartment, leaving you with the bts members. You opened and closed your mouth, before stuttering out a sentence, "Um, uh, I think you guys should leave. It's getting pretty late and I have to work early tomorrow." Nodding and humming their agreements, they each gave you a kiss on the cheek, no doubt making you turn a bright red, and made their way to your front door. After waving them a goodbye, you shut and locked your door. You leaned your back on it and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind and calm your racing heart down. So much has happened in the last few days. First, Hyuk gets in a fight with Jungkook. Second, you get in a fight with your boyfriend, resulting in you trying to push away the seven hybrids. Third, you become friends with said hybrids again. Standing up straight, you gave a deep sigh and made your way to your bathroom. A nice, long, relaxing bubble bath should help you rid yourself of all this stress. You had no clue what you were gonna do when Hyuk came back though. You knew he would be furious if he found out you had not only invited, but also made up with the bts guys. What to do... what to do…

@child-ofthe-moon-and-leaves, @chari-a, @cjisluckycharm, @huhuehuey, @childfmoonn, @goldenkookss, @jiminsreina, @i-am-canada-13, @eilowyneleyne, @2seokkyo, @lokathefemale, @raja-in-demigodishness, @shelley-hennig14, @theshiningmoonsblog, @agoddesswithablade, @the-argus-eyed, @btsstan4life, @jinniepeachxo, @purpleheartsfortae, @nari2220, @k00kjals, @yasbts705, @moxxie84, @breadcaaat, @kpopgirlbtssvt, @kamibyul, @minyoongi-infiresme, @shaelin444, @acadevintage, @theashofwkm, @row-row-row-your-fandoms, @peachesandcreamsthings, @dinorahrodriguez, @morgsstudies-blog, @feed-my-geek-soul, @elazarofir, @lsuzi, @xsmilebitesx, @miraisnotavailable, @vannilacake, @omgsuperstarg, @danithearmy, @galaxy-gamer-girl, @vincent-stargogh, @im-emo-motherfuckers, @aijoukook, @stargazingmoonchild, @tzuyyyuuu, @heart-of-shadows-and-starlight, @starrliter, @livelifewondering, @valiantcollectorofsandwiches, @yoongisdumplingcheeks, @ahslde, @king-of-the-rain-and-wolves, @drarialynn, @marvelobsession2point0, @i-am-bisexual-and-a-girl, @mermaidchick22, @sweetkpopfan

[nobume-date]

Top 10 Husbando

Thanks for tagging me! @lordbunshin @lemonicebar wanted to know my husbando  😉

I believe everyone here definitely have a crushed on 2D characters but it takes more than pretty face, great body, intelligent and super power to be the best husbando IRL or so called IkeDan*. Like, will they be there when we need their help? Will they make us a porridge when we sick? and stuffs...

*IkeDan = Ikemen Danna (イケメン旦那) = The hotties who possess husband material, recently popular word among Japanese women.

Personally I think it’s not fair for anime’s characters because otoge’s characters originally were created to be an ideal husbando. Plus all anime already finished, no more season 4-5-6 with a wedding or happy family story like otoge did. So i’ll go with 5 husbundo from anime fandom and 5 from otoge fandom.

P.S. Srsly, I had a hard time for choosing just 10 husbando from hundreds husbandos in my list.

Anime Husbando

5. Kuroba Kaito @ Magic Kaito KID

This IQ 400, playful and kind gentleman, full-time high school boy, part-time phantom thief is definitely a hero for both boys and girls in fandom. Well, he was born from Gosho Aoyama who wrote Detecive Conan after all, this character surely has a charmingly deep and various dimensions. 

Kaito might be too young to be considered as husbando but with all of his good traits, he’d definitely grow up to be the best one. Besides, I love a sweet & thrill in love life 😉

4. Kinomoto Tōya @ Cardcaptor Sakura 

Touya-niichan is my first love in anime fandom since I was a kid and still have been in my heart until now. Thanks to Clear Card Arc, I have a chance to see him in college version and more striking handsome due to advanced CG technology in anime industry. 

He is cool, kind, athletic and very popular with the girls even he is a bit loner who has only Yukito as a BFF. He did many jobs so that he can pay for college on his own, despite his father is a college professor who could easily pay for his tuition, very impressive responsibility as a mere high school boy. 

He is also good at cooking and helps with house work, yeah husband material. Even he’s always tease his little sister Sakura but that nothing to do with me ;p Well, his caring for family is the best clue for being a potential future husband and father.

3. Karasuma Tadaomi @ Assassination Classroom (VA Sugita Tomokazu 😍)

Who wouldn’t fall for this super cool badass fighter? He’s an elite agent sent from Japan's Ministry of Defense to supervise Koro-sensei. 

Karasuma is a strict but kind man, though he keeps a distance between himself and the students due to his status as an agent and his own professionalism. He is also extremely dense when it comes to love, but isn't so oblivious that he doesn't figure it out eventually. Even though he comes off as distant, he's not completely devoid of emotion and seems to be able to express happiness very rarely; most notably, during violent situations.

Judging from how he taught his students as the physical education teacher in Class 3-E, he must be a strict dad who raise his kids to be a strong fighter both physically and mentally. He is a perfect husbando for waifu who need someone to keep her on her toes. His love life is hilarious and interesting bc his waifu is a b*tch. Well, if you watch this anime you’d know what i mean 😉 Hush hush... I bet he is definitely a wild beast on bed, fu fu 😉

P.S. Let me clear this, I’m not that b*tch but I still need him bc it’s thrill for having such a cool & elite agent as a husbando.

2. Yanagi Kazuma @ Kaze no Stigma (VA Ono Daisuke 😍)

Due to his family circumstance and ex-lover’s tragedy, he has become too powerful and overprotective in an effort to be able to protect those important to him and not to lose them again. Even Kazuma shows his arrogance and egotistic side most of the time, he'll protect people who are naturally weak and have no chance of becoming stronger.

He is a snarky sarcastic and anti-social, rarely interacts with others unless business is involved. But he’s very caring and protect his beloved Ayano and his little brother Ren. He can do house chores and cooking. When he fell in love he’ll be unbelievably sweet and gentle yet still be a big tease making Ayano (and me) doki doki occasionally; e.g. licking a splashed wine on her cheek saying it’s a waste if he don’t drink it, kissing her hair when he confess to her. When he kissed her neck and said “You better get ready because I’m selfish and have a strong desire” I was melted ☺️☺️☺️

P.S. When I finished watching this anime and found out season 2 never come bc the writer had died since 2009 I cried like my own relative died 😭😭

1. Usui Takumi @ Kaichou wa Maid-sama (VA Okamoto Nobuhiko 😍)

You couldn’t count yourself an 2D otaku in Shoujou-Otome line if you don’t know him, he is a LEGENDARY HUSBANDO for Shoujou manga and anime.

He is everything as an ideal husbando for me, looks, brain and talent at everything. Playful but not wishy-washy. Flirt but not creepy. Devoted but not possessed. Helped but not spoiled. These traits also very like Masamune Ikesen too. Despite having dark past about their own families, Usui didn’t strong and friendly as Masamune, well, he’s just a normal high school boy after all 😉

But in manga, he eventually grown up to be a great doctor and also an amazing husbando who let his waifu living apart for a sake of her dream job.... such a board-mind and patient husbando 😊

Otoge Husbando

5. Kirishima Kaoru @ Our 2 Bedrooms Story by Voltage

This aloof, cool, talent editor is MC coworker who emit an aura of “leave me alone” but actually kind & gentle and very cuddle when you’re in relationship like Ieyasu but he’s a straightforward type and isn’t sarcastic or snarky at all.

His stories weren’t exciting or twist like the others but very real and relax.. his coolly cuteness and kindness somehow made me calm, like laying in a corridor under warm sunshine after the battles with all tough guys 😆

Now it’s Wedding Season already and I’m the most lucky bride in the world😊

4. Soryu Oh @ Kissed by the Baddest Bidders by Voltage

Head of Hong Kong’s Mafia who scared everyone away with his scary & cold  vibe but love omrice 😆 Hate women bc they’re reek of perfume and only chase after the rich. Anyway he is a gentleman and the only bidder who treat MC as a human being and protected her from any harms.

When you captivated his heart, he’d turned to be a doting BF who protect you with his life. Even he’s a man with a few word but his expression for love is so deep and intense. On bed? also a sexy beast 😆😆 A special story “Happy Family with Him” also show how wonderful he was as a father.

Now we’ve married and live a happily in NY season 5th already 😊

3. Okochi Minato @ Our 2 Bedrooms Story by Voltage

An ace senior editor of a big shot publisher who is arrogant, big tease and tsundere but his sexy & sweet side made me melt. He is such an sharp-tongue alfa-dog who always mocked MC as a Pomeranian but bickering with him is so much fun. Even he is a super self-confident but he secretly worked out bc he wanted to impress MC with his well toned body when they xxx ☺️ yeah... he’s a bit... horny sexy beast ☺️😆

Even he’s hopeless around the house to the point he could literally explode the kitchen but he tried hard to cook for his beloved fiancée by joining cooking lessons. He always be there to help MC for both work and personal life and also let MC helped him occasionally.

Now it’s Wedding Season 💒 already and I’m so happy with him 😊

2. Oda Nobunaga @ Ikemen Sengoku by Cybrid (VA Sugita Tomokazu 😍)

The tyrant Demon King and a dutiful BF who has an unbearable cute side I couldn’t resist. He called emergency war room to consult how to improve his GF’s mood after 3 days Silence Treat 😆 He was jealous of his own bear avatar 😊 He love Kompeito and secretly(?) steal it from his own kitchen every night😆, etc. So damn sexy and alluring, got me every event, couldn’t keep calm around him. I’ve a bunch of arrogant, intelligent, rich and powerful husbando but no one is as charming as him... srsly.

He’s sweet and kind...when he want to be 😆 An open-mind husbando who is enthusiasm  to learn new things. Also such a dutiful dad who’d read a bedtime stories for his kids every night 😊

1. Date Masamune @ Ikemen Sengoku by Cybrid (VA Katou Kazuki 😍)

Since I played his routes both Dramatic and Romantic in row on last X’mas, I fell hard for this playful dragon and he has been my no.1 since then. Who could refuse he possess a super husband material? Here, here here and here.

[cocuzzo]

My father was born to be a rock star, but instead of picking up a guitar, he climbed onto a bicycle. “He’s the kind of cyclist you hate,” my mom tells people, laughing. At 64 years old, Dad still commutes to work through the city on a brakeless fixed-gear, weaving through traffic, flipping people off, and occasionally spitting on the windshields of anyone unlucky enough to cut him off. His riding style has deep roots; over the years, he’s been hit 19 times. That’s no exaggeration: Fourteen of the crashes were with cars, three were with trucks, and two were city buses. After one of these accidents, my mother called me into his hospital room. “You have to talk to him,” she said to me behind the curtain. “He can’t go on like this.”

Sitting on the end of his hospital bed, I made my case. I told him that he had a responsibility to our family to not end up a vegetable, or worse, a ghost bike on the corner of some cold city street. He heard me out and nodded, but I knew nothing was really going to change. Dad depends on the bike for his sanity. His commuting is less about getting to work than it is about the adrenaline rush of running with the bulls. He doesn’t drink, smoke, or eat meat; the high of the ride is what my father lives for. “I live in the big ring,” he likes to say. Taking that away from him, or ratcheting his riding down by even a pedal stroke, would only make him—and everyone around him—absolutely miserable.

Unfortunately, Dad’s riding philosophy didn’t always carry over into his parenting style. He did everything in his power to keep us safe, which sometimes meant showing up to extract me if I was out past curfew. Our family did things his way, with very few objections. If we got lost driving, the car would turn into a ticking time bomb. Throw in a little traffic, and Dad would launch into a string of expletives that could make my eardrums clench. My palms sweat just thinking about it now.

Cycling always calmed the seas between us. He taught me how to ride at an early age—straight to two wheels as I recall—and eventually presented me with my own fixie (complete with a front brake). On a bike he brought me into his world, whisking me with him through the city traffic like a trained assassin. I relished every second of it. No matter where my travels took me after I moved out of my parents’ house, I could always count on getting a spin in with my dad when I came home.

Then a year ago, my grandfather fell ill. In a matter of months, he went from an able-bodied giant who painted his own house at the age of 84, to a frail old man who could barely make it to the bathroom. It seemed to happen overnight.

Although he never said a word about it, my dad seemed unable to accept my grandfather’s decline. When discussions veered to end-of-life care, Dad let my mom speak for him, retreating to his bike. Perhaps he feared that acknowledging my grandfather’s mortality would force him to look down at his own place on life's escalator. Maybe he couldn’t accept that no matter how hard he pedaled, no matter how many crashes he miraculously walked away from, Dad couldn’t turn back the clock—mortality would always be out of his control.

Dad’s thinking wasn’t far from my own. For most of my life, I had thought of him in Hunter S. Thompson’s own terms: too weird to live, and too rare to die. But the reality was that our days together were, and had always been, numbered. Like all fathers and sons, we only had so many more adventures, so many more rides, so many more memories we could make together.

That’s what gave me the idea to go to Italy.

Despite how adventurous he is on a bike, Dad isn’t much of a traveler. He has a phobia of flying, and the last time he left the country, Reagan was in office. Yet Dad always fantasized about traveling to Italy to visit the tiny village of San Donato, his grandfather’s birthplace. His father, who was now in hospice care, never got the chance to visit the village, and it was one of his biggest regrets.

“Let’s do it, Dad,” I said to him over the phone. “We’ll go in honor of Papa.”

Once when I was young, maybe 12 years old, my dad and I spotted a bunch of college kids jumping off an old railroad bridge into Cape Cod Canal. “Let’s do it, Dad,” I said, half kidding. The next thing I knew I was staring down 30 feet to the water, imagining my gruesome landing in the shallows. “You got this!” Dad yelled up.

Some twenty years later, he was still game to take another plunge. We each loaded a backpack with one change of clothes, one cycling kit, two pairs of socks, sneakers, and emergency sleeping bags, and then boarded a flight to Florence. The plan: rent bikes and ride to San Donato, some 425 miles away.

“There. Route 22 takes us right into Siena,” Dad said, dragging a sweaty finger down the map we had pocketed earlier at the bike shop in Florence. “It’s a straight shot.”

It was somewhere before the last climb on our first day, and we’d already gone off course. I didn’t dare tell him that we were lost.

“Yeah, I see that,” I said. “But my route has us going 408 and then connecting with 22 right before Siena.” Dad scanned the map.

“That’s going to add another 20 miles,” he said. “What, are you taking us the scenic route?”

“Exactly,” I shot back.

We were hot, tired, and dehydrated. I could smell the fumes of frustration building in the air, and braced for my father to boil over. A day earlier, Dad had been dropped in a foreign land, far away from the routes where he knew every pothole by heart. I could see him grasping for some sense of control and security, and worried that the abrupt detachment of being abroad might break him. Instead, he folded up the map and slid it into his back pocket. He threw his leg over his bike, squeezed a long drink from his water bottle, and flashed me a crazy grin. “Ready?”

With that, our roles suddenly shifted. After decades of protecting me and commanding the lead—through city traffic, off railroad bridges, through the course of my life—my dad was turning over control to me. Now I was his sense of security. “Let’s do it,” I said.

Each day we ground slowly and steadily up thousands of vertical feet. We broke 6,000 feet over the 52 miles from Florence to Siena, then another 6,770 the following day en route to San Casciano dei Bagni, a third-century stone village overlooking Tuscany. Occasionally the climbs pitched at a torturous 20 degrees. With my heart punching my ribcage like a speed bag, I worried that one of these climbs could actually kill my father. (I wondered how much a good urn costs in Italy.)

“How you doing, Dad?” I asked over my shoulder on a particularly cruel climb.

“Good...man.” I heard, between breaths.

Cresting the top of the climb, I kicked out of my pedals and waited for him. He pulled up to me like a beaten stray dog.

“Well that sucked,” I said.

“Brutal,” he laughed. “Even my eyebrows hurt.”

Yet somehow Dad seemed to get stronger with each day. Meanwhile, my body began to break down. I was hauling a 20-pound bag off my seatpost, which forced me to climb each hill from the seated position or risk tipping. As the trip wore on, my knee began screaming with every pedal stroke. I gobbled ibuprofen like Skittles, but nothing dulled the bone-on-bone torture. Doubt crept in, and I began to play out a scene in my head: unclipping and telling my dad I couldn’t go on.

“No, you got this buddy, you got this,” I kept telling myself. “You got this buddy, you got this.”

“What?” my dad asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” I mumbled.

The agony raging in my knee paled in comparison to the mental torture of letting my dad down. He had turned the trip over to me and now I was thinking about quitting.

When the situation couldn’t possibly get more desperate, it did. The cable to my back derailleur snapped like a severed tendon and got sucked into the bike’s frame. We were 40 miles into an 82-mile day, with the crux climb of more than 6,000 feet looming ahead of us. My knee was throbbing, and now I had lost my ability to shift.

We pulled to the side of the road. Dad and I flipped the bike. We studied the frayed cable for a long time in silence. We were in the middle of nowhere, and he was thinking what I was thinking: This is where the trip ends. There were forty miles of steep climbs ahead of us, and my bike was stuck in the big ring. It was impossible.

When I was a senior in college, Dad moved me into my house off campus on a frigid fall morning. We strapped a mattress to the roof of his car and set off on the hour-long ride. About halfway through the trip, a loud thud began echoing through the car. One of the ties had come free, and the mattress was flapping in the wind. But instead of pulling over and refastening the ties like reasonable people, Dad and I just rolled down our windows and held the mattress by hand for the next 30 minutes in the biting cold.

I learned a defining lesson that morning. For better or for worse, my father and I share a rationale that is one part fiendishness and one part raw will. If the solution comes down to a matter of suffering, nothing is impossible.

“I have an idea,” he said, perking up. “If we can get it in the easiest ring, you can climb the hills and then coast the rest.”

“Basically make it a singlespeed?”

“Exactly.”

He popped the spring out from the derailleur with a hex wrench. “Spin that,” he said. I cranked the pedal by hand while he manually shifted the gears until it was in the easiest ring.

“There,” he said, wiping his greasy fingers on his jersey.

I flipped the bike and reassessed: I now had one gear, one good leg, and one long-ass day ahead of me, but my attitude had shifted. Our hands were holding the mattress again, and we weren’t letting go no matter how cold it got. I threw my aching leg over the bike, squeezed a long sip of water into my mouth and shot him a grin.

“Ready?”

“Let’s do it,” he said.

One night during the trip, I received a text message from my mom, asking if we could call my grandfather. His condition had worsened and she was worried that we wouldn’t get back in time to see him. Dad had tears in his eyes as he spoke to his father 4,000 miles away. “I love you, Dad,” he said meekly, before turning the phone over to me. Papa’s voice was weak. “Are you taking care of your father?” he asked.

“We’re taking care of each other, Papa.”

Finally, after nearly two weeks of filling our jersey pockets with candy wrappers, emptying bottle after water bottle, and soaking in the Italian countryside, the village came into view. Nestled in the mountains of Abruzzo National Park, San Donato looked more magical than I’d ever dared imagine. A ray of sun pierced through the clouds and coated the village in a light that I can only describe as providential.

As we neared the town, I told Dad to take the lead so that I could take photos of him approaching.

“No,” he said abruptly. “I want you to lead us in.”

I pushed forward and the street narrowed into the grip of ancient buildings, leading me to the city center. Old men sat in the piazza, drinking cappuccino and smoking cigarettes. I coasted past them towards a tall stone monument in the center, erected in memory of those lost in World War II. As I clipped out of my pedals to get a better look, I spotted it, right at the top. A lump lodged in my throat. I waited for my dad to pull up alongside me. "Look," I said, nodding upwards.

He narrowed his eyes on the monument and immediately welled up into tears. We stood there silently, reading our last name in the stone. “You’re the best,” Dad said, his voice trembling. He pulled me in for a hug.

As I’d become aware that my grandfather was nearing the end of his road, I’d prodded him for words of wisdom. I was hoping that he would bestow some life lessons that he’d amassed over his 86 years. But no matter how I asked the question, it always came back to one simple answer: Family. Keep the family together.

I now understood more clearly what he meant. Family can seem like a foregone conclusion. Something that you’re just born into and accept as your reality. But that’s really just about genes and blood ties. True family takes time and effort to nurture. It’s about getting lost and pulling together, instead of being pulled apart. As with many lessons in my life, and that of my father’s, it took a long bike ride for us remember that for our family to stay balanced, we have to keep on pedaling.

Published by Bicycling Magazine here

[robertcocuzzo]

My father was born to be a rock star, but instead of picking up a guitar, he climbed onto a bicycle. “He’s the kind of cyclist you hate,” my mom tells people, laughing. At 64 years old, Dad still commutes to work through the city on a brakeless fixed-gear, weaving through traffic, flipping people off, and occasionally spitting on the windshields of anyone unlucky enough to cut him off. His riding style has deep roots; over the years, he’s been hit 19 times. That’s no exaggeration: Fourteen of the crashes were with cars, three were with trucks, and two were city buses. After one of these accidents, my mother called me into his hospital room. “You have to talk to him,” she said to me behind the curtain. “He can’t go on like this.”

Sitting on the end of his hospital bed, I made my case. I told him that he had a responsibility to our family to not end up a vegetable, or worse, a ghost bike on the corner of some cold city street. He heard me out and nodded, but I knew nothing was really going to change. Dad depends on the bike for his sanity. His commuting is less about getting to work than it is about the adrenaline rush of running with the bulls. He doesn’t drink, smoke, or eat meat; the high of the ride is what my father lives for. “I live in the big ring,” he likes to say. Taking that away from him, or ratcheting his riding down by even a pedal stroke, would only make him—and everyone around him—absolutely miserable.

Unfortunately, Dad’s riding philosophy didn’t always carry over into his parenting style. He did everything in his power to keep us safe, which sometimes meant showing up to extract me if I was out past curfew. Our family did things his way, with very few objections. If we got lost driving, the car would turn into a ticking time bomb. Throw in a little traffic, and Dad would launch into a string of expletives that could make my eardrums clench. My palms sweat just thinking about it now.

Cycling always calmed the seas between us. He taught me how to ride at an early age—straight to two wheels as I recall—and eventually presented me with my own fixie (complete with a front brake). On a bike he brought me into his world, whisking me with him through the city traffic like a trained assassin. I relished every second of it. No matter where my travels took me after I moved out of my parents’ house, I could always count on getting a spin in with my dad when I came home.

Then a year ago, my grandfather fell ill. In a matter of months, he went from an able-bodied giant who painted his own house at the age of 84, to a frail old man who could barely make it to the bathroom. It seemed to happen overnight.

Although he never said a word about it, my dad seemed unable to accept my grandfather’s decline. When discussions veered to end-of-life care, Dad let my mom speak for him, retreating to his bike. Perhaps he feared that acknowledging my grandfather’s mortality would force him to look down at his own place on life's escalator. Maybe he couldn’t accept that no matter how hard he pedaled, no matter how many crashes he miraculously walked away from, Dad couldn’t turn back the clock—mortality would always be out of his control.

Dad’s thinking wasn’t far from my own. For most of my life, I had thought of him in Hunter S. Thompson’s own terms: too weird to live, and too rare to die. But the reality was that our days together were, and had always been, numbered. Like all fathers and sons, we only had so many more adventures, so many more rides, so many more memories we could make together.

That’s what gave me the idea to go to Italy.

Despite how adventurous he is on a bike, Dad isn’t much of a traveler. He has a phobia of flying, and the last time he left the country, Reagan was in office. Yet Dad always fantasized about traveling to Italy to visit the tiny village of San Donato, his grandfather’s birthplace. His father, who was now in hospice care, never got the chance to visit the village, and it was one of his biggest regrets.

“Let’s do it, Dad,” I said to him over the phone. “We’ll go in honor of Papa.”

Once when I was young, maybe 12 years old, my dad and I spotted a bunch of college kids jumping off an old railroad bridge into Cape Cod Canal. “Let’s do it, Dad,” I said, half kidding. The next thing I knew I was staring down 30 feet to the water, imagining my gruesome landing in the shallows. “You got this!” Dad yelled up.

Some twenty years later, he was still game to take another plunge. We each loaded a backpack with one change of clothes, one cycling kit, two pairs of socks, sneakers, and emergency sleeping bags, and then boarded a flight to Florence. The plan: rent bikes and ride to San Donato, some 425 miles away.

“There. Route 22 takes us right into Siena,” Dad said, dragging a sweaty finger down the map we had pocketed earlier at the bike shop in Florence. “It’s a straight shot.”

It was somewhere before the last climb on our first day, and we’d already gone off course. I didn’t dare tell him that we were lost.

“Yeah, I see that,” I said. “But my route has us going 408 and then connecting with 22 right before Siena.” Dad scanned the map.

“That’s going to add another 20 miles,” he said. “What, are you taking us the scenic route?”

“Exactly,” I shot back.

We were hot, tired, and dehydrated. I could smell the fumes of frustration building in the air, and braced for my father to boil over. A day earlier, Dad had been dropped in a foreign land, far away from the routes where he knew every pothole by heart. I could see him grasping for some sense of control and security, and worried that the abrupt detachment of being abroad might break him. Instead, he folded up the map and slid it into his back pocket. He threw his leg over his bike, squeezed a long drink from his water bottle, and flashed me a crazy grin. “Ready?”

With that, our roles suddenly shifted. After decades of protecting me and commanding the lead—through city traffic, off railroad bridges, through the course of my life—my dad was turning over control to me. Now I was his sense of security. “Let’s do it,” I said.

Each day we ground slowly and steadily up thousands of vertical feet. We broke 6,000 feet over the 52 miles from Florence to Siena, then another 6,770 the following day en route to San Casciano dei Bagni, a third-century stone village overlooking Tuscany. Occasionally the climbs pitched at a torturous 20 degrees. With my heart punching my ribcage like a speed bag, I worried that one of these climbs could actually kill my father. (I wondered how much a good urn costs in Italy.)

“How you doing, Dad?” I asked over my shoulder on a particularly cruel climb.

“Good...man.” I heard, between breaths.

Cresting the top of the climb, I kicked out of my pedals and waited for him. He pulled up to me like a beaten stray dog.

“Well that sucked,” I said.

“Brutal,” he laughed. “Even my eyebrows hurt.”

Yet somehow Dad seemed to get stronger with each day. Meanwhile, my body began to break down. I was hauling a 20-pound bag off my seatpost, which forced me to climb each hill from the seated position or risk tipping. As the trip wore on, my knee began screaming with every pedal stroke. I gobbled ibuprofen like Skittles, but nothing dulled the bone-on-bone torture. Doubt crept in, and I began to play out a scene in my head: unclipping and telling my dad I couldn’t go on.

“No, you got this buddy, you got this,” I kept telling myself. “You got this buddy, you got this.”

“What?” my dad asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” I mumbled.

The agony raging in my knee paled in comparison to the mental torture of letting my dad down. He had turned the trip over to me and now I was thinking about quitting.

When the situation couldn’t possibly get more desperate, it did. The cable to my back derailleur snapped like a severed tendon and got sucked into the bike’s frame. We were 40 miles into an 82-mile day, with the crux climb of more than 6,000 feet looming ahead of us. My knee was throbbing, and now I had lost my ability to shift.

We pulled to the side of the road. Dad and I flipped the bike. We studied the frayed cable for a long time in silence. We were in the middle of nowhere, and he was thinking what I was thinking: This is where the trip ends. There were forty miles of steep climbs ahead of us, and my bike was stuck in the big ring. It was impossible.

When I was a senior in college, Dad moved me into my house off campus on a frigid fall morning. We strapped a mattress to the roof of his car and set off on the hour-long ride. About halfway through the trip, a loud thud began echoing through the car. One of the ties had come free, and the mattress was flapping in the wind. But instead of pulling over and refastening the ties like reasonable people, Dad and I just rolled down our windows and held the mattress by hand for the next 30 minutes in the biting cold.

I learned a defining lesson that morning. For better or for worse, my father and I share a rationale that is one part fiendishness and one part raw will. If the solution comes down to a matter of suffering, nothing is impossible.

“I have an idea,” he said, perking up. “If we can get it in the easiest ring, you can climb the hills and then coast the rest.”

“Basically make it a singlespeed?”

“Exactly.”

He popped the spring out from the derailleur with a hex wrench. “Spin that,” he said. I cranked the pedal by hand while he manually shifted the gears until it was in the easiest ring.

“There,” he said, wiping his greasy fingers on his jersey.

I flipped the bike and reassessed: I now had one gear, one good leg, and one long-ass day ahead of me, but my attitude had shifted. Our hands were holding the mattress again, and we weren’t letting go no matter how cold it got. I threw my aching leg over the bike, squeezed a long sip of water into my mouth and shot him a grin.

“Ready?”

“Let’s do it,” he said.

One night during the trip, I received a text message from my mom, asking if we could call my grandfather. His condition had worsened and she was worried that we wouldn’t get back in time to see him. Dad had tears in his eyes as he spoke to his father 4,000 miles away. “I love you, Dad,” he said meekly, before turning the phone over to me. Papa’s voice was weak. “Are you taking care of your father?” he asked.

“We’re taking care of each other, Papa.”

Finally, after nearly two weeks of filling our jersey pockets with candy wrappers, emptying bottle after water bottle, and soaking in the Italian countryside, the village came into view. Nestled in the mountains of Abruzzo National Park, San Donato looked more magical than I’d ever dared imagine. A ray of sun pierced through the clouds and coated the village in a light that I can only describe as providential.

As we neared the town, I told Dad to take the lead so that I could take photos of him approaching.

“No,” he said abruptly. “I want you to lead us in.”

I pushed forward and the street narrowed into the grip of ancient buildings, leading me to the city center. Old men sat in the piazza, drinking cappuccino and smoking cigarettes. I coasted past them towards a tall stone monument in the center, erected in memory of those lost in World War II. As I clipped out of my pedals to get a better look, I spotted it, right at the top. A lump lodged in my throat. I waited for my dad to pull up alongside me. "Look," I said, nodding upwards.

He narrowed his eyes on the monument and immediately welled up into tears. We stood there silently, reading our last name in the stone. “You’re the best,” Dad said, his voice trembling. He pulled me in for a hug.

As I’d become aware that my grandfather was nearing the end of his road, I’d prodded him for words of wisdom. I was hoping that he would bestow some life lessons that he’d amassed over his 86 years. But no matter how I asked the question, it always came back to one simple answer: Family. Keep the family together.

I now understood more clearly what he meant. Family can seem like a foregone conclusion. Something that you’re just born into and accept as your reality. But that’s really just about genes and blood ties. True family takes time and effort to nurture. It’s about getting lost and pulling together, instead of being pulled apart. As with many lessons in my life, and that of my father’s, it took a long bike ride for us remember that for our family to stay balanced, we have to keep on pedaling.

Originally published on Bicycle.com