#(it would be cool if it became a bestseller but... oh well)

[topsyturvy-turtely]

promise to myself: one day i'll publish a book

add yours!!!

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

���C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[ladyanput]

Ah lee lee, my favourite internet cousin I need a fic saltier than the Dead Sea Alya salt (in the Daminette universe uwu) maybe at a high school reunion? Or seeing the couple on TV OR she accuses marinette of sleeping with Damian just to get jumpstart her career (she says this on Twitter) and a lot of people are like ‘hmmm ok, sure honey’

I'm in the mood for salt tonight, so let's work on this one, from my favourite cousin.

---

A high school reunion was always an interesting affair. Some people didn't show up because they hated high school, thinking it's hell incarnate and never want to revisit it again. Some go just to catch up and see how old friends are doing.

But, honestly, most go and show off how successful they are in life, trying to be the best amongst their peers.

At least, that was the case, many noticed, for Miss Bustier's former class. Many people who had been in the same year at them stared as they entered, greeting their former classmates loudly and bragging about their accomplishments.

But anyone could see most of them were blowing smoke. They all knew the stories from forever ago, it had been a running gag for many of the students at DuPont.

Lila Rossi told someone that she'd get you in contact with someone in the industry to planned on entering, when you heard nothing, she'd feign that they were busy or some bullshit like that, then when you didn't get the job or internship because you didn't bother even applying, thanks to you being gullible enough to believe Lila's lies, she'd go about convincing you that the company or whatever was too blind to see how amazing you were, and that you deserved better.

It was a cycle. And it was hilarious because now most of that former class were at low end jobs. Kim wasn't the Olympic swimmer he had dreamt of being; instead he taught swimming lessons at the local pool. Max never became the scientific genius he thought he would be, no,he worked at the school as a tech teacher. Most of that class were in the same scenario, save for the people who hadn't listened to Lila's bullshit. Juleka was a famous model, her wife Rose was the lead spokesperson in a field dedicating to taking care of and curing sick children. Nathaniel and his husband Marc had a bestselling comic book series.

Even Nino made a decent living, working as a DJ and a an upcoming director.

When Lila arrived along with Alya in a stretch limousine, everyone watching pitifully as Lila's followers from high school quickly grovelled to her, as she went on about marrying Damian Wayne, everyone knowing he had a wife, but the wedding had been so private, rarely anyone knew who she was.

"My dearest Dami would be here, but he's away in Japan right now, an important contract for Wayne Enterprises needed some of his expertise." Lila went on to say. She had her signature hair style still, making many grimace at the sight of it.

"But you promise that I can still interview him,right?" Alya spoke up, the past ten years having been the hardest on her. She had gained weight, mostly around her middle. She was squinting, as she had abandoned her glasses, due to Lila saying real reporters never wore glasses, as many people found people without them more appealing, there for more willing for an interview, but Alya couldn't afford contacts, so she was stubborn with being basically blind. And she dyed her hair blonde.

Enough said.

But there was one person they were eagerly waiting to see. And when she arrived, she didn't disappoint in the least.

Marinette strode into the gymnasium, looking as stunning as she always had been. Her dark hair had been grown out, framing her beautiful face, her trim body clad in a dress of pale pink, one of the newest designs from her latest fashion line.

And the man on her arm made many men and women stare in envy. Tall, dark, handsome, he reminded them all of a dark prince, with his muscular build and piercing green eyes.

"Is that Marinette?" Someone asked rather loudly, drawing everyone's attention from Lila's wildest tale and to the lovely designer as she strode in with her husband.

"Marinette, how was Taiwan?" Juleka spoke up, smiling as she and Rose strode over to greet the couple, Nino, Marc, and Nathaniel quickly joining them.

"It was lovely. I'd like to thank you again, for being able to model for me last week, you were a lifesaver." Marinette giggled softly, pulling Juleka in a tight hug.

Alya crossed her arms, scowling as practically everyone swarmed Marinette and the man she came with. She couldn't help but feel envious at the sight of Marinette, looking so beautiful and well put together.

Lila wasn't doing much better, wishing with every fiber of her being that she was basking in that attention.

"Who is this with you, Marinette?" Alya strode up, her hand always slipping into her purse, reaching for her cell phone. "A man you had to blackmail into marrying you? I feel sorry for him."

"... Is she serious?" Marc's brows shot up, sharing a bewildered look with his husband.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Damian, Damian Wayne." Damian smiled cooly towards Alya and Lila, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "You must be the undesirables my wife had to deal with during her time here, aren't you?"

"... Nice try, Marinette. Seriously? Hiring a guy to pretend to be Damian Wayne? You're so pathetic, Lila is married to Damian, if you bothered even to check your facts." Alya snorted, crossing her arms as she glared at Mari, scowling again. "You've ruined enough lives already, you ruined mine and Nino's relationship, so you can just fuck off and go home. No one wants you here."

Damian stepped forward, cold fury written clearly on his face, but Marinette's gentle touch on his shoulder stopped him. She merely put on a kind smile and stepped around her husband.

"You're still believing her lies, Alya? All of you still are? That's pretty pathetic, if I'm being honest." Mari's smile sharpened a bit as she crossed her arms, her blue eyes alight with fire. A fire no one had known was there. "You're the biggest hypocrite I know, Alya, as you've never checked a fact in your life. You tend to jump to conclusions before getting all of the facts in the first place. That's what ruined your relationships, I didn't think of you once for the past ten years."

"You don't need to talk to Alya like that, Marinette! You're still the biggest bully ever!" Lila sobbed, wiping away her tears. "Wait until my Damibear hears about this! We'll sue, ruin that tacky brand of yours."

"Highly unlikely." Damian stepped forward, his expression morphing into one of cool calm. Then a smirk twitched his lips. "At least I know who has been throwing around my name to get into places, or to get things for free. My lawyers will love to take care of the messes you've been causing me and my family."

"I beg your pardon?!" Lila felt the blood drain from her face, but she teared up, sniffling, desperate to keep her façade. "Damian, you've been cheating on me with Marinette, I was just trying to help you save face!"

"Oh give it up, Lie-la, no one is buying your bullshit." Chloé strode in, her hands gripping Kagami's and Luka's as they entered. She gave the liar a haughty look, diamonds dangling at her ears and her neck. "Except for Alya. But she must have one good barbed tongue, if you keep letting her kiss your ass and such for all of these years."

"Chloé! You fu-" Alya's face went red and she and Lila began advancing on the trio, but no one noticed as Rose 'spillt' her drink, causing both girls to slip and go stumbling. Juleka stuck out an elegant leg and Lila went tumbling back into the punch bowl, toppling it all over herself. The screech she let out was so satisfying.

Nino pretended to grab hold of Alya to steady her, but her hands 'slipped' from his grasp and she was sent falling onto the food table. A bit of revenge for her destroying his DJ equipment seven years ago, after their break up.

"I guess coming here wasn't a waste of our time afterall." Damian's rare smile appeared as he took his wife's hand and kissed her knuckles.

"I agree." Marinette giggled, ignoring the screaming coming from Alya and Lila. Instead, she turned to her friends. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, we're meeting Adrien and Tim after this, would you guys wanna join us for dinner at our home here in Paris?"

Alya felt hot tears of frustration as she glared at the blurry Marinette, grinding her teeth. That couldn't be Damian Wayne, Marinette couldn't be married to him! Because... Because that would have meant Lila had been lying. Lying about Marinette, lying about Nino cheating on her with multiple men and women, lying about Alya's chances with New York Times.

And Lila wouldn't lie to her, she just couldn't!

Alya felt the hot tears steam down her cheeks as Marinette and Damian walked off with their friends, looking so... So happy.

Something that she hadn't felt in such a long time.

Taglist:

Permanent: @vixen-uchiha @ravennightingaleandavatempus @2sunchild2 @crazylittlemunchkin @bee-wrecker @souleateralicestein @loysydark @kceedraws @realrandomposts @alienjoyful @f0xylegs

Salt: @virgil-is-a-cutie @sidessunnybumblebee @persephonebutkore @18-fandoms-unite-08 @suzen23smith @luciferge @theelventhgod @noirdots @space--butterflies @ghostglaceon @magicalfirebird @goggles-mcgee @chocolate1721 @minightrose @bookcrazybby @cupcakeandkisses @mewwitch

[paths-of-my-childhood-candid]

TAYLOR SWIFT: ‘I’ve always found romance in life’s small moments’

Photographs by Miller Mobley // Interview by Melody Chiu // People Magazine, Dec 16th 2019 issue

Shattering records with her euphoric new album Lover, the superstar is happier and more fearless than ever: ‘I’m always looking for a new challenge.’

It’s hard to believe Taylor Swift is turning 30. A decade ago she became the youngest person to take home the Album of the Year Grammy. Now the superstar, who celebrates her milestone birthday on Dec. 13, is breaking records - and her silence - like never before. Ahead of releasing her seventh studio album, Lover, in August, Swift took on her former record label Big Machine and its new owner Scooter Braun over the rights to her previous recordings. With the dawn of a new decade and an upcoming tour, Swift - who is happily three years into her relationship with actor Joe Alwyn - is as excited about her future as she is protective of her past. “This is the first time I’ve been able to put out music that I feel is connecting with people yet look back on everything I’ve made and feel a quiet sense of pride,” she says. “I’m proud of the things I’ve withstood, and I’ve been able to carve out a life for myself.”

You’ve had a lot of big years, but this one feels a little different. What does 2019 mean to you? This year feels more special to me than any year before it. A lot of people will tell you that when they had their breakthrough year, they weren’t able to enjoy it because they were hustling or stressed. 2009 was a breakthrough year for me in country, then 2014 was a big breakthrough year in pop. Fifteen years into doing this, being able to look around and acknowledge that it’s special, I’m really stoked this moment can happen when I’m 29. That’s one of the benefits of starting when you’re 12!

Lover comes not even two years after your prior album Reputation. Were you feeling creatively supercharged? I had this strange feeling of “I could write anything I want now.” There was so much theatricality in the darkness of Reputation. It was secretly a love story, but it was also filled with angst, rebellion and this vengeful taking back of your life. Lover ended up being the album [where I was no longer] answering to something. In the past I’ve definitely used my criticism as a jumping-off point for creativity. With Reputation I’d said everything I needed to say. I’d been tried in every possible way people could throw things at me, and I felt like now I just get to create.

You’ve been writing love songs since you were a teenager. What would 13-year-old Taylor say about Lover? This is the most I’ve ever leaned into who I really am. For this album I went through my old diaries as a kid. Looking back, I’ve always found romance in life’s small moments - tiny details that are beautiful about the human experience. Lover in a lot of ways is that.

You’re known for magnifying those little moments into a hit song, but do you feel more protective of yourself now? In this job people are constantly skeptical and evaluating whether you deserve to be there. There are tests every day, but I try to be susceptible to my feelings on it. I try to be resilient, but I don’t ever want to become closed off in a way that I can’t access sadness, loneliness, anxiety and despair. I personally feel like the best thing I have to offer is the music I write.

Your Change.org petition in support of the Equality Act (which prohibits discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity) has nearly 600,000 signatures, and your “You Need to Calm Down” music video, featuring many LGBTQ+ stars, has more than 164 million views. Is it gratifying to see these numbers after breaking your political silence? When you advocate for something, it has to be completely disconnected from what people say about you advocating for it. It should be removed from hard numbers. That being said, when numbers do come in that are promising and petitions are signed in the hundreds of thousands, it’s a good feeling. It reinforces your feeling that there is good in the world.

Has speaking out, whether about politics or owning the rights to all your songs before Lover, made you feel stronger at the end of the day? It makes me feel like my fans are able to know me more. What I believe in and what people know I believe in are aligned. That’s a great sense of relief. When Lover came out, it was this sense of being so thankful that after so long of being denied the rights to music that I made, I finally felt like I was in a place where I had aligned myself with generous people. The label that I’m at now, there’s not a single person in that sphere that wants to deny me of what I created. It’s nice to know I can say what I believe in and disconnect from if people don’t like that. And I can sleep really well at night.

How do you feel about your 30s? Really happy! There are certain parts of my brain that I don’t visit as often, like stressing out about my body, stressing out about being on trend, stressing out about people thinking I’m cool, stressing out about people thinking really anything about me. You have to toss out things that don’t serve you.

What’s the last great day off you had? Oh, yesterday was amazing. My friend Cazzie [David] came over, and we swam. My friends and their kids were staying with me, so I was playing with a 3- and a 5-year-old. Then I picked a paint color for my living room wall, which is really gonna warm up the whole vibe. My parents and my brother came over, and I cooked this whole dinner. Cooking, reading and seeing friends are things that make me feel like my life was never anything but normal, so I spend a lot of time doing those things. I just want to make sure I’m living my life in a way that makes me feel happy and fulfilled.

THE MOST INSPIRING WOMAN TO ME THIS YEAR: Whenever I feel stressy about things, I’ll just read some of Jameela Jamil’s quotes about body image and health.

WHAT I ’M LOOKING FORWARD TO MOST IN 2020: I’m really excited about customizing [my upcoming tour] Lover Fest. I’ve never really performed on that kind of stage since opening up for Tim McGraw and George Strait in 2007.

THE 2019 BOOK I DEVOURED: Demi Moore’s autobiography. I couldn’t put it down. She was punished ruthlessly for being the highest-paid actress, and I feel like finally she’s getting the last laugh.

A NEW THING I LEARNED THIS YEAR: I’m working my way through the Ottolenghi Simple cookbook. I recently made the chicken marbella.

The PEOPLE behind People

Deputy west coast news editor Melody Chiu first interviewed Taylor Swift before the release of 1989: “Sitting down with her five years later, Taylor was as generous as ever, and her unshakable confidence is inspiring.”

Dan Wakeford, People Magazine Editor in Chief: “Although she’s been a singer for more than 15 years, 2019 was arguably the year Taylor Swift found her voice. She stood up to protect her creative rights, spoke out for what she believed in and continued to produce music that showed wisdom and storytelling beyond her years - her album Lover became 2019’s bestselling record in just one week. Truly epic.”

Check out parts of the interview previously published online:

Inside Taylor Swift's Life-Changing Year: 'I'm Proud of the Things I've Withstood' - article

Taylor Swift Says She's Finally Aligned Herself with a 'Generous' Label Amid Feud with Big Machine - article

Taylor Swift Is Over 'Stressing Out' About Her Body as She Turns 30 - article

Taylor Swift Says Demi Moore Got Last Laugh After She Was 'Punished' for Being Highest-Paid Actress - article

[searchingwardrobes]

Priceless: 9/9

Here it is, finally, the long-promised happy ending! This chapter varies the most from the movie because I felt that it left a lot of questions unanswered. Mainly, how Joel Smallbone's character managed to avoid going to jail. I've also worked some canon CS into this chapter, which required changing things up.

Is Regina's legal strategy for Killian realistic? Well, I'll confess, I'm not a lawyer, but I figured if John Grisham can write a bestselling book that became a hit movie in which a main pleads not guilty to murdering his daughter's rapists in cold blood, in broad daylight, in a crowded courthouse, then I can damn well write this fic the way I want to.

Thanks once again to my beta @xhookswenchx​ for looking this over!

Summary: Summary: Desperate men often find themselves in places they never thought they would go, but for Killian Jones it would finally force him to be the hero his daughter always thought he could be. The job was simple: drive the truck, don’t open the back, don’t ask questions. But Killian Jones has never followed instructions very well …

An AU of the movie Priceless starring Joel Smallbone of For King and Country.

Rating: M for themes

Trigger warnings: This story is about human trafficking so there are discussions of rape and non-con, some of it involving minors. None of it is portrayed as positive nor is it graphically described. If you have any specific questions or concerns before reading, feel free to message me.

***But this chapter we finally leave all of that behind for the happy ending - whoop, whoop!***

Words: A little over 4k in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and a part of my series Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom-Com: 2nd Edition. This chapter ends that series! There’s also a First Edition.

Tagging: @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @thislassishooked​ @welllpthisishappening​ @bethacaciakay​ @teamhook​ @let-it-raines​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @shady-swan-jones​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @superchocovian​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @vvbooklady1256​ @tiganasummertree​ @nikkiemms​ @jennjenn615​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @shipsxahoy​ @cat-sophia​ @artistic-writer​ @thejacketandthehook​ @hollyethecurious​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @branlovestowrite​ @dassala​ @allofdafandoms-blog​ @snidgetsafan​ @pocket-anon​ @optomisticgirl​ @flslp87​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @courtorderedcake​ @distant-rose​ @lfh1226-linda​

Three Months Later . . .

My hands were sweating, and I wanted to rub them on my dress pants, but Regina was adamant that I wasn’t to show any signs of nerves today. Yesterday when Emma took the stand, I had been unable to keep the emotions at bay, especially when the DA cross examined her like she was a criminal and not a victim. Yet my bloody brilliant lass hadn’t let him rattle her for a second.

I knew what a gamble this all was - pleading “not guilty.” Yet Regina thought it was my best shot at avoiding prison, and even one day back in that place was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t be away from Alice again, and the sentence for pulling out a firearm in public was three months to a year plus a thousand dollar fine. Yet with my record, a judge could have levied an even harsher sentence if I pled guilty.

The DA was giving his closing arguments - a passionate speech about the dangers of vigilante justice and of the innocent lives that could have been lost. It sounded pretty convincing, even to me, and I worried that the jury was swallowing every bit of it. I glanced back at Liam, and he gave me the smallest of nods and smiled. Regina nudged me with her knee. Don’t look at your family and friends had been her other order, one I continuously had a difficult time obeying. Liam’s arm was still in a sling from the gunshot wound in his shoulder, and I knew he was sometimes still in pain. Yet here he was, supporting me. Elsa sat next to him, squeezing his hand comfortingly. They had both also taken the stand yesterday.

Once the DA took his seat, Regina Mills stood regally and smoothed her sensible business skirt. I had learned over the last few months that though she was no-nonsense and a bit snarky at times, she had a passion for justice and truth. The girls were in the US legally now because of her, with Anna enrolled in the local high school.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury,” Regina began, giving them a confident smile, “I ask you to contemplate something for a moment. Why is my client on trial? First of all, he didn’t even fire his gun. That violence occurred because of the criminals he was trying to thwart. So again I ask, why is he on trial? For ensuring that Robert Gold, the head of a massive human trafficking ring, is in jail? For helping the Nevada Bureau of Investigation bring down that ring? For saving the lives of three innocent women, one of them a minor? If that’s why he’s on trial, then I’m confused. Aren’t you? Didn’t he do all he could to do the right thing, even at risk to himself? Is this behavior our society should punish?”

Regina paced for a few moments, probably to give the jury time to mull over her questions. Then she drew closer to the jury box.

“The DA says my client is a vigilante. He says my client should have gone to the police, but my client DID go to the police! It ended up that the police were involved in the trafficking ring. What was my client supposed to do? He could have walked away. He could have forgotten all about these innocent victims. But he didn’t. Instead he did the same thing that many of our forefathers did during a different era of slavery. Just like those who worked the Underground Railroad, he broke the law. He broke the law to free slaves. He knew the risk he was taking, but he took it willingly to help the oppressed. Will you join him? Will you do your part to end slavery today? Will you stand up against even our own justice system that so often looks the other way? Stand up with my client. Find him not guilty. For he isn’t a criminal - he’s a hero. Thank you.”

Regina barely glanced my way as she sat, cool and composed. It was quite the speech, though I wasn’t sure I was as noble as she had led the jury to believe.

The jury filed out of the room to deliberate, and the rest of the courtroom was given a recess by the judge. David and Mary Margaret paid my bail when I was arrested, so I didn’t have to go back into custody. Instead, I embraced Emma and squeezed her hand as she smiled tremulously up at me. Liam came over and clapped me on the shoulder. Even Tiana had come all the way from New Orleans to support me. Mary Margaret was babysitting Alice, however. We didn’t want to expose her to the details of the trial.

“I don’t know why the jury even has to discuss anything,” Emma told me as she took both of my hands gently in hers.

“It was an amazing closing argument, Regina,” my brother said, squeezing my shoulder and beaming at Regina.

“Well, let’s not celebrate yet,” she cautioned, “you never know how a jury will go.”

“I thought you said this was my best chance!” I exclaimed.

Regina waved her hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, it is, but we discussed the risks, remember.”

“Way to build my confidence,” I grumbled.

“Hey, none of that,” Tiana admonished, placing a hand on my forearm, “everything Regina said is true. You deserve thanks, not punishment. Alice is so proud of you, and so am I.”

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat at her words. Tiana didn’t give forgiveness and second chances easily, and I was humbled to have received both from her in the past few months.

Emma still hadn’t released my hands. If anything, she was clasping them harder. I suddenly realized she was trembling.

“Emma?” I asked gently, tipping her chin up. I was alarmed to see that she was crying.

“If they send you to jail for this -”

“Hey, hey,” I soothed, bringing her closer and wrapping my arms around her, “it’s going to be alright. I’m a survivor, love.”

She turned her face into my chest, and I felt her tears wet the fabric of my shirt. I wished I could promise her that they wouldn’t find me guilty, but how could I? I pulled out a gun that I didn’t even have a permit for in a public park. A man died because of me. I may not have pulled the trigger that sent the bullet through Neal Cassidy’s heart, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a hand in his death.

Although I’d be lying if I said his death was heavy on my conscience. It wasn’t. I couldn’t muster a modicum of remorse for him. Emma was safe and alive, so was Elsa. We had gotten Anna out of there before her innocence was shattered forever. I would do it all again if I had to, even if I went to jail for the next three years. It would shatter my heart to be away from Alice, but at least I could look her in the eye without shame.

Much too soon, the jury filed back in, and the judge called for everyone to take their seats. I wanted to ask Regina if a short deliberation was good or bad, but my nerves were too on edge. I clasped my hands in my lap and stared at them, unable to gather enough courage to look at the jury.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have your honor.”

I held my breath.

“We the jury find the defendant . . . not guilty.”

Behind me, my friends and family cheered. I felt Liam’s good arm come roughly around my shoulders, and he shook me in an exuberant hug. Overcome, I lifted both my trembling hands to my face and couldn’t stop the tears of relief.

It was over. Finally.

On shaking legs, I rose and turned to those who had supported me so well throughout this entire nightmare. Emma let out a cry and flung herself into my arms, peppering my face with chaste kisses. I cupped the back of her head, threading my fingers through the strands of her ponytail. I was pulled from her arms, however, by first David, then Tiana, then Elsa. Even Regina embraced me. But my mind was never far from Emma and the future we could now have together.

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

I knocked on the door frame of Emma’s room at the Nolan’s, but she didn’t even turn to look my way. I hadn’t pursued anything more than friendship with her for the past three months. For one, I wanted her to heal from her trauma, and for another, I knew my future was uncertain. Even now, I didn’t want to rush her, but I also couldn’t hold back my feelings any longer. My love for her had only grown as she had supported me through the trial.

“Come in,” she said softly, her gaze focused on her hands clasped in her lap.

“What do you think?” I asked as I gently eased down on the bed next to her. She turned her face further away from me.

“I think it’s great.”

“Great? The Nolan’s are perfect for this kind of work, and so is this land.”

“It’s been nice of them to put us all up here.” She finally shifted towards me, yet her head was still down. “I think it’s time for me to move on, though.”

I frowned. “Move on? But didn’t you hear them? Didn’t you look at the plans? They plan on building two dormitories on the old grazing land,” I took Emma’s hand gently in mine and added softly, “and several family homes.”

“I know,” she told me, finally lifting her gaze to mine. Tears were welling up in her eyes, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“One of them will be Elsa and Liam’s, you know.”

Emma finally smiled. “Yes, I know. She loves him so much.”

“And he loves her,” I infused emotion into my voice and stroked Emma’s knuckles with my thumb, hoping she would catch my meaning.

She lowered her eyes again and stared at the motion of my thumb. “And Anna will be living here with the Nolans until she graduates at least.”

“Aye, as she should. The Nolans have been named her legal guardians, and it won’t surprise me if they adopt her.”

Only half of Emma’s lips turned up in a smile. “I’m so happy.”

“You don’t sound happy.” I lifted her chin so she would look at me again. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “My love,” I whispered, brushing at her tears with the pad of my thumb, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy for my sisters. Ever since this whole thing started, that’s been my only goal. Get them out, help them start over.” She took in a shaky breath, then let it out slowly, as if gathering her strength. “But it was never for me - starting over. It was too late for me; I’ve always known that. I don’t want their pity, or yours, so I think . . . I think it’s best that I move on. Find my own place.”

Her words were like a punch to the gut. I thought we had grown closer as the weeks had gone by; I thought she shared my feelings. Had I read her completely wrong?

“Emma, none of us pity you. Your sister’s love you. I love you.”

She rose from the bed and stepped away from me, hugging her middle. “I know you all do, and I appreciate all you’ve done -”

I cut her off, “I don’t think you understand me.” I rose and went to her, gently turning her to face me. “I love you Emma, with all my being - body and soul. My heart belongs to you Emma, and I want nothing more than to always, always be by your side.”

Her eyes widened, and she choked on a sob. I cupped her face in my hands and pressed my forehead to hers.

“You deserve so much more, Killian. You deserve a happy ending with Alice.”

“No, love, don’t you understand? It’s you, always you. There’s no happy ending without you as a part of our lives.”

I tried to pull her closer, wrap my arms around her, but she backed out of my embrace. “Killian,” she choked out, pressing her fist to her mouth, “I’m . . . I’m pregnant.”

Sobs overtook her body then, and she pressed her hands to her face. I deflated then, understanding flooding through me. I pulled her tenderly to me, letting her tears wet the front of my shirt as I stroked her hair.

“Regina thought it best I do a paternity test, just to be safe. It’s crazy, but . . . rapists can ask for custody rights.”

My jaw tightened so hard, I felt a headache radiate up to my temple. “Over my dead body,” I vowed.

“Don’t make threats like that, Killian Jones, they aren’t funny anymore.” She chuckled wryly, but I heard a hint of sincerity in her voice.

She stayed there in my arms, accepting my comfort, and I brushed my lips against her temple. She sighed in contentment and snuggled closer.

“It’s Neal’s,” she finally whispered.

Relief rushed through me. I had wondered where Regina would have found DNA samples. She must have suspected - hoped even - that Neal Cassidy was the father. There was no one to threaten Emma and the child, thank God. Emma let out a long, shuddering breath, then gently pushed me away from her. Unable to speak, she backed towards the door behind her, shaking her head. It suddenly dawned on me that this was about more than her pregnancy or even Neal.

“I understand. I can’t expect your love after what I did.”

At first, her brows knit together in confusion. Then she laughed sardonically. “We both think we’re not good enough. But Killian, you can’t possibly want this - want me.”

“There’s nothing in this world I want more than you! But if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation at all. You wouldn’t be in therapy for ptsd, you wouldn’t be carrying that bastard’s child. How can you ever want me, Emma?”

Her eyes widened at my words, her lips parted in wonder. The heaviness that had darkened her face for so many weeks, suddenly cleared. A single tear rolled down her face, but it was different than her previous ones. She crossed the gap between us and took my face gently in her hands. I closed my eyes in shame.

“Look at me,” she ordered in a soft voice, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. Her thumbs caressed my cheeks, and for the first time that day, she smiled. “Let’s say you didn’t take the job to drive that truck. We still would have been in it. You were meant to drive it, Killian.”

Now it was my turn to gaze at her in wonder. I let her words wash over me, the truth of them seeping into my soul. Emma rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. She pulled back, her smile brighter as she traced my jaw.

“Killian Jones, you’re so -”

“Handsome?” I interrupted her with a teasing smirk. “Especially when I’m angry?”

She swatted my chest gently and rolled her eyes. “How long are you gonna tease me about that?”

I pulled her close and wrapped her up in my arms. “If I have my way, for the rest of our lives.”

I bent my head, pressing my lips to hers for the first time. My heart nearly burst when she responded with urgency, parting her lips and dragging her fingers through my hair. I felt her tongue swipe against mine, and the taste of her nearly did me in. As much as I wanted to carry her to the bed and make love to her, I broke the kiss, wanting to cherish every step she allowed me to take in our relationship. I would let her take the lead. I rested my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling.

“I love you too, Killian.”

I thumbed her chin. “You are absolutely priceless, Emma.”

Three years later . . .

I saw the girl standing on the sidewalk, clad in a skin tight, animal print skirt. I motioned for Will to pull over, and I rolled my window down. She came closer, leaning against the open window to give me an ample view of her cleavage.

“Looking for some fun?” she asked me.

“I sure am,” I replied. I handed her a slip of paper. “Meet me here? Room 112?”

“I will for two hundred bucks, handsome,” she replied with an arch of her dark brows as she took the paper.

“Sounds good to me.”

She backed away from the cab, tucking the slip of paper into the dip of her low cut top and winked at me. I motioned for Will to drive on.

Fifteen minutes later, I was waiting in a dingy motel room when there was a knock at the door. The exotic brunette was on the other side, and I motioned her in. She retrieved a condom from her tiny purse, then tossed it on the room’s nightstand.

“Okay, what are you into?”

I gestured to the bed. “I’d like to just talk, if that’s okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “So you’re one of those. Whatever, it’s your money.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back seductively, crossing one long leg over the other.

I stepped to the door and opened it. I leaned out and called for Emma. When I ushered her into the hotel room, the girl’s eyes widened. She sat up abruptly and for the first time looked nervous.

“What the hell is this? If you want a threesome, you gotta pay extra!”

Emma shook her head as she sat down slowly on the opposite bed. I stayed near the door, which I left cracked open so the girl wouldn’t feel trapped.

“We don’t want anything like that,” Emma explained gently. “I only want to talk to you.”

The girl’s nerves only seemed to grow as her gaze bounced from Emma to me and back again. “Oh my God, are you two cops?”

“No,” we both assured her softly.

“Religious nuts?”

We both laughed and shook our heads.

“What’s your name?” Emma asked her.

The girl shifted nervously. “Jade.”

Emma shook her head gently. “What’s your real name?”

The girl bit her lower lip, but I noticed it tremble slightly nonetheless. “Jasmine.”

“They called me Swan, but my name is Emma.”

I watched Jasmine’s expression change as realization dawned. “No one’s making me do this,” she told Emma firmly.

“That doesn’t mean you chose it, though,” Emma said softly. “I mean, when you were a little girl, was this your dream?”

Jasmine’s head dropped and she clasped her hands together. “This world is no place for dreams.”

“There is hope, Jasmine, I promise,” Emma said. “Could I tell you a story?”

It was silent in the room for a long, pregnant moment. Finally, Jasmine raised her head to look Emma in the eye and then slowly nodded.

“I came to the US illegally. I trusted these men who said they would help me, but they lied. My sister’s and I were in the back of this truck. It was dark, and we were hungry and dirty . . . “ Emma turned to me and held out her hand. I took it and sank onto the hotel bed next to her. “Then the light flooded in . . . “

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

I was awakened by Emma’s cold feet sliding between my calves. My eyes fluttered open to find her nuzzled against me, her hair tickling my nose. I wrapped my arms more tightly around her and sighed in contentment. It had been another long Saturday night, but a satisfying one. Jasmine had come home with us, and Mary Margaret had wasted no time getting her settled in the women’s dormitory. Tiana had been alerted, and she would make sure Jasmine met with her for counseling over the next few days. Elsa and Liam had been less successful, unable to get two teenage girls off the streets. They were too afraid of what their pimps might do to them if they left. The work was never easy, and we had to focus on the positive or the enormity of it would become overwhelming.

One of the positives was here in my arms. I would never stop feeling awe over the gift of her love. My hand drifted down to rest upon the swell of her stomach. Emma hummed in contentment against my collarbone and pressed herself closer to me. My body responded to her as it always did, and I lowered my lips to her jaw. She gasped and tilted her head back to give my better access. Her fingers began to scratch at the nape of my neck.

“I’ve got morning breath,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Then I’ll kiss you in other places,” I teased.

She gave out a little mewling sound that made my body thrum even more. Her morning sickness had passed, and in her second trimester she had become a quivering mess of desire. She’d been the same with Henry.

Before our morning activities could go any farther, however, two small bodies hurled themselves onto the bed. Ten year old Alice, all gangly arms and legs, sent Emma and I sprawling apart as she wedged herself between us. Three year old Henry crawled over his mother, dragging his favorite stuffed bear behind him. Emma laughed and rolled over, cuddling Henry close.

“You two still don’t understand how late we have to work sometimes,” I grumbled.

Next to me, Emma only laughed more brightly as she tickled Henry’s tummy. The boy wriggled away, crawling over his big sister who complained loudly as she swatted at him, then straddled me and started bouncing as if I were a horse.

“But we’re supposed to go riding today, Papa,” Alice reminded me, “you promised.”

“She’s got you there,” Emma put in.

“Horsey, horsey, horsey!” Henry cheered, bouncing even more enthusiastically. “Horsey, Papa!”

“I didn’t mean in the morning,” I moaned.

“It isn’t morning,” Alice countered, “I just made me and Henry peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. It’s after noon already.”

Emma slid up against the headboard and opened her arms for Alice. The girl grinned and cuddled up next to her mother, a sight that would never fail to warm my heart. Emma ran her fingers through Alice’s hair while our daughter rested her hand against the swell of her mother’s stomach. Suddenly, Alice gasped.

“She kicked me!”

“She did!” Emma exulted, resting her hand next to Alice’s. “She must want to say hello to her big sister.”

Alice grinned and leaned over Emma’s stomach. “Hello, Hope, I can’t wait to meet you. We’ll have so much fun playing together.”

Emma’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she caught my gaze, but I knew they were happy ones. The same joy she felt was flooding my own heart. Our family came about in a crazy way, but we were more than blessed with what we’d built together.

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

Emma and I walked slowly across the grass, hand in hand. Ahead of us, Alice and Henry raced to the corral. They scrambled up the fence to lean forward and feed the horses carrots they had brought. Their Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa were on the other side to greet them, their two year old cousin Ian astride a dappled pony. The curly headed boy had a tiny helmet strapped to his head, making an absolutely adorable picture.

Next to me, Emma sighed in contentment as she wrapped her arms around my waist. I lowered my head to brush a kiss to her golden hair. The picture in front of us: our family, the horses, the mountains in the distance, and the bright spring sunshine filled my chest with unexplainable joy. I looked down into Emma’s face; her emerald eyes sparkling in the early afternoon light.

“I love you more than I could ever say,” she told me.

I turned her towards me and cupped her face in my hands. “Emma, you are more precious to me than all the treasure in this world. I have my happy ending now because of you.”

She shook her head gently. “That isn’t what this is.”

My brow furrowed. “It’s not?”

“It’s a happy beginning.”

I lowered my face to kiss her deeply, knowing down to my very soul the truth of her words.

[majicmarker]

why did you dislike 'the hating game?' (haven't read it; i'm just curious)

AAAUURGGHH okay. OKAY. it’s been a hot minute since i read it, so i’m going off strictly memory here — i am thinking of doing a reread, for the record, but chances are high that’s just going to remind me of/reinforce my initial bad impressions — BUT — 

(oh god, this became an essay so fast, but to be fair to myself i’m coming off a depressive episode and almost everything in this world pisses me off, so this is just where we’re at. and, yeah, i’m really picking this shit apart, no doubt, but I've always owned up to being an enormously picky reader, so we’re off to the races here, i said what i said, etc., etc, ad nauseam) 

you know what, i’m gonna preface this with the One Thing I remember above all else about this book. i am 100% sure this wasn’t the intention but, oh my god, the one thing i will always remember is how lucy (the heroine) refers to one of her superiors as “Fat Little Dick.” dude’s actual name is richard, he’s short and annoying, blah blah. this is supposed to be funny, and i — much as i’m a fan of vulgar humor, lord, i’ll tell you about my favorite shows and movies sometime — find it so incredibly off-putting, that it’s the first thing I think of whenever i see this book mentioned. the immaturity of the nickname doesn’t bother me so much but it’s like, the fact that it’s meant to be clever that irks me. it’s just... gross, to me. this is really individualistic, but i can’t talk about this book without bringing this up because, for me, it set the whole tone for what i was about to read. this is the humor of the whole book, it falls cringingly flat to me, and that means a lot when it comes to a romantic comedy. 

in that vein... look, there is seldom an occasion in which i enjoy first person. this is completely a personal preference, so it’s not a point i hold against this book in particular, but i just... i really gave this book a shot, despite being immediately turned off by the style. first person runs rampant in romance and like, that’s fine, i do have a couple i enjoy and, anyway, it’s not a dealbreaker for me and overall it doesn’t actually speak to the quality of the work. like i said, total personal preference — but. but. it depends on how you write it, and i just didn’t see the merit of it here. I think we would have benefitted from dual pov, even if both sides were written in first person. 

a nitpick, perhaps! and tbh this particular detail might be suited to a larger discussion of narrative structure dependent on genre, but! in this case i just don’t like it and we can go from there. 

MOVING ON. 

lucy has no friends. what the fuck is that? she’s twenty-something and, as far as her character reads, quite sociable. even if she was some awkward mess (like, hey, me too, y’all should’ve seen me in my twenties), she’d probably still have, like, one person she could confide in, and yet... nada. (this is what i recall, anyway. as i said, it’s been at least a year since i tried this book out, so maybe i’m forgetting someone, but from what i remember, this fact stood out to me almost as plainly, painfully, as the “Fat Little Dick” gag.) i’m pretty sure all she has in this world is her job, her weird crush on josh, and her smurfs collection. also, she’s short. that’s cool, but it’s not a personality, and any which way i don’t need to be reminded of it every page. 

on a broader scale, i, personally, find lucy and josh both profoundly unlikeable. lucy is irritating and, if she were a friend of mine, i’d tell her to her face that she needs to get her shit together because this is ridiculous. and josh is just, an asshole? imo. he’s every other guy i’ve met at a bar who pretends he’s really into his personal development but at the same time he won’t go to a therapist. so, like, what’s the point? he’s dull at best, and i’m not surprised robbie amell’s been cast for the film adaptation (last i knew of, that is). and the thing is, like, in romance, the characters need to be likeable. you’re rooting for their personal lives; there is no “greater good” or whatever else at play here. all i care about are these people and, in this case… i can’t deal with them. if this was YA, absolutely, yes, i’m here for it. but, again, these characters are whole-ass adults. i don’t necessarily expect your life to be together at this point — mine certainly isn’t — but have some self-awareness, for the love of god. 

ON THAT NOTE, the book’s focus is on these twenty-something romantic leads, but it reads so juvenile. meg cabot’s high school romances have more self-awareness and depth than these career-oriented Adults. don’t get me wrong — i’m all for relatable, for insecure, for the identity struggles that really shape your twenties, because oh my god, do I Get That, but this was just all so… god, it reminds me of the stuff i’d write in junior high. it’s like what i imagined it was gonna be like to be a grown-up. this is probably personal preference all over again, but it doesn’t read authentic to me. it’s shallow, and sexual without being really, actually emotional. i’m seeing the lust, but i’m being force-fed the love. 

and, before i drop without precedent the whole “career-oriented” thing that the plot itself seems to have done — the professional, essential, conflict is never resolved. spoiler alert, i guess, but the conflict hinges on the love interests being up for the same promotion, but we end the book with the male lead quitting and taking a job elsewhere — so his career is stable, right, but the job that’s been waiting in the wings this whole time? your guess is as good as mine as to who gets it. much as i disliked this whole Thing, by the end i still hoped lucy would be offered some professional satisfaction, but we never actually find out.

and, listen, i don’t remember any of the sex scenes. i know they’re in there, but i have zero recollection because they’re boring. gratuitous, maybe, but that’s only if you believe some of the book’s naysayers. i guess i’m a naysayer, too, but it’s not because the sex stuff made me take up a confessional booth for ten minutes (no shame, i’m just saying, from experience, most priests don’t care if you read erotica, okay, they’ve heard it before and frankly they just wanna go home because it’s ten A.M. on a saturday and already they could use a shot of jack in their coffee), 

but if y’all know me, you know i love a good sex scene. what i’m getting at here is that, like, these ones just slid off my radar like melted butter. not good melted butter, either. (this is a bad metaphor, maybe. but the point is that i don’t remember them and i don’t even care.)

i guess, on the whole, the tone here doesn’t land for me. it’s just not real, it feels so forced, so wannabe funny and edgy and relatable, but none of those hit quite right. when i first read it, i recall thinking sometimes that “alright, this isn’t bad,” but then i had to deal with “Fat Little Dick” again, or i was constantly reminded of other things — lucy is short, josh is hot, they hate each other, no scenery is described in a way that i can actually picture it, yadda yadda — or else i was subject to quite a bit of body-shaming. that shit was casually sprinkled all over the place, which was both irrelevant to the story, to the characters, and it was just obnoxious. this sort of casual bigotry happens in romance all the time and, like, i’m over it, so i’m gonna point it out every time i try something new and it crops up. 

when this book was rec’d to me, when i saw all the accolades, i thought i was in for some new, fresh, revolutionary read — but then it wasn’t actually… anything. “sometimes it was sort of funny” is the best thing i can say about it, and that’s the best thing i can usually say about most other romances i’ve tried in the last couple years, so i’m not seeing the distinction here, i don't see anything special. i legitimately do not know why this book in particular is so popular. like, there are romances out there that i Hate, poetically, with the fire of a thousand suns, but at the same time i understand why they hit the bestseller list (yet another Discussion all on its own). but this one? i’ve got nothing. 

i’m tentatively considering doing a reread. as i mentioned earlier, but this is probably only going to reinforce everything i don’t like about it, which means eventually i could perhaps give you a more comprehensive answer as to why i so thoroughly Did Not enjoy this book. but, like, who even wants to read that shit? ireally don’t mean to be an asshole about this, but I Don’t Get It, and some of it legitimately pissed me off (the body-shaming, lucy having no friends, both of which are entire Essays onto themselves) — and it’s that second thing i’m not gonna apologize for. in case anyone wanted an apology, but… too bad. 

anyway, in the meantime, i hope this answers your question well enough. it’s actually probably Too Much. but i’m bored and lonely, so i’m gonna go off like a firework best i can, whoops. 

[lilithpooped]

If It Weren’t For You - Kim Hongjoong

Requested Song: Miles To Go Before I Sleep by Celine Dion

Requested by: my lovely and cool friend @lovekimhongjoong

Genre: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

A/n: It’s been so long I just hope you haven’t forgotten this request bubbles, I’m sorry 😅 And I loved that song, thank you so much!!! I know it’s unrelated to the lyrics but it reminded me of watching someone you love doing the daily things they always do. That’s how I kinda got this idea, I hope you like it!! 💗💗

You felt lucky watching your fiancée playing with your niece in your family’s garden. Your niece was playing with his hair, braiding it clumsily and letting him braid hers too in return.

“From earth to y/n! Y/n, can you hear me?” Asked your sister settling beside you.

“I’m sorry did you say something?” You asked glancing at her before looking at the two beautiful people playing in front of you.

“Mom asked if you want anything to eat before dinner?” She looked at you, examining your face.

“No, I’m good. Thank you.” You smiled.

“I can see that.”

“What?”

“That guy, that fiancée of yours. How did you two meet?”

“Umm, it’s a long story.”

“Well, I have plenty of time and I’m curious. Tell me all about it.”

You turned your body to face her.

“Okay, so.. You know my bestseller book. My only achievement, come on you should know it!” You said after seeing her thoughtful face.

“I’m joking of course I know. Go on go on!”

“I was about to turn back home from a book signing thing and there was only one copy left on the table so I took that one with me before leaving the bookstore but since my bag was really small, I needed to hold it in my hand. You know I hate huge bags. Anyways, I was kinda hungry so I decided to stop at the mart before going home to buy pasta or anything easy to cook to be honest. I stepped in the mart, went to the section I could find pasta and all. Looking at all types of pasta, a special and expensive looking box took my attention. It was really more expensive from the others but looked the same as them. There was also a guy looking at the same box with an indecisive expression on his face. So I thought why not ask him, if he knew the difference he could tell me, right? So I asked him if he knew why that box was especially more expensive.”

You recalled that day as the best day in your life.

“Umm, excuse me, do you by any chance know why this box is more expensive than the others?”

The young man looked at you in a surprised expression on his face from your sudden question. After half a second of eyeing you he smiled and answered.

“Ah, yes. This one is used for more professional meals.” A sheepish smile.

Maybe looking at his face for the first time, you realized he was actually very handsome. He was slightly taller than you with a wide figure and perfectly shaped lips, a small and beautiful nose, sharp jawline and the warmest eyes you’ve ever seen. Eyes that look right through yours. Wait, what?!?!

Coming eye to eye with this very handsome stranger, you suddenly smiled clumsily and turned your gaze to the box in your hand.

“Oh, is that so? Thank you, then I guess I’ll buy the normal box.” You said, cursing your shyness for getting your way of learning this stranger’s name or whereabouts somehow but you knew you couldn’t help it so you just put the special box back, took a normal one and turned back to pay for it.

“Hey, I love that book.” You heard him say.

Thanking all of the gods above, you turned back to him.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, the writer is very talented in my opinion. I read one of her other books too and I’m actually thinking about reading all of her books now.”

Ah... He didn’t know you were the writer... thinking about how to act, you decided it was better if you don’t tell him that you were in fact the writer he talked about.

“Yes, I also love this book.”

“Umm, if you don’t mind.. Would you like to eat something together? To talk about the books and all, don’t get me wrong please.”

He scratched his head, not looking in your eyes while asking this.

Were you imagining things now? Trying not to show how hyped you are inside, you put on a kind smile and answered.

“Ah, yes that would save me from eating pasta alone I guess. Ahah”

Lame.

“Oh my god how did you tell him that you were in fact the writer? I would love to see his face in that moment.” Your sister asked laughing.

“We went to some new place near my home and we talked for hours before he could think about asking my name. We talked about a lot of stuff and it was almost 1am when we decided to turn back to our places, he only then remembered he didn’t ask my name. And when I told him my name, you should’ve seen the expression on his face oh my god it was so funny.” Now you were laughing too. “He was surprised, amazed, scared all at once oh god it was hilarious. It was so hard to hold back my laughter at that moment! I wish you were there to see it!”

Your sister wiped the tears collected in her eyes from laughing too much and went on.

“So that was how you two met, huh? Oh god, it’s like a romcom.. Tell me y/n, is he the one forcing you to come here today?” Now the smile on both of your faces were slowly fading away as you both knew if it weren’t by someone’s force, you wouldn’t have been there. You stopped seeing your family after your sister got married. She was the only one you loved in your family to be honest and with her flying away from the home, that place became unbearable for you. You father’s shenanigans, your mom’s constant scoldings and all were making your life too hard to live. So one day you just rented an apartment on your own without telling anyone except your sister and the next day you moved out. You had never visited your family since that day.

“Yes, I guess.” You looked at your man still playing with your niece without even getting tired or sulky. “He hadn’t forced me but I knew he wanted me to face the problems I’ve been running from so far. So he kinda helped me.”

“So, why does dad hate him?”

“I don’t think he hates him. He just couldn’t accept the fact that I’m happy and able to earn my life by myself and he’s blaming my happiness on Hongjoong. I guess he thinks if it weren’t for Hongjoong, I would’ve turned back here by now.”

“Maybe, you know he’s a control freak.”

“Yeah, that’s why he still wants me back here.”

“Never turn back, y/n. As your elder sister, I’m begging you. Never turn back. I’ve never seen you this happy before. You look refreshed and you’re shining. Go marry that guy and never turn back here.”

“Mom! Auntie! Look at Hongjoong’s new nail polish!! I painted his nails!! Does it look good?” You heard your niece shouting while running towards you.

“Auntie look at him!!” She held your hand and started to drag you through where Hongjoong was.

“Look, his nails are all different!”

You smiled at Hongjoong and looked at his nails.

“Oh my god, these are beautiful! Can you paint my nails too??” You asked your niece.

“Yes yes I can!! I will braid your hair too!!”

“You can do anything you want to your auntie but you need to eat your meal first, let’s go.” Your sister came to take her daughter, after holding her hand she winked at you and turned to walk through the home.

“You look beautiful in those braids and nail polishes, and here I was thinking I couldn’t ever be more impressed by your beauty.” You mocked Hongjoong, acting like you two are in a drama.

“Are you questioning my beauty? You haven’t seen all of me yet, baby.” He answered wiggling his eyebrows.

You smiled at his manners and wrapped your arm to his body. He kissed your forehead after putting his own arm on your shoulder.

“Are you okay baby? You seem thoughtful.”

“I’m okay. I was just thinking about how thankful I am to you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me from my loneliness, for saving me from my problems, for helping me always. For everything. I’m just thankful. You have no idea how much you’ve done for me so far.”

“I don’t need any kind words or thank yous for it, y/n. I only need your love.”

“I already love you too much to turn back now. You know, I would walk to the edge of the universe for you.”

“Then I would have to come and save you, you always know how to make me a savior. Don’t you?”

You two smiled at his playful words while still hugging each other. Your heart felt safe and warm around him, like it always did.

——————

Masterlist

[frederator-studios]

Grace Ellis: The Frederator Interview

Grace Ellis is among the most exciting comic and TV writers working today, and all from coffee shops ‘round Columbus, Ohio. The first comic she created, Lumberjanes, is a NY Times bestselling series, in development as a movie, and brought her home Eisner and GLAAD awards for her cat to try to knock over. Grace is currently writing one of the most magical comics of the year, Moonstruck, but still found time to pen some awesome episodes of Bravest Warriors season 4 (after she determined that the gig was not, indeed, a prank). Grace and I sat down to talk log-doodling, queer representation in comics, and the commonalities between Beth Tezuka and Captain America.

Having written Lumberjanes: were you a Girl Scout yourself?

For a little, until my troop disbanded! Lumberjanes re-connected me with my Girl Scout roots. The inspiration for a lot of the woodsy stuff comes from an outdoor camp I was part of. After college I worked for Autostraddle, the biggest online network for queer women. They host a weeklong sleepaway camp every year called A-Camp. It has a bunch of panels, talent shows, activities - really cool stuff. When I was a camp counselor one year in Big Bear, I made friends with an attendee, Shannon Watters, who’s a writer and editor at Boom! Comics. Later, she approached me about making a comic together.

Wow! So Lumberjanes was your very first comic... ever?!

Yup! The first issue of Lumberjanes was the first comic I ever wrote.

That’s amazing! Wait, backin’ up - what were you doing before?

My big kid job was journalism. I studied a mix of journalism, theater and women’s studies at Ohio State. After school ended I started pitching around and got a gig writing ads for Playbill. Then I got some work with Bustle too. I was doing sort of garbage writing: mostly TV recaps and some vaguely personal stuff here and there. Very little actual journalism. Then I got the job with Autostraddle when the site was still fairly new.

So you taught yourself both comic writing and screenwriting?

Pretty much! I was already familiar with story structure, so it was really about learning to adapt those elements to different formats, and take advantage of each medium. That comes with practice more than teaching. Every format is different. Like with comics, I go panel by panel, one at a time. I have to keep framing in mind while focusing on what’s happening in the scene, and what the characters are saying, because comics are super dialogue-driven. Writing comics is like trying to write the minimum in order to say the most. 

How did Lumberjanes develop from the first ‘let’s make a comic!’ moment?

We drew a lot of inspiration from Ms. Kitty Fantastic and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I developed the concept with Shannon and we started from just rough outlines of the characters. Then Brooklyn A. Allen came on and designed them. And after that we brought on Noelle Stevenson as a second writer. Working all together was really smooth, a cut-and-dry process. We only needed one Skype call per issue!

Which girl in Lumberjanes are you the most like?

Molly - well, I’m always told to answer Molly! She’s the timid and unsure one. But hopefully Jo as well! I like to think that I can be a leader.

How did you come to write for Bravest Warriors?

Shannon submitted me! Benjamin (Townsend, Story Editor) reached out. I actually forwarded the email to my lawyer right away. I was sure that I was getting scammed. I was so excited when it turned out legit!

(“Catbug! You don’t just bust in on someone when they're dukin’. Buddy... we talked about this.”)

Do you have a favorite character in Bravest?

Catbug is the most fun to write. Before pitching the Detective Catbug episode I wrote this season, I prepared by hanging out with a 5 year old. It actually helped! Catbug has the funniest voice, I just love writing him. But Beth is my favorite Bravest Warrior. Once I’d nailed down who she is, I really liked writing her. She kind of reminds me of Captain America: she’s unbeatable and refuses to stay down. And she’s unapologetically herself.

She truly is That Beth. How did you first start working on Moonstruck?

It actually started as a school exercise, with no plan to extend it! 2 years ago I was doing a program with Columbus College of Art & Design, where they partner their artists with pro comic writers. I was lucky enough to be accidentally (I later found out, secretly-totally-on-purpose) partnered with Shae Beagle. The assignment was to write a 5 page scene, with 2 twists; the first building off the second. That became the opening of Issue 1: the first twist is that we’re not in a normal human coffee shop - it’s full of mythological creatures. The second is that the girl we're following who seems totally normal… well, she doesn’t view herself as normal at all.

I’ve wondered why Julie is so insecure, when she’s surrounded by such a diversity of mythological people?

For Julie, it’s really this fear of losing control. She’s has a deep sense that in her werewolf form, she’s not normal. She’s not right. So she’s internalized some really negative stuff about what that means for and about her.

Are there levels of privilege and marginalization in this world around being human or mythological?

Yes - I’ve been working on how to represent societal privilege surrounding mythological and non-mythological people. A big inciting factor in Julie’s story is her falling in love with a girl, who - spoiler alert! - is also a werewolf like she is. But Selena has a totally different perspective on who she is. She’s comfortable with herself.

Your characters are so distinct - what is your process for nailing a character’s voice?

It’s a lot of time thinking about who the character is; how they’d react to things, based on their personalities and what they’ve lived. Living close to a college is a big help because I’m surrounded by people around the age of the characters I write. Overhearing conversations is often inspirational! I also pull a lot from real life and my own friends. I have the best time writing over-enthusiastic characters: the ones that are high energy, always on, and oblivious.  Julie, on the other hand - it was tougher to find her voice. She’s so timid, yet she also has this sardonic edge. It helped when I realized that she would say “Sorry” all the time. It’s her instinct to apologize for herself, even when she has no reason to! After figuring out something like that, that’s core to her character, I was able to grow her voice from there.

What do you find most challenging about writing? And most rewarding?

Being done is very rewarding! And feeling like you nailed it. The worst thing is when you don’t want to write. It’s easier now that it’s my job, because I have to do it. When I was an AV tech at a movie theater, I always wanted to write, but I wouldn’t do it. What’s tough is that I would rather think than write. Thinking is underrated. But the problem is, I know that I should write something - anything! - every single day.

Do you ever do any of your own art?

Nah, I’m not an artist. I draw sometimes. I’m a prolific log-drawer.

Logs?!

Yeah (laughs) I sometimes fixate on one thing and it becomes the only thing I doodle. Logs are that.

That is… oddly fitting! What is your creative process like?

It’s not very strict. My rule is that I leave my house every day before noon and go to a coffee shop. Then I just plug into it.

What do you like to do outside of writing?

Is there such a thing? Video games, especially during winter. Reading a lot of comics, plays and nonfiction. Biographies are great character studies. Currently, I’m reading a novel, The Blunderer by Patricia Highsmith. For writing pretty light and happy comics, I really do like books about heavy guilt and punishment...

Speaking of Patricia Highsmith - with her Price of Salt such a cornerstone in queer writing - what are your thoughts on representation and writing queer characters?

Oh yeah - we’re all familiar with the tropes. The sad stories, the coming out stories. They’re important in their way. But they aren’t what I need to write! I’m not a sad person, so I can’t just put that on. I write upbeat stories about characters who are already out and accepted. I’m a happy, out lesbian. So to represent those characters isn’t just what’s truthful to me - it also says to readers that hey, you can be a happy, out lesbian too!

Do you think there is a market for young adult media with queer characters and themes that didn’t exist a decade ago?

Absolutely. It used to be that anytime a writer put a gay or lesbian character in anything - let alone a main character - they were pigeon-holed as a ‘queer writer’. And a decade ago, that could severely limit, or even ruin, a writer’s career. Now, ‘queer media’ isn’t just a subgenre - gay and lesbian representation is coming into the mainstream. It’s a changing world. Lumberjanes did so well, it uncovered a whole market of tween, teenage girls and queer women. And there hasn’t been enough made for them! Backstagers, Zodiac: Star Force - a lot of the new comics coming out are riding on a wave of realization for the comic companies. They figured out that they were leaving money on the table when it came to queer female audiences.

What’s your advice to people who want to write comics or TV shows?

Write a lot. Write every day, if you can. It’ll make you a better writer. And put stuff on the Internet. It sounds scary, but it’s the best way to get your work seen. At this point, people are getting jobs off of Twitter. Networking is BS!

What is your Dream, or dream gig?

My dream is to write things that I’m proud of in many different mediums. A musical. A video game. A movie. I’m a really big fan of form. It’s an almost intellectual interest: the different things each format brings to the table, and how you work with each to find the best possible way to tell a story.

What are some of your favorite Things?

I loved Saturday Morning Cartoons. Recess, The Weekenders. I like weird slice of life children’s stories. Calvin and Hobbes is a huge favorite. LA Noir is my favorite video game. And one of my favorite comic artists is Alison Bechdel. She does a strip called Dykes to Watch Out For that is absolutely hilarious. ❀

Follow Grace on Twitter and Instagram.

Thanks for the interview Grace! We’ll no doubt be keeping up with you. Can’t wait for the great stories you’ll tell, across all the formats that strike your fancy!

- Cooper ❀

[thefairybookhoarder]

Because You Love To Hate Me [Part 1]

Rating: 📚📚📚📚📖/5 - It very quickly became one of my favourite books (so much so that I bought a physical copy after having already read it on my Kobo!) and even though I enjoyed some stories less they were still all fun to read!

Summary [from Goodreads]: Leave it to the heroes to save the world--villains just want to rule the world.

In this unique YA anthology, thirteen acclaimed, bestselling authors team up with thirteen influential BookTubers to reimagine fairy tales from the oft-misunderstood villains' points of view.

Review with spoilers below the cut. Proceed at your own risk!

The Blood of Imuriv by Renee Ahdieh

📚📚📚📚/5

Fun read. Great story to start the book. Have never read anything by Renee Ahdieh but I now love her writing and definitely plan to read more (have "The Wrath and the Dawn" in my TBR). Love the world building and society where women rule (hell yeah) but also still felt for Rhone - which I guess is the point :P. I almost forgot that he was the villain until the end when he accidentally kills his sister and he feels this incredible guilt but also relief. Which from his point of view the relief is understandable but from the reader's point of view is quite worrisome? Scary? Both?  But all in all awesome future villain backstory, wish there was more. And that game of chess was also hella dope. Shows everything about both the siblings' characters and how they interact. And when he wipes the game controls -  HUGE foreshadowing of what was gonna happen to his sister!

Also PolandbananasBOOKS evil vaccine short story was so creative and such a fun read.

 Jack by Ameriie

📚📚📚📚📚/5

 Oh me gosh this is probably my favorite story of the book. I could ramble on for ages but I'll try to limit myself. Retelling of Jack and The Beanstalk from the giant's point of view (so cool!).

 The giant (villain)? Super-relatable. Which is saying something :P. Jack was also a very interesting character. And the way the story goes full circle? So. Freaking. Smart! It's right there in the beginning: "The thing is getting them to trust you. The animals". And how you think the giant and Jack are becoming friends and how he pushes her to face her fears which then totally bites him in the butt as she ends up eating him. And her going to the edge of the clouds and looking over is a metaphor for her having to accept herself and what she has to do (kill Jack). And the chair at the end was really cool. Like how Jack believed his friend had gone to explore the world (and how the giant pretended to have no idea what happened to the friend) but nope! The friend just ended up as giant chow. Boom! So. Good.

 Gwen and Art and Lance by Soman Chainani

📚📚📚/5

Gotta say: love this book but I was not a huge fan of this story. The story is the retelling of King Arthur if the story was set in a modern high school. The idea of doing it through texts what quite cool. I enjoyed that. But I also didn't know the story of King Arthur that well so I was a bit confused at time. Didn't really like Gwen (and isn't this book about making villains relatable?): she just seemed superficial and didn't seem to be able to decide between Lance and Art. I really didn't like this back and forth between Lance and Art. And I did NOT get the vibe that Lance and Art were best friends even through the texts they sent each other. And so predictable!! Even if you don't know the story. Like OBVIOUSLY at the end she was gonna choose Art. Like caring guy vs. popular guy who only cares about his looks….hmm I wonder who she's gonna choose.

The Bad Girl Hall of Fame was a cool exploring, in blog form (super cool!) of the different types of villains there are in stories. Fun look at all the popular, typical villains and how/why they became villains.

  Shirley & Jim by Susan Dennard

📚📚📚📚📖/5

Disclaimer: I LOVE Sherlock Holmes so when I figured out that this short story was about Sherlock I was so ready for it. I was not. 

The story is an apology letter from Shirley Holmes to Jean Watson. It a story of what would have happened if Holmes and Moriarty had met at school when they were younger. It is a story about friendship. It's a story about love. And it’s a story about betrayal. And it was amazing. Again, loved the full circle. It starts and ends with a kiss so we should now what's coming. But also the chess. Because their relationship starts with chess but it by the end of their relationship was cemented by chess - since the obvious "Checkmate" ending. But the way this story is told is beautiful. The meeting, the getting to know each other, and the falling in love (at least for Shirley) between games of chess was so natural. The talks about justice was also a nice touch, very in character. (Also they discussed "Chronicles of a Death Foretold" which I had to read for Uni and it is very much a subjective and vague take on justice. It fit perfectly. It messed with Shirley's black and white look on justice.) And then the betrayal at the end! And Shirley finding out that Moriarty was only using her to get to Jean's mom.  That is the moment the rivalry starts. That is the moment Sherlock and Moriarty stop being friends and start being enemies.

The Dear Sasha advice column for villains by Sasha Alsberg was really well done. And the last post from Moriarty and then Sasha signing off was really smart and v cool.

 The Blessings of Little Wants by Sarah Enni

📚📚📚/5

This story was okay. I have mixed feelings about this. The villain was quite cool but it left me with so many questions at the end and not in a good way. I wish there was more world building in this story. More background info of why exactly Sigrid has to go Eynhallow. Like if magic is dwindling what is she gonna do once she gets there. Restore it? But if she does then she's not a villain. Use it all up? Then how it that helpful for her? I don't know, this story was confusing. I did like though that she had to hide the amount of magic power she has and loved the reveal that Thomas wasn't real and just a manifestation of her powers. But then if at the end she kills Thomas (which is a representation of her powers) does she kill her powers? That doesn't make sense! Also she has to prove herself by killing someone/making a sacrifice but she never actually does because Thomas technically doesn't exist? Also "I didn't come here to save magic…I came here to prove that I could" sooooo she's not a villain? If she saves magic does it mean she get to keep all the mafic for herself? Is that it? I need answers!

The Sea Witch by Marissa Meyer

📚📚📚📚/5

This is a story about - yes you guessed it, the Sea Witch!! This story was very well written, I really enjoyed it. I ended up really rooting and feeling bad for the Sea Witch. Alienated by her peers because she was - in their opinion - weird (woo alienation always leads to villain-ism!). Although, to be fair, I didn’t really like her at the start of this story either. TBH I didn't really like any of the characters at the start of this story. Nerit's (the Sea Witch) decision to become human is totally understandable though: she doesn't feel like she belongs in the sea (case her peers are jerks) and hopes that on land she will find her place. Turns out that the land is just as bad as the sea (poor Nerit!). She meets a handsome stranger who ends up betraying her so she kills him and finally goes back to sea. Finally as herself. She changed herself for him and he betrayed her (see kids, always be yourself). Also the fact that Samuel (Mr. Handsome stranger) didn't recognize her was brutal (even though I guessed some years passed? But also it showed that Samuel didn't really love Nerit). I really enjoyed this story and especially at the end when Nerit tells Lorindel that his people will go look for her desperate for help and will fall to misery because they won't heed her warnings about magic. It's haunting really. This story really did the Sea Witch justice.

Zoe Herdt's Villain Quiz was also really cool and I think I ended up being slightly villainous. (Although I felt that it was a little too black and white with the answers).

The other 7 stories will be in Part 2 because this review is becoming way too long.  

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (6/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: Profanity, both verbalized and in internal monologues.

I hope you all know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to all the wonderful peeps at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. In fact, there’s new art for this chapter that she did....check it out on her page or below! And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Chapter 6

Emma talks to Henry, and Killian is shocked to learn about her past. They talk to Regina about the situation and Emma makes plans to meet with her.

Killian

Killian was flummoxed, and completely out of his depths. He had no idea how to proceed, how to act when the child--the unexpected, not-previously-mentioned-child--of the woman with whom he’d just been getting rather intimately acquainted burst into the apartment. He started, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on, realizing that no matter what else, his shirtlessness probably wouldn’t be helpful. He scrambled to button himself up as Emma stood in the doorway with Henry, wondering why the lad’s name sounded so damn familiar.

Shit. Mills?, he thought as he stood up. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Kid? Uh, you can come in, and we can talk about this,” Emma said, looking back at Killian to make sure he was decent. He nodded to her.

Henry traipsed in, dropping his bag inside the doorway and looking around the apartment. He seemed nonchalant, seeing no need for formality or standing on ceremony. Spotting Killian, he smiled and waved. “Hi, I’m Henry. Who are you?”

“Er, Killian. Killian Jones.” He was doing his best not to gape at the lad, but was failing rather miserably.

“Oh. Are you my birth mom’s husband? Or boyfriend?”

Killian gawked at him, speechless. “Erm…”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Are you my dad?!”

“No!” he blurted out and then started again, “Um, no. No.”He worked at tucking his shirt in, his fingers tangling in his belt loop as he tried to avoid looking at the boy. As he straightened, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this out of sorts, but he probably hadn’t been much older than Henry.

Emma cut in, praise be to all the gods. “Killian’s a good friend. But, kiddo--Henry, I need to know--why do you think I’m your mother?”

“Well, I was given up for adoption as a baby. In Phoenix, Arizona. And you were there in jail at the same time, and you gave up a baby for adoption. It just makes sense,” he said calmly. His hazel eyes stared up at Emma, hope radiating from him.

She bit her lip, clearly at a loss and Killian stared at her, flabbergasted at all the things he clearly hadn’t learned about her. She definitely hadn’t mentioned a stint in jail, but she wasn’t denying it to the boy right now.

Jesus, they had a lot to talk about. But later, when her son (god, her son) wasn’t here in the thick of it.

Emma gestured for Henry to sit in the chair Killian knew was her favorite. He smiled briefly, thinking of her talking about her writing chair earlier in the evening, the leather already a little worn from frequency of use. “I got it with my first royalty check, and it took over my old apartment. But it’s where I do most of my writing, and I love it. It just seems...writerly, you know?” she had mused while they had sat at dinner.

She tugged him back into the moment, reaching for his hand and pulling him down beside her onto the couch. He squeezed her hand lightly, trying to convey his support. Whatever happened with their discussion later, he knew she needed his support now--and he would give it.

“So, Henry, you found out I meet a lot of the criteria your birth mother had. Because you’re right, I was in jail in Phoenix eleven years ago, and I did give a baby up for adoption. But how did you find me? Those records were sealed.”

Henry looked sheepish, his eyes darting to the side as he fidgeted. “Oh. Um. I...might have borrowed my mom’s credit card? There was a website and P.I., and well, it led to you.” Henry shrugged and settled further back into the chair. “Especially with who my mom is, you weren’t hard to find.”

Killian cleared his throat, finally finding his words. “Especially with who your mum is? Who is your mother?” He wracked his brain, trying to think who Henry’s mother could be. He knew something, he just couldn’t quite call it to mind.

“Regina Mills,” he said without a change in his upbeat tone. It was all so...guileless. “I think she’s your boss or something? That’s why it was so easy to find you.”

He and Emma exchanged panicked glances. Shit. Shit shit shit. Regina Mills. The founder of Mills & Booth. She preferred to work from home--which was apparently a small town in Maine. The impression Killian had gotten of her, while not unfavorable, had been of a no-nonsense woman. A hardass, even. An incredibly competent and successful one, but if she had a softer side, he hadn’t seen it. He had wondered for a moment when Henry had introduced himself, but while he had met with Regina enough to know her, he knew little else. Someone had once mentioned she had a son, but no age or other identifiers. And Mills wasn’t exactly a rare surname. Was it really her?

Killian wasn’t quite sure what this was, but he knew it wasn’t good.

Emma gripped his hand harder, and her breathing became more unsteady and more pronounced. “Henry...Regina Mills, of Mills & Booth, is your mother?

“Yep. She adopted me when I was a baby.”

“Does she...does she know you’re here?”

Henry focused his attention on his shoes. “Umm...probably not?”

“Shi-shoot! Uh, buddy, we’re going to have to call her and let her know where you are.”

Henry clenched his jaw. “Why? I don’t want to, and you’re my mom. And she probably won’t notice anyway.”

Killian felt Emma stiffen and shrink back into the couch and into his side. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but she clearly needed the comfort of his touch. He squeezed her hand as she took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, Henry, she’s probably freaking out. And...I may have given birth to you, but legally, Regina is your mom. If the police got involved, I could be arrested for kidnapping.”

The boy’s face fell. Killian felt for the lad, he really did, but Emma was beyond right--this was a dicey situation. He held back the urge to let out a hysterical, manic laugh. How...how did he end up here?

Things were so fragile right now, between the newness of whatever was between him and Emma and August’s not-so-subtle threats. On a purely selfish note, he had no desire to get involved in this situation, which could so easily turn hairy.

But then he saw Emma’s face, reflecting many of his fears and a few of her own, along with something shattered and broken that she was very clearly trying to hide. He glanced at Henry, taking in his mop of brown hair and the way he had pulled his feet up on Emma’s chair and pulled his knees up to his chest. Henry was only a boy. A misguided one, who clearly had no idea of the potential ramifications of what he’d done. Killian wasn’t sure what was going on his life, but he could see how miserable he was right now.

Killian just had no idea what, if anything, he should be saying. He wasn’t sure he belonged in this odd tableau.

Emma was still gripping his hand. Well, at least someone wanted him here, at least on a subconscious level. He subtly lifted her hand to his lips, brushing what he hoped was a comforting kiss across her knuckles.

She shot him a small smile before turning back to Henry. His shoulders were slumped, defeat evident in every line of his body.

“Hey, kid...Henry? We’ll get it figured out. You and your mom live in Maine, right?”

“Yeah.” The monosyllabic reply was almost sullen.

“Okay, well, unless you’re hiding a private airplane, we’re probably not going to be able to get you back until tomorrow anyway.”

(A small, exasperated voice in Killian’s head rudely whispered, well, you’re most certainly not getting laid now. Which, while undoubtedly true, was hardly the point given current events. Fortunately, most of his brain was on board with the change in plans, responding to its other, crasser side with a quick, shove off, you randy prick.)

“Actually, how did you get here anyway?”

“Oh, um,” Henry said, averting his gaze and shifting in the chair. “Remember how I said I took my mom’s credit card that one time? It may not have just been the one time. I used it to pay for a bus ticket after school, and I told Mom I was going to a friend’s house for the night.”

Emma let out a low whistle and shook her head. “Jesus, kid.”

Killian tried to hold back his laugh. No one was going to accuse Henry of lacking gumption, that was certain. Though from the quelling look Emma shot him, he hadn’t succeeded entirely.

He made a zipping motion across his face. “Right, not saying a word.”

Henry cracked a smile at him before turning and looking expectantly at Emma.

She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath, sighing in exasperation. “Okay, so I do still have to call Regina and let her know you’re here. That’s non-negotiable, but as for the rest, if she doesn’t ask, I won’t tell her.”

“Cool!”

“Um, Henry? Can you help me out?” she asked, pointing to her phone. “I don’t have her personal number or anything.”

“Oh, sure.”

&&&

Killian took the opportunity to go freshen up in the bathroom while Emma called Regina.

Good lord, what a night. He splashed some cold water onto his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was a mess, and he should rejoice that Henry was clearly sheltered enough not to notice the mark Emma had left on his neck. (Or perhaps the lad was just too polite.)

Killian was definitely frustrated. It was clear he and Emma wouldn’t be going any further this evening, even if Henry could somehow find a way home. The mood hadn’t just been killed, it had been obliterated. If he were being honest with himself, though, he knew they should probably slow down. It wasn’t that long ago that they were at each other’s throats, and there was still the book he was meant to edit for her.

But god, he wanted her. He pushed aside the physical discomfort of his thwarted arousal, though, needing to focus on something else.

Emma had a son. A son.

One she’d not told him about. While he was busy telling her his life story, his past woes, she’d kept a massive secret. And not just one--apparently, she’d also neglected to mention she’d been in jail at one point.

He let out a deep, pent-up breath.

Clearly, she had her reasons for keeping those secrets. (He should know, considering his own secrets he was keeping.) How she’d managed to keep them from the public while she stepped into the limelight, though, he had no idea. Judging by Henry’s age and a couple of Emma’s comments, she must have been young when she was pregnant and in prison. Young enough that she could have been in a juvenile detention facility, her records now sealed and possibly expunged.

And suddenly, he was hit by the horror of it.

She would have been little more than a child when she gave birth to Henry, and under heinous circumstances. The road that had taken her there, the people responsible for it, they made him want to punch something. Killian knew his rage at the past, at circumstances beyond his control, might be futile, but it burned away the hurt at her keeping things from him.

He decided then that he needed to be next to Emma, needed to show her that whatever happened, she had his support. That whatever happened, he was so proud and amazed that she had managed to become such a wonderful woman.

&&&

When Killian emerged, Emma acknowledged him with a nod. She wearily pulled extra bedding out of the laundry room off the hall. He could hear the sound of Henry shifting around on a stool at the kitchen island, could smell the warm scent of the hot cocoa he was drinking, his slurps echoing through the open living area.

“Regina didn’t answer, so I left a message,” she said with a small shrug and pushed the room’s door closed. “At any rate, Henry’s getting pretty sleepy, so I was thinking of putting him on the couch for tonight, or until she gets back to me.”

He nodded back, uncertainty creeping up in him. Emma was tense again, clearly worried and probably confused. He approached her tentatively, she stood with her back to him, her stance ruler-straight and stiff. When he brushed his hand between her shoulder blades, she sagged and leaned back into him.

“I don’t know what to do.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said, a strangled laugh escaping her.

“What can I do?”

She bit her lip, twisting her neck and looking up at him apologetically. “Sorry, but we’re going to have to put tonight’s plans on hold. I’m sure we have a whole bunch more things to talk about, but…”

“Now definitely isn’t the time.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Emma?” He gave her a small smile.

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, though I haven’t known you long, I can’t imagine you failing at something you set your mind to. You can do this.”

She took the bedding in one arm and slipped the other around his waist. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Thank you. For all of it. For not freaking out, and for being here.”

“It was no trouble, Swan. Really.”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by her phone ringing loudly. She took a deep breath when she saw that it was Regina returning her call. She pulled away from him and answered.

“Hi, Regina? It’s Emma.”

He heard a garbled response that he was able to vaguely identify as Regina’s voice, sharp with worry and relief.

He thought about doing the decent thing and giving her privacy for this, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity. So he leaned closer. Henry clearly felt similarly, because he emerged from the kitchen to lean against the doorframe, his eyes trained on Emma.

Emma rolled her eyes at both of them, but pressed a button on the phone. She calmed a little and spoke, “Hey, Regina, I put you on speakerphone, so that way you can talk to Henry yourself.”

“Henry?! Are you okay?!”

“Uh, hi. And yeah, I’m fine. Emma even made me hot chocolate. The way I like, too, with the cinnamon and the whipped cream and--”

“Henry Daniel Mills, what were you thinking? Why did you go to Boston? Why did you burst in on Ms. Swan? I raised you better than that.”

He hung his head sheepishly. “I...I--I found out she’s my mom. My birth mom, I mean. Who gave me up for adoption.”

There was fraught silence on the other end of the line, and Killian could feel the questions circling.

Before the tension could build too much, Emma cut in. “It’s--it’s not an imposition, Regina. Er, Ms. Mills, if you prefer.”

“Did you tell him about this? Is this a secret you’ve kept? Is this why you came to work for me?! Because if this is some elaborate ploy--” Anger and pain crackled through the phone, and Killian winced.

“No, and I’d like to remind you that this is on speaker. I...I didn’t know until tonight. If I had, I never would have come to work with Mills & Booth.”

Henry’s face fell, hurt evident in his posture. Emma seemed to notice, and she cringed.

“Look, Regina, this wasn’t part of my plan for the evening. I have company, but I’ll...I’ll make sure Henry is fine for tonight. I’ll get him back to you tomorrow.”

Regina’s voice had regained its measured calm. “Yes, you will, and I would be more comfortable if your company left. I don’t want my son to be around complete strangers who I’ve in no way vouched for. We clearly missed some things in your background check, but at least I know you’re not a wild child.”

Emma looked to him as if beseeching him, and he nodded. “It’s Killian. Killian Jones,” she replied, her voice clipped.

“Oh! Well, then,” she said, pausing as if considering. “I would still prefer…”

“Of course. I’ll, uh, send him home. Do you want me to drive Henry back, or…?”

“I--I suppose that works. Or I could pick him up. We could also get a flight…”

“Regina, it’s no trouble. If I put him on a plane…”

“He might just run again,” she sighed. “Very well. Would you like to meet in Portland? I’ll text you directions to a restaurant there, because I’d like to speak with you, too.”

“Of course.”

“Now, could I speak to Henry, please?”

“Oh, right. Sure. Here he is,” Emma said, passing the phone to Henry once she turned off the speaker function.

Henry took it, his expression mulish, a stubborn light in his eyes. “Hi. Yeah. No, it was my--Mom, I’ll be okay, and yeah, she’s fine. So is he. Okay. Me too. See you then.”

He hung up and then looked up at Emma. Killian could see the trepidation in the boy’s furrowed brow, and he felt a pang for this confused child. “Um, so, that went pretty well. Right?”

Emma snorted.

“I mean, she’s mad, but she didn’t yell at you too much?”

No, just implied a couple of things Emma didn’t want or need to hear, Killian thought unhappily. He knew he was defensive where she was concerned, so he tried to focus on Henry.

“I...I think it’ll be okay.”

“Are you mad at me?” The uncertainty in Henry’s voice broke his heart. It clearly tore at Emma too, and she sighed and slumped her shoulders.

“No, I’m not mad, exactly. I just...it’s a weird situation, okay? Feelings are running high.” Squaring her shoulders, she finally pulled away from Killian. He felt bereft.

“Oh.”

“Look, kid, it’s late. Let me say goodbye to Killian, and then we’ll get you off to bed. We have an early morning ahead of us.”

Henry finally gave in, nodding his acquiescence.

Emma motioned to Killian to head out into the hallway. He followed, melancholy setting in as he realized the night’s excitement--both good and bad--was at an end.

She shut the door behind them, slumping against it. She gave him a rueful smile and shook her head. “What a night, huh?”

“That’s definitely one way of putting it.” He reached up and scratched behind his ear, suddenly uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how he felt. More importantly, he wasn’t sure how she felt about everything that had transpired this evening.

Emma seemed to feel the same way, but she reached out to touch his arm. “I had fun. You know, with the date and all. I know there’s a lot…”

He grabbed her hand quickly, “It was! Fun, that is. And we certainly have a lot to talk about, but I want to do this again. Definitely.”

Emma gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I was afraid--I know it might be a shock, the whole me having had a kid and going to jail thing, and I just--”

“--and we can talk about it, when said child isn’t in your apartment for the first time ever. When you don’t have bigger fish to fry,” Killian said, pulling her close.

“Thanks. I want to tell you, I just…”

“I know. It’s...a lot. I have things too.”

Emma smiled, looking up and brushing a kiss across his lips. “I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’m back in Boston. We can figure something out then.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he kissed her again. “Sounds excellent, Swan. Until then?”

“Yeah.”

He released her and headed down the stairs. As soon as he drew in a breath of the outside air, he sighed. He was going to cross his fingers and hoped this would all work out.

[mentallyunstableunicornwrites]

Historical “Fiction”

Victuuri Week Post 1 Prompt: Historical Note: I took a very different take on what I think they meant when they said historical. I am hoping that it is ok, it is kind of a little less about the historical that I meant for it to be. The fantastic fiction “Blackbird” by sixpence is mentioned in this story and if you have never read it I highly recommend giving it a read

Yuuri was a history buff, a fact that only the people closest to him, and it drove Viktor insane. He first saw this side of Yuuri when they were curled up on Viktor’s bed watching a movie that was set during the First World War. At the time Viktor thought it was amusing every time Yuuri muttered about some historical inaccuracy. Nothing was safe; plot, costumes, events, he tore them all apart as Viktor chuckled beside him.

It would have been fine if Yuuri was only a fan of World War I. Viktor could have dealt with sitting through the occasional history lesson. However, it wasn’t just World War I, it was every major conflict in human history, it was the civil rights movement in the United States, it was the ancient history of Mesopotamia, it was prohibition, hell he knew more about Russian history that Viktor himself knew. They couldn’t watch, listen to, or read anything without Yuuri making a comment about something.

A not so secret hobby of Yuuri’s was reading. The man was never seen without a book, his laptop, or his tablet and more often than not he was reading something on it. Viktor normally didn’t bother to ask what his lover was reading. He was pretty sure that it was just something history related any way. Tonight, however, Viktor’s curiosity got the better of him when he looked at Yuuri and noticed the deep red blush that painted his face.

“What are you reading?” He giggled as he slid across the couch to sit next to Yuuri who very quickly slammed his laptop shut.

“N-N-Nothing”

“It doesn’t look like it was nothing.” He ran a finger over the back of the hand that was white knuckling his laptop. “It looks like it was very much something.”

“It is just a historical story.” Yuuri muttered as he looked away. “It is about spies in Berlin during World War II.”

“Ohhh?” Viktor teased, “Are they sexy and period accurate spies?” Yuuri mumbled something under his breath as his face got darker. “What was that?”

“I-I-It, is… well… I mean… uhh.” Viktor started laughing at his lover’s obvious discomfort. “Well… someonesentmealinktoastoryontwiterandiopeneditanditisreallygood.” Yuuri forced out so quickly that Viktor wasn’t sure if he caught everything.

“If it is good, then why are you not telling me about it?” Yuuri’s eyes got a little bigger and gave a silent plea to be left alone about it but if Viktor saw it he completely ignored it. “Yuuuuuriii~” he pressed on.

“Ummm, well… you do know… that there are people… um… they write… things…” He sighed and leaned back against the couch and covered his face with his hands. “f-f-f-fanfiction.” He blurted out and Viktor’s face went blank. Yuuri quickly covered his face with his hands. Suddenly the room was filled with laughter as Viktor pieced all of Yuuri’s words together.

“Ok, Ok,” he raised his hands trying to placate his fiancé. “What is it about?” Yuuri, defeated and not trusting his voice to say another word, opened his laptop and clicked around for a second before handing it over to Viktor with a sigh.

Across the top of the screen the word “Blackbird” was scrawled. Viktor shrugged his shoulders and started reading… a few minutes later his mouth fell open and started reading a little faster.

“Y-Yuuri~! This is about me!”

“Us.” Yuuri corrected.

“You’re reading a fanficiton about us?” Viktor giggled and shook his head before he started to read it out loud to Yuuri who eventually let his hands fall from his face and found himself wrapped up in Viktor’s voice. Every so often Viktor would stop and ask him about something. “Hey, Yuuri, could this actually happen,” or “Wow! How cool is that.”

It suddenly had become less of a joke about how Yuuri was reading a fan fiction about them and more about the story. Viktor found himself sucked in and while the moments between his character and Yuuri’s character were great, it was the thrill and the locations, the backstabbing and even the events. Oh how Viktor loved the events.

In the weeks following Viktor’s discovery, Yuuri noticed that Viktor started reading everything about the world war and the cold war that he could find. Yuuri would giggle every time he saw it. It became a nightly habit for them to sit down on the couch before bed and read a little of a historical story together. Sometimes they were daring novels that were New York Times bestsellers but there were times where they would sit back and see what kind of trouble their fans had put them in.

Yuuri was a history buff, it was a fact that not too many people knew about him. It bothered Viktor at one point because he couldn’t sit through a movie without Yuuri ripping it apart. But now he found that it didn’t bother him as much. After all it was quite entertaining to laugh at the inaccuracies of Hollywood with someone.

[lawrencedienerthings]

Remember hitting rock bottom in high school — and then facing friends in the cafeteria?

get headlines https://thecherrycreeknews.com

Sandhya Menon is the New York Times bestselling author of ”When Dimple Met Rishi,” ”Of Curses and Kisses,” and many other novels that also feature lots of kissing, girl power, and swoony boys. Her books have been included in many cool places, including the Today show, TeenVogue, NPR, BuzzFeed, and Seventeen. A full-time dog servant and part-time writer, she makes her home in the foggy mountains of Colorado. Visit her online at SandhyaMenon.com.

This is an excerpt from “There’s Something About Sweetie.”

Each week, The Colorado Sun and Colorado Humanities & Center For The Book feature an excerpt from a Colorado book and an interview with the author. Explore the SunLit archives at coloradosun.com/sunlit.

2020 Colorado Book Awards winner for Young Adult Literature

CHAPTER 1 

ASHISH

List of totally overrated things: 1. Love 

2. Girls 

3. Love (yeah, again) Ashish Patel wasn’t sure why people ever fell in love. What was the point, really? So you could feel like a total chump when you went to her dorm room only to find she’d gone out with some other dude? So you could watch your mojo completely vanish as you became some soggy, washed-out version of your former (extremely dashing) self? Screw that. 

Slamming his locker shut, he turned around to see Pinky Kumar leaning against the locker next to his, sketchbook in hand, one purple eyebrow up (as usual; she’d probably been born like that, all skeptical). 

“What?” he snapped, adjusting his backpack with way more force than necessary. 

“Oh.” Pinky blew a bubble with her gum and then continued chewing. She’d drawn all over her black jeans with a silver marker. Her parents would probably be pissed; no matter how often Pinky messed up her clothes for her “artistic statements,” their corporate lawyer selves could never get on board. So yeah, they’d be pissed. But not as pissed as when they saw she hadn’t thrown out that Pro-Choice IS Pro-Life T-shirt they thought was so “vulgar.” “Still IMS- ing, I see.” 

Asking about IMS—Irritable Male Syndrome—was Pinky’s common refrain when Ashish was grumpy. According to her, it was about time people began blaming cis men’s emotionality on their hormones for a change. “I am not . . .” Ashish blew out a breath and began stalking down the hallway, and Pinky fell easily in next to him. She was tall—almost five feet eight—and could match him pace for pace, which was really annoying sometimes. Like right then, when he wanted to get away. 

“So why do you look all cloudy?” 

“I don’t look—what does that even mean?” Ashish tried to keep his voice mellow, but even he could hear the thread of irritation running through it. 

“Celia texted you?” 

Ashish opened his mouth to argue but then, sighing, reached into his pocket for his cell phone and passed it to Pinky. What was the point? She could read him like an open book. It wouldn’t be long before Oliver and Elijah, his two other best friends, found out too. Might as well get it over with. “I don’t care, though,” he said in his carefully-practiced-last-night I am so over Celia, in fact Celia who? voice. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Sandhya Menon.

Ashish didn’t lean over to read the text with Pinky; he didn’t need to. The words were burned into his freaking retinas. 

I’m sorry, Ashish, but I wanted you to find out from me. It’s too hard . . . I can’t keep driving myself crazy thinking about you. Thad and I made it official tonight. 

Ashish had had to read the text about twenty-two times before it finally sank in that (a) Celia was truly going out with someone named Thad, (b) she’d been the one to move on first, and (c) Ashish’s first real relationship had been a spectacular bust. 

Ashish had been irrationally optimistic that he’d get to the moving-on stage first. He’d had to suffer the indignity of being dumped; the universe had to hand him the consolation prize of dating someone new before Celia did, right? Instead the universe decided to blast out a cute little song called “Ashish Is a Loser and Everyone Should Know It.” Well, screw the universe. Screw it all the way to the Milky Way. He was Ash-freaking-shish. He was debonair. He was brilliant. 

Okay, so he hadn’t had a date in three months. So his basketball game was suffering a bit. His mojo wasn’t gone, though. It was just . . . on hiatus. Kicking up its shoes on the table, snoozing. Taking a little trip to Hawaii or something. For frick’s sake, even his über-nerdy, Boy Scout–level goody-two-shoes older brother, Rishi, now had a serious girlfriend. 

Pinky handed the phone back to him. “So what?” 

He glared at her as they rounded the corner to the cafeteria. Oliver, Elijah, he, and Pinky had eaten breakfast together before school started every morning since freshman year. Now that they were juniors, it wasn’t even a tradition anymore—it was just a habit. “Easy for you to say, Priyanka. You’re not the one who’s in serious danger of damaging your playa rep.” 

“It’s Pinky,” she said, glaring at him like her eyes were blades that could slice and dice. “Only my grandma calls me Priyanka.” 

Ashish felt a prickle of guilt. He was being petty; he knew she hated to be called Priyanka. “My bad,” he mumbled. 

Pinky waved a hand. “I’m going to let that go because you’re obviously having a bad day. But seriously. Just date someone else. Come on.” She pushed him with her shoulder and scanned the other students at the lunch tables. “Oh, look. There’s Dana Patterson. You’ve had the hots for her forever. Go ask her out, right now.” 

“No.” Ashish pushed back, but not hard enough to knock Pinky over, though he seriously did consider it. His palms felt tingly, like they might be on the verge of sweating. At the thought of talking to a hot girl. What the hell was happening to him? “I—I don’t want to ask her out, okay? It’s just—it’s weird to ask girls out in the cafeteria.” 

Pinky snorted. “Really? That’s the excuse you’re gonna go with?” They got in line for breakfast burritos. 

“What’s weird?” a familiar male voice said from behind them. 

Ashish turned to see Oliver and Elijah, his two other partners in crime since middle school, saunter up to join him and Pinky. Oliver was the taller of the two, but Elijah had the muscles that just about everybody in school swooned over. They were both black, but Oliver was paler than Ashish, while Elijah was a shade or two darker than Pinky. 

The four of them had been Richmond Academy’s “Fantastic Four” since seventh grade, when they’d coincidentally—some might say fatefully—all concocted the same harebrained excuse about why they hadn’t done their book reports on The Scarlet Pimpernel. Apparently, Mrs. Kiplinger, their English teacher, found it hard to believe that all four of their mothers’ water had broken on the same exact day. The excuse was totally ridiculous, considering Mrs. K. found out they were lying with a quick phone call to each of their moms. Despite (or maybe because of) their shared lack of finesse in executing subterfuge, they became instant best friends in detention. 

Pinky answered before he could. “Ashish suddenly thinks it’s weird to ask girls out in the cafeteria.” She smiled at him spitefully and he rolled his eyes. 

“Since when?” Elijah said. “You ask girls out in the greeting card section at Walmart. What’s the difference?” 

They’d laugh until they choked on their own spit if he told them he was nervous. “Nothing.” 

Oliver, the more empathetic of his best friends, put his arm around Ashish. “Aww. Tell Ollie what the problem is.” 

He didn’t have to say anything, though. Pinky filled them in on Celia’s latest text. 

“I don’t get it,” Elijah said, frowning. “You were already broken up, right? Ever since you went to her dorm and found out she was out with that guy Thad. So what’s the big deal?” 

“The big deal,” Ashish said, annoyed that his friends really didn’t get it, “is that I thought this whole thing with Thad was supposed to be temporary. She said it wasn’t serious. She was just . . . bored or experimenting in college or whatever. We were still texting. There was still the possibility that we might . . .” He stopped abruptly, feeling more like an idealistic loser than ever. He’d really thought they might get back together at some point, hadn’t he? God. He wasn’t the basketball-playing Romeo/GQ model he’d thought himself to be at all; he was a freaking Teletubby. And he was now seventeen. One year away from being an official, card-carrying adult. Why couldn’t he keep a girlfriend? 

Oliver, sensing his embarrassment, pulled Ashish closer. “I’m telling you, Ash, you gotta just get back up on the horse again. Just do it. Celia’s doing it.” 

“There’s Something About Sweetie” by Sandhya Menon.

“Yeah, man,” Elijah added. “It doesn’t even have to be a particularly nice horse. Any old mare will do.” 

Pinky glared at him. “Nice.” 

Elijah made a What? face, and Oliver shook his head and sighed. Pinky turned to Ashish. “Look, if you’re afraid, I can do it for you. I know Dana . . . sort of.” She took a half step in Dana’s direction. 

Ashish grabbed her shoulder. “I’m not afraid, for crap’s sake.” 

“Then do it,” Pinky said, crossing her arms. “Right now. You won’t have a better opportunity.” Ashish darted a longing glance at the burritos, and she added, “I’ll save your place in line.” 

Ashish adjusted his backpack and surreptitiously wiped his definitely damp palms on his shorts. “Fine. You jerks.” And then he walked over to where Dana sat with the other cheerleaders, dressed in a crop top and amazingly tight jeans. She’d probably end up in the principal’s office over that outfit before the day ended, but that was the cool thing about Dana: She just never gave up. 

She looked up as Ashish approached, her face breaking into a smile. Tucking a strand of short blond hair behind one ear, she slid over on the bench. “Ash! Come sit with us.” 

Dana had been pretty openly flirty with him at the last few basketball games, even given that he’d been a ball-fumbling shadow of his former shining-captain-of-the-team self. Ashish knew she’d say yes if he asked her. He should ask her. Pinky, Oliver, and Elijah were right: The only way forward was through. He needed to get this first-date-after-Celia thing out of the way. Jeez, it had been three months. It was way past about time. 

“Thanks,” Ashish said, sitting. He smiled at her friends Rebecca and Courtney. And then stopped. His smile faded. What was he doing here? His heart was so not into this, it was on another continent entirely. Ashish suddenly felt like a total jackass. 

Dana put one hand on his. “Hey, are you okay?” Her blue eyes were soft and open, concerned. Her friends leaned in too. 

“Fine,” Ashish mumbled automatically. Then, as if his mouth had been charmed by an evil, sadistic magician, he found himself adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. I got dumped three months ago and last night I found out that she’s making it official with a guy whose parents actually looked at his red, scrunched-up newborn face and said, ‘You know what? This miniature human looks like a Thad Thibodeaux.’ Thad Thibodeaux. I met Thad once at a party, you know. For some reason known only to him, he likes to punctuate every sentence with a thumbs-up sign. And she chose him. Over me. So what does that say about me, exactly? I’m lower on the dating ladder than ‘Thumbs’ Thad Thibodeaux. 

“Oh, and let’s not forget that the reason Richmond’s spring basketball league has won any games these past few weeks hasn’t been because of me. It’s been in spite of me. I’ve been performing the same function as that chandelier in the student lounge that doesn’t work. I look pretty but I’m essentially useless. I’d have been more useful serving Gatorade than taking up space on the court. I’m seventeen, and I’m already past my prime.” 

Whooooaaaa. Ashish snapped his flapping mouth shut. 

Had he seriously, literally just said all that to Damn-Fine Dana and her friends? Ashish thought he should be more embarrassed, but could he really fall any lower? See exhibit A: playing like a JV basketball newb when he was supposed to be the prodigy captain. Or appendix B: being dumped for Thumbs-Up Thad. He’d already scraped the bottom of the barrel. No, scratch that. He hadn’t just scraped it, he was now curled up on its moldy bottom and preparing to take a very long, very soothing nap. Ashish Patel was beyond humiliation. 

But Dana didn’t move away with a nervous laugh like he expected. She took her hand off his and wrapped her arms around him instead. “Oh, you poor baby,” she crooned, kind of rocking him. Ashish only vaguely noticed her boobs pressed up against his arm. Meh, boobs, he thought, and then: Oh my God, what has Celia done to me? 

“Breakups are the worst,” Rebecca added, reaching over the table to pat his arm. The beads on her braids clicked together. “I’m sorry.” “It’s totally her loss, Ash,” Courtney said, tossing her curly red hair. “You’re a hottie.” “Absolutely,” Dana said, letting go of him to take his chin in her hand. “You’re gorgeous.”

Ashish smiled faintly and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. But thanks. I just feel really . . . off.”

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“Totally normal,” Dana said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “But when you’re ready to get some revenge, you just let me know, okay?” Oh God. The pity in her eyes. He was a charity case. He was a storm-soaked puppy. Ashish sat up straighter and forced a laugh, which came out hollow and fake. “Ah, I’m fine. Really. And I need to get back to my friends.”

With deliberate swagger, he pushed himself off the cafeteria bench and, throwing the best approximation of what Richmond Academy girls called the Ash Smolder their way, sauntered back to his friends. 

“So apparently, I was wrong,” Ashish said to them, smiling jauntily for Dana’s benefit, just in case she was still looking at him. “I can sink lower. I’ve broken through the bottom of the barrel to the quicksand below.” 

“Dude, what’re you talking about?” Elijah said. 

Oliver grinned. “She kissed you, my man. On the cheek, but still. That’s progress.” 

“Yeah, it was totally disgusting to watch, but I’m happy for you,” Pinky said, stepping up to grab her burrito. “Really.” 

“Believe me, it’s not what it looked like,” Ashish said, feeling bad about bursting their optimistic little bubbles. 

— Buy “There’s Something About Sweetie” at BookBar. — Interview with author Sandhya Menon.

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[starringemiliaclarke]

Press: Emilia Clarke on Game of Thrones fans: 'Airports are a source of fear. It gets kind of freaky'

THE TELEGRAPH – Emilia Clarke walks into a suite at Claridge’s, a gaggle of publicists and agents surrounding her, with the kind of poise that you would expect from a queen.

  To the tens of millions of fans of Game of Thrones, the show that catapulted her to fame only a year out of drama school, it’s a not unfamiliar scene.

  Although of course, as Daenerys Targaryen, the all-powerful, slave-freeing queen of the show, it would be some kind of windswept castle or ancient pyramid, and her retinue would be in armour.

  Even her newly blonde hair is apt (until now she’s worn a wig on the show). Like the character she plays, Emilia’s is a story of success against the odds (of which more later), but there the similarities end.

  At 31, the English rose couldn’t be less like the prickly queen she plays (full title: Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains… or just Dany for short).

  Emilia is funny, light-hearted and, that entrance aside, a million miles from grand. She’s much more like the carefree, dancing girl she plays in the new campaign for the Dolce & Gabbana fragrance The One. (When the brand asked if she would be its new face, ‘I was like, “Well, yeah. Duh.”’)

  In the past, Emilia has had to deal with uncomfortable questions about how she, as a woman, justified the arguably gratuitous female nudity and gruesome violence for which Game of Thrones initially made headlines.

  But long before the Harvey Weinstein scandal turned Hollywood upside down, the show’s plot pulled a complete 180 – and now it’s the female characters who are fighting over the titular thrones. And everyone, but everyone, is rooting for the 5ft 2in Khaleesi, who is proving to be just as fierce as her dragons.

  Playing the role has sharpened Emilia’s own feminist impulses. ‘It’s given me a real insight into what it feels like to be a woman who stands up to inequality and hate. And as she [Daenerys] has become more empowered as a woman, you can’t hide any more,’ she says. ‘You are adding to the voices that are going to make people realise an equal society is what we’re aiming for.’

  Emilia grew up near Oxford with her older brothers, and was surrounded by strong examples of equality. Her mother, who worked as a marketing executive, was the primary breadwinner, while her father worked as a sound engineer in musical theatre – so it was the norm for Emilia to see a woman in a position of power at work.

  ‘That’s the lens through which I’ve been fortunate enough to view the world,’ she says. ‘It’s only when you go to school that you’re like, “Oh, that’s different, that’s weird.”’

  After attending the private boarding school St Edward’s in Oxford (where she discovered her love of acting through school productions), she was still studying at the Drama Centre in London – and earning money with a catering job – when she was cast in her first role, in an episode of BBC One’s Doctors.

  It was in 2009 that she auditioned for Game of Thrones. The casting director had been looking for a tall, willowy blonde. ‘I genuinely don’t know what it was that set me aside. I mean, I didn’t look the part at all,’ laughs Emilia.

  ‘I [readied] myself, listened to a little Tupac and bowled in, obviously still a bag of nerves. But I just tried to play the truth of it.’ It may have been her sense of humour that helped her win the role – the actress read for her part, but also broke into a ‘funky chicken’ dance in front of the HBO execs.

  As Game of Thrones gained momentum and Emilia has become a recognisable celebrity, she has struggled with some aspects of fame. She gets stopped on the street increasingly often, and finds crowds of fans incredibly stressful.

  ‘Airports are a constant source of fear,’ she admits. ‘When you’re in a really public place and someone asks you for a picture, then suddenly you get people who don’t know who you are, or really care, come up and join in. Then it gets kind of freaky. Because you’re like, “It’s just me. I’m by myself, feeling outnumbered.” It’s overwhelming.’

    One would think that all the nude scenes she’s filmed for Game of Thrones would also have caused her anxiety, but no. She has branded those who criticised her for going naked ‘anti-feminist’.

  Between seasons, Emilia has found time to film some major pop culture, including a role in Solo: A Star Wars Story, a prequel about Hans Solo’s early years to be released next year. The project remains shrouded in secrecy – all Emilia can say is that her character is ‘really cool’.

  She was also the lead in last year’s Me Before You, the adaptation of Jojo Moyes’s bestseller, and next summer she’s due to be reunited with its director, Thea Sharrock, in a West End play called Five Times in One Night.

  Both she and Kit Harington – who plays Jon Snow in Game of Thrones, and (spoiler alert!) is now her on-screen lover -flew to Naples to film adverts for Dolce & Gabbana (today, naturally, she’s in a black Dolce dress, with statement tiger-head buttons on the collar and sleeves). Set against the heady backdrop of a lively street festival, Emilia became swept up in the atmosphere.

  ‘I’ve been to Italy before, but not Naples,’ she says. ‘It was all locals in the advert, which was even funnier because it was so authentic. I think there were a lot of out-takes with me like, “What the hell is going on, this is so cool!” I feel Dolce & Gabbana is [for] girls [who] are at ease in their own skin,’ she says. ‘They have a frivolity and a femininity that I can relate to… It fits really well.’

  For now she’s now back on set for the final series of Game of Thrones. Last season, her Instagram feed was filled with videos of her and Harington goofing around behind the scenes. But this time around the restrictions are more serious.

  ‘We have a very strict social-media ban this year because people need to stop spoiling it for everyone,’ she says, pouting slightly. ‘It’s really frustrating.’ Even Emilia doesn’t know what’s planned for her character (the TV series has now gone past the point George RR Martin’s books have reached).

  ‘They’ve written a number of different endings,’ she says. ‘So none of the cast know what the actual ending is. If there’s ever a leak of any kind, don’t believe it because it’s probably not true.’

  No matter how it ends, Emilia seems deeply sad for Game of Thrones to leave her life. When asked how she’s feeling about it, she simply frowns and says, ‘emotional. It’s a big one.’ That said, being on the show is not without its downsides. During the seven months she spends filming each season, she typically wakes around 4am to head into hair and make-up, with 18-hour shoot days that can often involve riding prosthetic dragons in front of green screens for hours on end.

  As a result of this intense schedule, her personal life has fallen by the wayside. She dated actor Seth MacFarlane between 2012 and 2013, but isn’t currently romantically linked to anyone. Once Game of Thrones wraps for good in 2018, for the first time in seven years she will have free time.

  She often tries to remind herself that in order to create characters, you have to spend time in the real world. ‘The thing with being an actor is, to play the roles you need to have an idea of more than just getting into a car and getting to a set,’ she says.

  Her goal, lately, is to take more time to be herself. She and her best friend – the actor and writer Lola Frears (daughter of director Stephen), with whom she’s also writing a script – have been working their way through a list of 60 influential movies given to her by Solo screenwriter Jon Kasdan. The most recent: All About Eve.

  She’s reading Zadie Smith’s Swing Time, loves Kendrick Lamar and went to Glastonbury for the first time this summer. Fans filmed her dancing wildly to Stormzy’s set, but she didn’t care – she was having too much fun.

  Her family have always supported her dream of acting; although her father, being in the industry, joked early on that she’d only ever need to remember one line: ‘Do you want fries with that?’ Tragically, he died from cancer last summer while the actress was filming upcoming thriller Above Suspicion alongside Jack Huston in Kentucky.

  Now Emilia focuses on her mum and her brother, Bennett, who works in the camera department on Game of Thrones. She credits her interest in Star Wars and Comic Con culture to him. ‘My brother was a huge fan, and I wanted to be like my brother in every way,’ she laughs. ‘Sometimes he does the clapper before my takes [on Game of Thrones]. I’m always like, “Don’t f— it up!” It gets very unprofessional very quickly.’

  Game of Thrones has also brought her security – it has been estimated that she earns up to $500,000 per episode. She owns a house in the LA neighbourhood of Venice, although she admits that she rarely spends time there.

  ‘I can provide [financially] for my friends and family,’ she says. ‘Genuinely, that’s the best thing. Knowing that everyone I love is going to be fine. It sounds like a real Oprah Winfrey sob story, but it’s very true. It’s incredibly empowering as a young lady.’

  Emilia Clarke is the face of Dolce & Gabbana The One, £50 for 30ml edp.

  Press: Emilia Clarke on Game of Thrones fans: ‘Airports are a source of fear. It gets kind of freaky’ was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke

[jeremystrele]

Times Like These… With New York Times Food Columnist And Author Alison Roman

Times Like These… With New York Times Food Columnist And Author Alison Roman

Times Like These

by Sally Tabart

Spread from Alison Roman’s new cookbook Nothing Fancy, published in Australia by Hardie Grant and available now. Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

New York Times bestselling author Alison Roman. Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Alison Roman’s new cookbook Nothing Fancy, published in Australia by Hardie Grant and available now. Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Left: some photos from ‘the commune’ with Alison’s self-isolation partners! Right: An image from ‘Nothing Fancy’. Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Photo –Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott

Alison Roman is a food columnist for The New York Times, and a contributor to Bon Appetit, who is beloved for her casual, just-throw-it-together approach to cooking.

I hadn’t even made any of Alison’s recipes before kind of falling in love with her. Visiting her Instagram or reading her cookbooks feels like dropping by a friend’s house, and being invited to share the dinner or lunch or breakfast they were already making (but your friend also happens to be an incredible chef and best-selling cookbook author). It’s Nothing Fancy. But it is something special. Thanks for letting me repurpose that title.

So many people were disappointed when Alison’s trip to Australia was cancelled – she’s amassed quite the cult following here – but I feel so grateful to have had this conversation with her about how life has changed for her lately.  Instead of the chat we likely would have had – one sandwiched between dozens of others I’m sure she had scheduled for her book tour – I spoke to Alison about feeling all the feelings, finding the motivation to work, and (of course) cooking as a tool for connection.

Hey Alison! How are you feeling today?

Today I’m good, yesterday I wasn’t so good. It’s a day-by-day situation for sure. I think the mentality of truly taking it one day at a time and allowing yourself to not feel good when you don’t feel good, and not feel inspired when you don’t feel inspired, is key to surviving this.

Totally. What’s the vibe like in New York?

I’m actually upstate in Hudson right now. I had gotten a house sitter for my apartment in New York because I was supposed to be in Australia. So I decided to get out of town for what I thought would be a week or so, and then as things progressed it kind of became like, oh shit, this might actually be a longer term living situation.

The vibe in Hudson in mellow. People are staying home, there’s no sense of panic necessarily but it’s definitely eerily quiet.

So you were supposed to be in Australia right now, I imagine you’ve got a lot of time on your hands at the moment now that’s obviously not happening. What are your days looking like?

I’m finishing up some stories for the New York Times, and trying to work on a book proposal. Well, I say I’m working on it, but it’s on my To Do list, I haven’t actually started it yet. But it’s on the docket.

Right now I’m just trying to finish this Passover article that I basically had to rewrite, because we kind of have to rethink and redo all the stuff we’ve been writing about to be sensitive and mindful of the situation at hand.

It’s the same for us, it’s been pretty crazy having to completely rethink our content for the next few months because nothing we had planned is relevant anymore. Are you finding yourself inspired or creative?

It’s a true ebb and flow, you know? I’m staying with two of my dear friends, and we all cook and talk about food, and being around them has helped me stay considerate and mindful. We’re all trying to figure out how we can all help people during this time. It’s nice to have that.

But there are times I sit in front of my computer and I stare at a blank word document and I just refresh Twitter repeatedly because that’s all I have the energy for. I feel a bit defeated, like what’s the point of writing any of this stuff? Which isn’t really the spirit.

It kind of is the spirit right now.

Yeah. There’s also a real insatiable appetite for people going live on Instagram and answering questions, being there for the general public, fielding troubleshooting tips and being a resource to people. But also if I do that then I’m not writing or doing other things, and it’s a fine line between how can I be helpful and how can I preserve an ounce of my own space, and not feel like I’m pedaling myself. I don’t want to be like, self-promoting.

I feel like watching people cook has always been very soothing, so I’m sure that a lot of people are turning to you for comfort in a way. What are you doing to feel comforted and normal?

Cooking! It’s just something that I really enjoy doing – even though I do it for work, it’s still enjoyable to me not doing it for work.

Something that’s been hard to watch is the decline of the restaurant and hospitality industry. It’s the lifeblood of cities like Melbourne and New York. What do you think it’s going to look like after this?

I don’t know. It’s really sad. I think the ones that have a lot of money behind them will figure out a way to survive, but I think that for the most part the whole landscape has changed. It’s going to continue to change because they don’t have any infrastructure in place to protect them against something like this happening.

The whole industry is so precarious, I don’t think people realise that if a restaurant doesn’t do well three months in a row then they’re going to close. There’s not a tonne of safety for small businesses in general, but the margins for restaurants especially are so, so small that every bit counts. Especially in cities like New York, Melbourne, San Francisco, London, where the rent is insanely high and you just can’t afford to stay open.

I was listening to a podcast you did with Hilary Kerr on Second Life where you said something that really resonated with me – ‘I genuinely appreciate the bad because it means I can feel the good’. I know that was pre-COVID-19, but are you still able to feel that? What good are you taking from this time?

I still maintain that. I’m staying with my friends, and I’m spending time with them that I don’t normally get to. We’re really taking our time cooking and taking care of each other, and everybody’s being really considerate in a way that we usually try to be, but it feels extra nice. I’m FaceTiming with people that I haven’t spoken to in a long time, which is awesome. I’ve spoken with my family more than I have probably ever in the 16 or so years I’ve lived away from home.

People are more tense and edgy in one way, but more tender and vulnerable and open in another. I think that’s a real sign of progress when we’re able to be more honest and open with each other, and kind of level with one another when things aren’t going well. Because we were spending so much of our time being like, ‘Everything’s great! This is my life! This is so cool!’ and I think we’re being forced to come down and admit that things aren’t.

I can’t help feeling like there is some sort of prophetic energy that counters this #blessed life we were starting to feel was inauthentic, and now we’ve been confronted with this total authenticity that you can’t escape from. I feel good about that stuff too. You said your quarantine group has been cooking for each other, what have you been making?

We’re pretty much really going for it every night! We did steak night, baked potato night, fried chicken night, we had leftovers night, last night we took a break and did a vegan vegetable soup with mushrooms and noodles and broth. Tonight Amiel is making Chile Colorado, which is probably very American. Lauren’s making rice and I’m making beans. So it’s a real family affair. It kind of feels like we’re living in a commune.

What is the biggest challenge for you personally right now?

I would say trying to stay focused, which is something that I struggle with anyway. But also purposeful, because it feels a little bit defeatist to be like, ‘Is this the most important thing? Does anybody care? Will this matter?’ when you’re trying to plan anything more than a week in advance because everything’s changing so quickly.

And just staying motivated with regards to work. The three of us in this house have kind of unconventional jobs and schedules anyway so we work from home a lot. Self-motivating is the name of the game. But now it just feels more intense.

What are people making from ‘Nothing Fancy’ right now?

Everything, it’s crazy. Stuff that they weren’t making before, that’s for sure. People have time on their hands and they are just making it all.

What are you hopeful for?

I’m hopeful that this is going to repair the planet. I’m hopeful that we’re going to emerge from this a lot more compassionate to one another, and excited to actually be with each other once we can. I hope that it ushers in a new era of how people treat and communicate with each other, and value actual human connection. And like, going outside and going to the store and taking pleasure in things that we aren’t able to do right now.

I just hope that it restores a bit more gratitude for the boring, everyday stuff that we can no longer participate in.

Are you Listening to, watching or reading anything good right now?

I’m not a podcast person. I brought five books to my friend’s place and I haven’t read one of them! We’re watching old movies that are reliable and not going to make us sad.

Nothing that involves dogs dying or anything.  

No. No dead animals, no romantic comedies that make me wish that I had a boyfriend.

The commune sounds pretty great though.

The commune is great. But I can’t wait to have sex with a person once this is over.

Nothing Fancy is the second cookbook from New York Times bestselling author Alison Roman. Find it here and keep up with Alison via her Instagram!

[konnl]

International Bestselling Author Kathrin Hutson Releases the First Installment of Dystopian Sci-Fi Series, Sleepwater Beat

This month’s guest author is Kathrin Hutson. She has been writing fantasy and sci-fi since 2000 because she cannot get enough of tainted heroes, excruciating circumstances, impossible decisions, and Happy Never Afters. She also works as a ghost writer in almost all genres and as an editor through KLH CreateWorks. She lives with her husband, daughter and their two dogs. Let’s learn more about her writing by welcoming Kathrin Hutson to the blog!

Thank you for joining us Kathrin Hutson, congratulations on the release! Can you give us a brief introduction to yourself?

Yes! As far as general stuff about my writing is concerned, I go dark. Some people might ask, “When there’s already so much craziness in the world, why would you add more to it?” To this, my answer is pretty simple (and still so easy to forget within all that craziness): It’s not only about the darkness. More importantly, it’s also about how my characters (and people in general) grow and shift (or not) from within that darkness. Or in spite of it. I don’t write happy endings, and for one unsuspecting reader who took a chance on one of my books, “It wasn’t happy enough.” And I wear that like a badge of honor. But I do write hopeful endings, transformative endings, self-aware and self-empowered endings. For me, the fun isn’t in wrapping everything up in a little bow and calling it “happy”. It’s about reaching the darkest places, exploring them with painful clarity, and illuminating all the possibilities that arise from within.

Now that we went down that road… people seem constantly surprised in meeting me or speaking with me that I am a smiley, laughing, super approachable, ridiculously optimistic person. I wasn’t always that way, that’s for sure. Every person has their darkness and their light. Somehow, I think I’ve managed to siphon all my darkness into my career as an author, and everything that’s left fills my real life with joy and peace and excitement for where I am now and where I’m going in the future. That’s not always easy to maintain, either, with a two-year-old who’s smarter and more stubborn than both of her parents combined (and my husband and I can be a real handful). A few people have also called me a hippie, which is cool too. I’m pretty sure if I’d been born 45 years earlier, I would’ve rocked the 70s! And I do very much enjoy a well-aged bourbon.

Tell us about your new novel, Sleepwater Beat, and how you came about creating this series?

Sleepwater Beat was my first attempt at two things: 1) Dystopian Sci-Fi (or really anything not Dark Fantasy); and 2) an experimental writing style for a long short story of 35,000 words. #2 was a complete failure. I had this crazy idea for “the beat”, which is what these characters call this series’ brand of superpowers—eliciting physical responses in those who hear a very special kind of speaking. Then I thought I could recreate the effect of storytelling-by-vignette a la Memento, only why go backward in time chronologically? Let’s try mixing up the timeline so it makes no sense! That’s what I did. I literally listed each scene on one line, cut them up into little strips, and rearranged them so that no two scenes were placed chronologically together (either backward or forward) with no discernible pattern. It was… interesting. My writing workshop at the time, Charleston Writers Group in Charleston, SC, said pretty much the same. Great writing, interesting concept, wtf is going on with the order of these scenes, and oh, hey! You should turn this into a novel!

Their enthusiasm was so contagious, I did exactly that. I didn’t think I had it in me to turn this awkward short story into a novel. There was so much literary surgery that it took me two years. And a lot of self-doubt, frustration, terror, and pretty much all the emotions I had never felt about any other work I’ve ever written. I did keep most of the “flashback” scenes from Leo’s past and a bit of an unconventional story method in Part 1 (alternating between the present storyline, those flashbacks of her life, and short interludes of dystopian world-building revealed through news-report transcripts. So far, I’ve heard that I captured the “fake news” vibe perfectly. I’ll let readers speculate who that was modeled after…) When I’d included all those and strung them together into the narrative of Leo’s present, I hit a bit of a wall with continuing. Because I realized that Sleepwater Beat as a novel was actually a form of me telling my own story.

That was where the terror really came from. I have never put as much of myself into a main character as I put into Leo Tieffler. I’m definitely not as brooding and anti-social (thank goodness), and I really do care what people think of me personally despite having developed a thick skin necessary for any author. Of course, the details are different, but the parallels were really astounding. Many of the characters from Leo’s past were inspired by real people in my life. So many of those flashback scenes were inspired by real events I did actually experience. And many, many relationships throughout the book reflect in a staggering way a select few relationships I’ve had myself during my relatively short life. At one point, I thought I was writing myself and was terrified that it would seriously detract from the story. At another point, I struggled desperately to write all the social and economic commentary touched upon through this book as subtly as possible… before agonizing over the possibility that it just wasn’t screaming loud enough.

Now that it’s out, now that I’ve gotten feedback from readers and fans (and not just my alpha and beta readers, whose opinions I value quite a lot), I think I’ve done a pretty decent job of mixing it all up to let Sleepwater Beat be its own story. And it very much is.

How many books can readers expect to find in your new sci-fi series? Or is this a secret?

Well, this is Book 1 of the Blue Helix series, so of course there will be more. I already have Book 2 brewing in the primordial ooze of creativity that is my writing mind. All I can say for sure is that there will be at least three books. Most likely more. And as a pantser, I can’t really say more than that, because I won’t have any clue myself until I sit down and put it all to paper. When it feels finished and the characters quit begging for their stories to be exposed, then I guess it’ll be done.

You have a love of writing wild characters, and your new series features an LGBT component, how did come to be?

The first answer for that is that it felt right for the story. Leo isn’t a “wild character”, by any means. The fact that I wrote an LGBT main character isn’t particularly wild either. But she encounters other wild characters, and she gets flung into some pretty wild circumstances. I also wanted her to be real—existing within that gray area encompassing where she belongs, where her loyalties lie, who she trusts, what she’s willing to do, how far she’s willing to go… and, yes, who she’s attracted to. I also wanted to give her a little bit of a break within all her struggles by adding something like a love interest. It’s not very romantic (romance exists in all of my work, but none of it is particularly “romantic”. That’s the one genre I just can’t pin down, and I’m totally okay with that). In the original failed short-story experiment, Leo and her “mentor��� Karl (for lack of a better term) with the organization called Sleepwater had a bit of a fling. Honestly, it felt like shoving two strangers’ heads together and saying, “Great, now kiss each other. And enjoy it!” So I dropped that in the novel.

Leo’s romantic relationship with Alex, a character from her past, was there to show the side of this main character that wanted to be a protector—someone who’d never been cared for herself and who knew the consequences of being abandoned by those who were supposed to look after her. She wanted to be that for Alex so badly that she took it a little too far, and then her fear of losing Alex became the self-fulfilling prophecy of becoming just like the people in her life who’d dropped Leo without a second thought.

Leo’s “romantic” relationship with Kaylee, another character with the beat who’s a part of Sleepwater, is definitely not as easily defined. Mostly, Kaylee is the first person who’s ever wanted something very specific from Leo for an incredibly vague reason. At first. And Leo comes to recognize that a part of her likes being told what to do (by Kaylee) when there doesn’t seem to be any ulterior motives. Ulterior motives are all Leo has really ever known, so the brutal honesty and the unapologetic requests are refreshing for her.

Putting all these things into the story with Leo as a heterosexual, cisgender woman would have detracted from her character in so many ways, especially when it comes down to the fact that nothing about her existence—not even where she’s from and who her parents were—is black and white. And in a way, it would have felt like devaluing her character growth and putting through more than a few rounds of sexual objectification. Neither of those are my cup of tea.

Short answer? I wrote more of myself into Leo than I’ve written into any of my other characters to date.

Tell us about Leo, the hero of the story.

Well, now that I answered most of this question in my last diatribe…

Leo is independent and self-reliant by necessity. What’s her ability? When she spins a beat, she can make anyone who hears her believe absolutely whatever she says, even if it’s wildly impossible (and some of it is). She’s put up so many walls around herself in so many different layers as nothing more than a defense mechanism for her own survival. Her mother left when she was three. Her father was one of the greatest minds in technological advancement who became addicted to the same new drug that propelled his career into fame. And it killed him.

She wants everyone to think that she doesn’t give a crap what they think. When she meets Karl and Sleepwater, that “tough girl” façade grows harder and harder to maintain. Even when she’s forced into gunfights and runs from government agencies and gets kidnapped. This woman definitely has a conscience, but she grew up with the repetitious misfortune of finding nothing but pain whenever she followed it. She does the wrong things with the right intentions and has to learn to reconcile them. And in the end, all she really wants is to be accepted, respected, and understood for who she is. Not for her beat. Not for what she’s done or the seemingly unforgiveable mistakes she’s made. Not for who her parents were. And most of the time, she doesn’t even know who she herself really is. So she has to figure it out.

Honestly, she was inspired by Stieg Larsson’s character Lisbeth Salander in the Millennium series (who I fell head-over-heels in love with when I saw the Swedish version of the film and Noomi Rapace as the star). So if we took away Lisbeth Salander’s goth exterior and traded her hacking superpowers for the ability to make people believe whatever she says, we get Leo. Without the solving-murders part.

You mention you’ve been creating worlds since your 10th birthday, has any of the older world building work its way into your published work?

I actually created the world for The Unclaimed trilogy (and my upcoming Vessel Broken series) far before that trilogy became what it is. I think I’d written the first two chapters somewhere in high school, then dropped it because it just didn’t make sense. When I picked it back up again in 2017, I was so ready to re-explore what I’d created and finally write Kherron’s story. I also had to completely rewrite those first two chapters, but it was so worth it.

The majority of the worlds from my amateur writing days (which will never see the light of day) will remain buried in a dusty box in my basement. I took what I needed from them when I created The Unclaimed trilogy, and I get to further explore that world with the Vessel Broken series. But for everything else, my highly sophisticated, painstakingly perfected method of “writing by the seat of my pants” and figuring it out as I go along means that all the new worlds are just that—brand new. And I don’t create them unless I’m going to write and publish the stories that take place there.

What comes first for you, world building or character creation? Or is it a mishmash of both?

Mishmash of everything! The only thing that comes first for me is the first word, then the first sentence. Including something like the first page, that is the hardest part of writing for me. The blank slate. Even when I have all the ideas in my head ready to be unloaded onto paper (or my computer).

So I guess what actually comes first is the “idea”. It’s only ever a theme, or one character in one scene because I like the way they laughed in the face of it, or a setting because it just feels like the right amount of mystically creepy. I usually let those things percolate in my head for anywhere from six months to two years, and when they feel fully brewed (and I have an opening in my timeline for writing new projects), I’ll sit down to begin. Outlining, plotting, character sketches, and world-building before sitting down to write the actual story is an incredibly boring process for me. Every writer has their own method, and those things just aren’t a part of mine. Believe me, I’ve tried. I know it’s because the thing I love most about writing fiction is the act of discovering these characters and these worlds for the first time myself during the writing of them. I get to learn who they are as the ideas just kind of pour through my head and onto the page, and tying together all the woven threads I leave for myself along the way is like playing my own scavenger hunt. More often than not, the characters turn out to do, say, and be completely different things than I originally intended, so an outline or a sketch would have been pointless anyway.

In the case of the Sleepwater Beat series, do you do a lot of research for your world building?

Oh, man. Do I do a lot of research…

Research is something I absolutely loathe. It sucks away the energetic brilliance of building worlds and being in “the zone” of writing and working with magic (for me, that magic is crafting story). I’ve adopted the use of placeholders for this, which means I can keep up my writing momentum to get to the next part of the story already, and I don’t have to tear myself out of the process to go Google something. But I still have to go back after the first draft for that research.

Sleepwater Beat is the first book I ever wrote that actually required any amount of research at all. Obviously, with my Dark Fantasy books, there really wasn’t any research necessary (okay, except for forges and blacksmithing and something about the ingredients of the very first gunpowder). Those worlds are magical and mystical and do not adhere to the physical laws of our world. Sleepwater Beat, as a very near-future Dystopian Sci-Fi, is set in our world. So there was lots and lots of research. It was awful.

I think at one point, I’d spent an hour looking up electromagnetic pulses (EMPs) to use as a plot device in this book. Then when I actually got to the place where I’d intended to use it, the story had changed so much that there isn’t even an odor of EMPs between the front cover and the back. Which is why I now do my research after the writing’s complete.

Let’s thank Kathrin Hutson for joining us again to the blog!

You can find her new novel on her website, amazon, and the various links below:

Website: kathrinhutsonfiction.com

Amazon: amazon.com/Kathrin-Hutson/e/B016N498BS

Twitter: twitter.com/KLHCreateWorks

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/14541725.Kathrin_Hutson

Facebook: facebook.com/KathrinHutsonFiction

Instagram: instagram.com/kathrinhutsonfiction

Thank you so much for having me! I’ve really enjoyed getting to answer these questions (could you tell?).

[hypedbooktalks]

A Court of Mist and Fury - Sarah J Maas

Rating - 10/10

Publisher - Bloomsbury

About -  The stunning sequel to Sarah J. Maas' New York Times bestselling A Court of Thorns and Roses and a No.1 New York Times bestseller. Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court – but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms – and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future – and the future of a world cleaved in two.

Review ----------------------------

Everything in One ! This book is definitely one of the best fantasy books of this decade ! Loved it ! It had everything. Romance,fantasy,action,adventure,crime,mystery,thriller and even a bit of horror. It just turned from a normal romance tale to something far greater ! SPOILERS------------- The Politics This was something I was least expecting in this series ! I just don't love the fact that it is present but I also love how it's done. All the physical,mental and psychological war. It has immersed into this world so perfectly. And oh ! The last bit of Feyre sacrificing her life with Rysand to save him and her friends and goes with Tamlin ! And how she is plotting his death while playing his love. That's cool and cruel. Rysand Okay, so he obviously was a bad guy in the first book. Well, nearly a bad guy. This book twisted friends and enemy so well that I kind of hated it. Rysand is a manipulating genius. Book was clear about that. So, the entire book I was suspicious of the fact he was indeed manipulating Feyre all the way. Also, he made Tamlin do all those things to Feyre. I might not be right about Tamlin but I still have suspicion on Rysand. I love Rysand but I don't know I just wanted him to be evil. I will still like this character if he turns out evil. The way he has managed to protect his people,the lives he took,the sacrifices he gave and is always willing to ANYTHING to make sure his people are safe. That anything can include playing with Feyre's mind. But as the book went on and on, that didn't happen. Maybe he is not evil after all. Tamlin He went from the best guy in the series to the worst. Now that doesn't happen often ! But is he REALLY a bad guy ? I am not sure. Well we all know how good he was in the first book. Given that, since Feyre became more precious to him, he found love when he didn't have any. He became overprotective. Now that's a wrong thing but not enough wrong to hate him for that ? Then there is his bargain with the king. I don't know what was that all about ! Rysand said the king will break the wall and kill all the humans. All the King of Hybern did yet was to make the queens and Feyre's sisters immortal. So he wants to break the wall and make humans immortal ? That wouldn't be that bad. I mean personally, I would like to be immortal as well. Who wouldn't ? That's why I didn't get why Feyre was so mad if her sisters became immortal. True against their wish, that's not right. But it's not that bad ? Not bad enough to seek revenge :S. BUT the other possibility being that Queens accepted the bargain making only the queens immortal and killing rest of humans in war. That would be wrong. But I still feel that Tamlin meant no harm to humans or to anyone except Rysand and his friends. So I am kind of supporting him. Feyre I just hope she is not being manipulated by Rysand because that would be really bad if it turns out to be true ! One might say that is highly unlikely since a whole book included romance between her and Rysand but that was true with Tamlin too and look what that turned out to be. The best thing about this book is that nothing is certain ! Which is so freaking enjoyable ! Absence of story behind the faeries that Feyre killed in first part ?? Surely everybody was expecting that to be a significant part of the story in the sequel ? But that didn't come out anywhere ! Not even a hint. Probably in the last part. Ridiculousness Wing span can not and can not be equal to 'some other parts' . I don't care if this is fantasy world. That was just stupid. Wings have to be at least 1.5 times the body length to lift a body. Since faeries are far greater in size from humans, lets say 10 ft ? Wings would be then at least 15 ft ! Good luck to female Faeries ! Or we can just say they have tiny wings compared to body and they fly with it cause you know magic. But I don't want to entertain a monstrous warrior beast like Rysand with tooth fairy wings. Then there is Elain and Nesta not willing to be Immortals. Are you kidding me ? What kind of stupid one has to be to decline that ! Well maybe they didn't read enough comic books :P Then there is Feyre having problems being locked up in the house for sometime until Tamlin sorts things out. A house with infinite books and luxurious food and comfort. Count me in ! But all this are irrelevant things in the story and therefore I didn't lower my ratings for this :P . EXCITED for the next boook :D !