#Actually no that’s better. That’s when romance ad a whole peaks.

[caterpillarinacave]

Rip to Thelma Fairchild and her wife you two would have loved The Tales of Beatrix Potter ballet

[quirklessidiot]

title: hell's favorite secretary [sneak peak] pairing : Devil!Ryomen Sukuna x F!Lost soul!reader [based on the webtoon 'the devil is a handsome man', DC Comics "Lucifer", and the book and video game 'Dante's inferno'] Genre: Alternate Universe-Hell, angst, mystery/thriller, mild horror, romance, slow burn, hell au, dark comedy, lost soul x devil au

Summary: The faceless man shrouded in mystery tends to be a subject of rumors and false pretenses, but you'd think otherwise when you accidentally caught sight of those grueling red eyes.

General warning for the story: graphic depictions of heavy gore (manslaughter, mayhem, and torture), and explicit sexual scenes, more will be added per chapter. this will be exclusively released in ao3 in december <3 Notes: after reading a couple of pages of dante's inferno, reading lucifer (the comic book), and the devil is a handsome man, it sort of struck my interest to write this story! this is a pretty long series and im actually so excitied to write this lol.

if you're a person heavily practicing the catholic faith, i won't recommend reading this series as this talks and leans on the devil (i'm not a satanist pls), he's not glorified here in anyways but I do recall people who lean heavily on the faith are not fond of reading any media depictions of the devil.

i hope you enjoy! rb's are always appreciated.

There are possibly hundreds of artworks about the devil. 

The most famous one is that snake hanging off the forbidden tree or, better yet, a half-animal and half-human. Others would be an ugly babe falling down from the heavens. The most popular modern one would be the one in red with horns on his head, yet your boss did not resemble any of those impressions. Instead, he wore a three-piece suit and had a hole right in the middle of his face.

Yes, you heard that right.

A hole. 

All you could see was an empty void of black nothingness. Nobara had said that Sukuna – yes, the devil went by that name — would never show his face to lost souls like you because, as an angel before, seeing him in his proper form would result in instantaneous combustion. 

Despite that good reason, talking to him was still disconcerting. The whole situation remained to be anomalous.

The ringing thoughts about your previous conversation with your workmate replay in your head like a broken record, your eyes trickling on the piles of paperwork across the window that revealed your boss leaning against the table with his usual outfit and pink tufts of hair neatly styled away.

You recalled meeting him for the first time and wondering why he seemed somewhat familiar. You had overtly eyed him up and down. Despite the hole in his face, he had caught on quickly and asked what exactly you were doing. Until now, you couldn’t understand the physics behind how he could even see you and talk.

You purse your lips in deep thought as lines form in the middle of your head. You don’t even feel your boss walking up to you on your desk, “Seems like someone’s head is up in the clouds this morning.” he points out.

You immediately sat up straight, your shoulders squared, “Sukuna, Sir…” you jumped, eyeing him somewhat warily. 

Despite how he made you feel, the devil was not exactly a strict boss. 

He’s rather lax and did not mind procrastination and passing your work at the last minute as long as you did it well. He works on proper hours, gives vacation and leaves, and an appropriate timetable for lunch breaks. 

He’s hard to hate for a being who's been blamed for man’s misfortune since time immemorial.

“Was the long weekend still not enough?”

“I’m not exactly a sloth, Sir,” you mumble to yourself, but he catches onto your words and remains unphased. It's uncharacteristic for you to say anything more to him, but you needed a good starter for this conversation to get on,  “...Although, I-uh…I do have a question…You remembered our contract, sir?”

One thing that humans were able to grasp correctly about hell and its king is the contract signing and how the devil gives out favors in exchange for something you truly hold dear. For you, since you’re a lost soul, in exchange for changing your status, you’d give proper work hours and help him capture at least eight hundred itinerants.

You’re running on two hundred and fifty so far.

“Oh?” he leans in closer, “That’s not something we talk about every day.” his body language remains fluid and guileless as if he wanted you to speak your mind more, and it only made your palms sweaty despite the coldness of the room, “Would you like to change some conditions? I am, after all, a fair man.” His voice is crisp and light, a charm that made up for his empty face.

“I- well, I’m going to be frank with you, Sir…” you blink, “I- um,” you start to stammer, and it only makes your stomach do different kinds of flips as your mind conjures up different types of worst-case scenarios. It’s not like you couldn’t become a soul after this, right? You’d only have to wait for a century and try to retain your sanity along with it.

He cocks his head to the side, and if you could paint a face on that void of nothingness, you’d wish it would be kind eyes looking down on you, but this was the devil, the man who was struck down from the heavens for being too ‘arrogant and malicious’. You need to be careful with your words, “I…I need information…” you swallowed, your words tumbling out clumsily.

“Information?” your boss remained relaxed, and you knew it was rather diabolic to even pray for God when you were literally in hell, but you had little to no way of reading him. There’s another round of stifling silence; you only want to melt into a puddle of goo this time.

[futuregws]

Update on my opinion on the bear, since I started a conversation about ships and the show itself I will make two separate posts for this, this one is about ships (I'm currently on ep 6 season 2 btw).

So basically my opinion is the same but stronger I guess, I don't get it, Syd and Marcus so far I HIGHLY doubt anything will happen he definitely has a crush on her but I'm not sure she likes him, but still I personally feel like they would work a lot better, still I don't personally ship them I just prefer them, about Syd and Carmy all I'm seeing is a friendship/partnership that people are trying too fucking hard to make it something else, I've seen their shippers throw literal tantrums when people rightfully bring up the fact that men and women being close does not equal a relationship or romantic feelings, they seem to like to use that against others a lot by also adding small little scenes to "prove their point" and what's even more ridiculous is how mad they get when people say that they only ship them as platonic soulmates, like am I obligated to ship Syd and Carmy romantically to be a fan of the show, bc if so let me know bc I will piss out I don't wanna deal with that behavior. Like there's this war between the people that think it's platonic and the people that think it's romantic and once again like in so many other fandoms they seem to have this superiority complex (some of them). But at the end of the day if you wanna ship them, go for it, but other people don't have to, and when you bring up scenes like his panic attack or the fridge scene and say shit like this:

Like no it won't become invalid.

It's as if your opinion/take on a scene is the only correct one therefore others need to see it the same way, it's absolutely insane, specially if you then go and see what the actors say about their characters and their "relationship" and it completely contradicts what the shippers are going for, like the whole, oh him calming down thinking about her during a panic attack is peak romance, thing gets completely crushed by all of this

Like dude this is what jeremy said:

And this is what Ayo said:

Soooo, maybe don't act like your opinion is above others when the actors would literally agree with the people calling them platonic, you know the ones that y'all like to call delusional and say that their opinion is invalid. Y'all like to make fun of this (which is very strange like what year did y'all get stuck on) but yeah men and women can be friends/best friends/coworkers hell whatever tf without romantic feelings, like do y'all fall in love with every single person you meet/all of your friends, are y'all okay?? No one is in denial no one's opinion is invalid here YOU ship them, doesn't mean it's romantic or that anyone else needs to see them as such or that they have to be.

Anyway I will give my opinion on the actual show in a minute (even though no I'm not finished yet lol)

[darkfictionjude]

I think an interactive story without romance could do well. But I think the main reason why RO's get so many questions and attention in general is because it's a way for the readers to get to know more about the characters/story/setting without getting too spoilery? And it helps keep audience attention since most interactive fiction are works in progress instead of being a "final product" (for lack of a better word?) like regular fiction is (i.e. books, tv shows, movies, etc)

That and a majority of popular romance media is targeted towards cishet women (usually cishet white women specifically, but that's a whole other topic that i feel someone else can and has explored and discussed way better than i could), and within the IF community people who are queer (or just not cishet women in general) can usually find something for them, although that isn't always the case. I've run into a few interactive stories where there were technically queer romance options but read as too........ heterosexual but with pronouns swapped as bare minimum effort. And there was one in particular that has stuck with me (though i can't recall the name of anymore) where there were like. A dozen ROs but they were all straight except for two bi ROs, and when asked about it the author (and their audience) basically said "two is more than enough for the gays. It's not realistic for there to be more gays in this group because there aren't that many gay people in real life." Which is. An off putting take.

Anyway i'm stopping here before i ramble too much. Idk just my two cents on the subject of romance in interactive fiction

Yay I get some opinions! I love insights!

1. I agree on this actually. The characters are a vessel for aspects of the story that aren’t relevant to appear in the text but create a fuller picture of them and the world they inhibit. On that note when I peak at Reddit I do see this mentioned a lot for works in progress but it’s usually done in a complaining way in vein of “no demo only asks for characters we haven’t met.” Asks do keep engagement and interest in a project as it lets the not only the writers imagination expand but also the asker.

2. Very much this. Especially in the earlier days of IF, it was disproportionally aimed at cishet women and there was no conceivable difference between a gender selectable RO either as a woman or man or person. Also I don’t like judging choices but the idea that two bi people in a group of heteros is more than enough becuqsw it’s “realistic” (that largely depends on where you live) does seem like an odd answer as this is fiction, you can bend the rules a tad while not having to sacrifice realism. You can never have too much queer characters. Or just say you aren’t interested in adding more of that element, it’s your story at the end of the day.

I really appreciated your response nonnie! Very interesting conversation 💜

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 3rd July

Two songs this week, both of them probably not ones you could sing off the top of your head, and both aiming for a sort of cute romance. One succeeds more this than the other.

Who Wrote the Book of Love - The Mudlarks (peaked at Number 8)

This is an annoying song. Like, really annoying. It's a cover of an American original by a spectacularly poorly-named doo-wop group rom New Jersey called the Monotones, who were apparently inspired by the rhythm of a line of a "Pepsodent" toothpaste commercial (!), but our artists here are the Mudlarks, a mixed vocal group who also covered Lollipop a few weeks back.

Absolutely none of which explains the bizarre accent that the singer seems to be putting on who handles the I wonder who line. Every time I hear it, I think they might have been going for a completely different accent. Either way, they failed. It's baffling, a real goofy "ah-ha wun-derrr hu" sort of vibe.

Anyway, fresh off the confusion of this, we launch into a song that really belabours a metaphor about a relationship as a book, complete with a tedious chapter summar section, ans lots of rather ill-conceived lines like the one where they sing Baby, baby, baby, I love you, yes I do, / It says here in this book of love, ours is the one that's true. Which sure sounds sweet, but if my guy had to check a book to know he was in love, I'd not be particularly enamoured.

Adding to this, there's just something a bit abrasive and in-your-face about it all. It's between the very fast pace, or the way the singers are really belting, with a rather jarring thumping sound punctuation some lines. To be fair, this was in the original, and was apparently inspired by a kid bouncing a ball against the wall of the garage where the Monotones were recording. But it's all a bit startling, taken together.

The song has a legacy, though, not least because it inspired the "book of love" lyric in the song American Pie, which I'm starting to suspect will really pop, if this project ever gets there. So the original of this song is clearly in the public consciousness for a while post-1958. It also gets covered a bunch. But yeah, I don't like it much, sorry Mudlarks. Third time lucky?

Big Man - The Four Preps (2)

This is more like it, though the recording quality on the only version I can find is... interesting. I quite like the echoy vibes it creates, though, combined with the tight harmonies. It's kind of giving Beach Boys? Or perhaps I'm deluding myself.

Either way, it's a fun song. Our singer starts singing about how I was a big man yesterday / But boy you ought see me now. Intriguing, off the bat. And we get some context, about how I bragged too long that your love was strong / There'd never be another guy, and how he was proven wrong. So she left him for somebody else, I think - but the plot thickens, because then we've got lines begging the singer's love If you will just forgive me dear / I'll never break another vow / I broke so many yesterday / And boy you oughta see me now. It's a cautionary tale - cheat on your girl, and she might just find somebody better!

And I like the tone of regret, throughout. Our singer's clearly gone through the wringer and done some self-reflection and come out the other side with some perspective, leading to my favourite line, the one about how the only thing that made me big was you. Which is honestly actually pretty sweet, as a sentiment. Not sure if I'd give this guy another shot, still, but as pathetic grovelling apologies go, it's a compelling one.

Musically, the whole thing's very pretty, too, with lots of tight harmonies and doo-woppish instrumentation and, most excitingly, what sounds like a proper, resonant grand piano, which is confusing the first time you hear it in the intro, but that gives the song a welcome oomph when it comes back underneath the chorus. It's not the kind of sound I've heard much yet, that sort of mix of proper rock and roll music and a more orchestral, classical touch. We've had the sweeping classical backing of pre-rock and roll ballads, but this feels different, and is probably why it feels a bit Beach Boys. I like it, a lot.

Yeah, I think my pick this week is clear. Still, neither song was awful. I just enjoyed the piano and grovelling a bit too much.

Facourite song of the bunch: Big Man

[justreadingfics]

It’s a Deal -Ch. 13

Chapter Summary: Old memories come back to you. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: angsty internal thoughts, no Bucky this chapter.  

A/N: Here it is. I’m sorry I ended up not reblogging all the comments on last chapter before I post this one, but I’ve read and cherish them all, please don’t doubt that. Thank you, incredible Suz, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer you’re a Queen around here. The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated.

Tag list for this story is closed.  

You bet that if you told anyone about the scene playing out in your apartment right now, people would scoff their asses off at your face: Saturday afternoon, your living room, the Leader of the Avengers Tech Team, the Director of SHIELD – probably the most powerful organization in the world- and one of the scariest, if not the scariest spy to ever walk on earth. All three of you sitting on your carpet, barefeet, wearing tops and tiny shorts due the heat brought by the bright sun slipping through your windows. A big bowl of popcorn in the center and innumerous chocolate bars everywhere. 

Those afternoons with the three of you are a rare event. First, you had your relationship with Eddie to blame, but now it’s mainly due to your work schedules that almost never are in sync, but whenever there’s an opportunity, there you are.

Your phone's message alerts ringing together bursts into the conversation and the three of you grab your devices simultaneously. You were dreading to see what it was, sure it was something from work, but a huge smile widens in your lips at what you see on your screen.

“Jesus…” Nat says, while, laughing, you three turn the screens to one another, confirming you have received the same message. “Bucky’s a lost cause with that cat. That’s the millionth picture I received of her this week. And she’s always doing something extremely exciting like… sleeping.” She rolls her eyes.

“But we have to admit that little asshole is kinda cute,” Sharon comments looking back at her screen and the picture of the, indeed, sleeping cat.

“She is, right?” You agree, with a huge smile on your face. You and Alpine may have had a somewhat rough start, but you can’t help but admit she’s an adorable little jerk who’s just very protective of her human.

“By the way,” Natasha smirks at you, putting her phone back on her pocket, “I had no idea that was what he meant when he said he would romance the shit out of you.”

“It suits perfectly, though,” Sharon comments, shaking her head and laughing with her.

“It does. Shame on me, I should’ve known better.” Nat agrees.  

“He said that?” You ask with peaked interest you try to disguise in the quietness of your tone while you bite the corner of your lips.

The curiosity in the information doesn’t go unnoticed by them, who just snicker at each other. You decide to ignore that.

“The dude is smitten, Y/N, wake the fuck up.” Natasha not so gently throws a popcorn right on your face.

“Hey,” you whine.

“And so is she, giving that little dreamy look on her face. Wake the fuck up indeed.” Sharon sides with Nat with a huff.

“I’ve created two monsters…” Nat comments like you weren’t even in the room, referring to the fact she is the one who brought you two together.

“It’s not like that…” You barge in their little interaction, catching their attention, before folding your legs up and holding your knees, “I mean… yeah, of course… I can’t help having feelings for Bucky, I mean… he’s…” you pause, searching for the right words to describe him, “He’s Bucky.” You shrug… a small smile curling your lips, “He’s Bucky…” you repeat with a sigh while your gaze wanders away…

It’s just you don’t really need anything else to justify why it’s so inevitable to grow feelings for him and your friends catch on to what you mean, because when you look back at them, they both have stupid and dreamily little looks at you… ones that don’t fit to a couple of spies. 

You clear your throat, letting your initial line of thoughts come back to you, “But it’s not that simple… There’s…’ you falter.

“There’s what?” Nat insists, in a kind way.

But “Who” was the more proper pronoun.

“Eddie…” You whisper.

“Argh…” Sharon groans, tilting her face to her side before, looking back at you, “What about Eddie?”

It was just yesterday that you had your little “encounter” with Bucky. You know it was no coincidence he was there, the little shit must’ve tracked you down… but you couldn’t make yourself care about that when it was so amazing… incredible… Not only the fact that he went down on you in such a shameless way and gave you a mind-blowing orgasm, like he always does. It was also the way he spoke to you…his attitude… not really imposing himself… encouraging you to have fun with your friends… no sign of jealousy. It made you feel special and free and… loved. Really loved for who you are and not for who you make yourself to be to please and that is a tremendously powerful feeling.

Still… you have mixed feelings about it all and Eddie is the reason. Being there with him felt familiar and comfortable, but, in some way different… better than before. It makes you think that he really is engaged into finding not just a way back to you, but also a way to make your relationship work and it certainly weighs over your heart.

You tell your friends all of that.

“Did Eddie notice anything?” Nat asks, reaching over for some popcorn.

“I don’t know,” you answer, “He wasn’t at the table when I returned, but he came back shortly, my friends were still talking about it, but we changed to subject once we saw him. The girls didn’t comment anything again, and he acted normal… I guess he didn’t.” You shrug, starting to bite on your nails.

There’s an annoying little feeling rising in you since the night before and, thinking over it, you recognize it as guilt. Guilt for doing that with Bucky while Eddie was there in Club, guilt for not being bothered by Bucky’s presence, while, at least initially, you were bothered by Eddie’s, guilty for enjoying that Bucky was the one who actively made a move when Eddie didn’t, for missing him more than you missed Eddie, for feeling more positively about his change of mind than Eddie’s, for wanting Bucky more…

Guilt because you know you’re falling for him. For Bucky. And there’s little you can do to stop it.

“What is it?” Sharon asks, tightening her lips and nodding at where you’re chewing your nails.

You promptly stop, bringing your hands to around your knees again, “I guess I wasn’t expecting either of them there.” You decide not to share your most recent thoughts with them.

“You know why both of them were there. It was definitely not a coincidence.” Nat reminds you.

“I know… but it's ok, they were polite...” You brush it off but add, quickly, fighting back a smile at the memories that flashes in your mind, “In their own way.”

“Polite? Even when Bucky had his face up your pussy?” Sharon teases, not letting that one go, and making you give in and let out a laugh while you hide your face with your hands for a moment.

“I was pretty excited to find out he was there, actually,” you admit and their faces light up, which you assume is prompted by your own expression. “It was a thrilling sensation… I can’t quite explain.”

“He really is in love with you…Bucky…” Nat tightens her lips and tilts her head.

You sigh, looking back at her, “I know…” You admit.

They both keep waiting for you to say something else but you don’t know what you could say. No… as a matter of fact, you do. You’re just not ready to put your thoughts out in the world. At first, you had your doubts if what Bucky was feeling was really that deep… but now… something has changed. You believe him. You really do. And you know you’re falling for him, too, but…

Eddie was the one you wanted for so long… you’ve made so many plans with him… Long term plans. You used to see yourself growing old with him and that’s an image that still somehow haunts your feelings. And now… the fact that guilt surrounds the feelings arising for Bucky inside you makes you feel like a cheater. You didn’t feel that when it was just sex, but now you do. And you’re damn scared.

What if you surrender to your feelings now and go to Bucky and then comes a day you’ll realize that you were wrong and Eddie will still be the one you really want? You wanted him for so long… can that really have changed? How can one let go of that feeling, that certainty of being right for each other, without being afraid of doing the wrong thing? And if that happens, if you do the wrong thing now, you will eventually hurt Bucky and that’s definitely the last thing you want.

That’s fucked up and you know it. But it’s what you’re feeling.

You keep it to yourself, though.  

~~~

It’s a few hours after the girls left your place, you take a refreshing and long bath and are about to put on a movie to relax a bit more for the rest of the evening. Maybe that way you can put your thoughts and feelings in order.

That duality of emotions is crushing your mind. You wanted some time alone and you had that… now, you can’t help the feeling that you need to come to a decision, a conclusion of some sort, you just can’t keep pushing it further. For better or for worse. Or you will lose your mind soon.

A comfort movie is in order for all the thinking you need to do, so you set “The Prisoner of Azkaban” on your TV before you head to the kitchen. You’re still pretty full of all the junk food the three of you made a feast of the whole afternoon, so you decide to prepare just an old recipe of peach iced tea your mom has taught you. Perfect for the hot weather, too.

You’ve just added the ice in the jar when your intercom rings. You frown wondering who could that be and check your phone for any missed calls or messages, finding none before answering the intercom.

“Yeah? Oh… no, yeah, sure, come up.” You press the button to let him in. Your heart beats just slightly faster, wondering what could he possibly be doing there.

“Hi,” he greets, once you open the door after he pressed the ringer.

“Hi,” you answer, and without even thinking, just keep staring at him, blocking his way into your apartment while he stands at your door, holding a big box in his hands.

“Can I come in?” He asks, when you say nothing else.  

“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry.” You step aside, allowing Eddie to walk into your living room with a tight smile on his lips.  

“Please,” you gesture towards your sofa and he nods, walking with you over there, “I was about to pour me some iced tea, would you like some?” You offer, tentativeness still present in your tone, while the big box secured in his hands grasps your attention for a second.   

“Your mom’s recipe?” He asks, his whole face lightening up as he takes his seat.

You chuckle and nod.

“Oh, hell yeah, then.”

You take just a little longer than you actually need to fix the tea for the two of you in the kitchen. For some reason, his presence, after the night before, what you did with Bucky and after you coming to terms that you are, indeed, growing feelings for the other guy… it just unsettles you.

After taking a deep breath or two, you come back to the living room. Some small conversation ensues while you take a seat by his side and you two drink from the tea you’ve just prepared.

“Ahm…What’s that?” At some point you give in to the curiosity and nod towards the box now on your center table.

He smiles, before placing his cup on your table and taking the box in his hands. He shifts on the sofa, making room for placing it on one of the cushions between the two of you. “I was taking a look at it at home earlier, it just… I couldn’t help myself… and decided to come by to show you.”

When he opens the lid, placing it aside, you take in the contents, which makes your heart beat a bit funny at the surprise. You recognize pictures of the two of you, letters, a few souvenirs… All of them represent a memory of your relationship.   

“Oh…” you say. You know all that stuff had been stashed in some place, but you never knew he had taken them with him once he moved out.

“Yeah…” Eddie brushes the back of his neck, peering at you from beneath his lashes, “I guess I really wasn’t that confident about my decision when I left…” he shrugs, looking down at the box again, “I just couldn’t leave it behind.”

You give him a tightened and brief smile, before placing your teacup on the table and starting to fumble through the items inside the box. You let out a breathy laugh when you find a picture of the day you two have met… he had founded a study group on advanced software creating techniques and you were the only one to show up.

“Oh my God…” you laugh.

“Yeah… what a couple of nerds,” Eddie chuckles, looking at the picture.

He helps you through the shuffling when you go through some more pictures from college, his family, your family… the day you two closed the deal to buy the apartment… the letter you received when you were both accepted in the Avengers tech team…

You feel the tears gathering in your eyes before they start silently rolling down your cheeks… It’s a weird sensation, it’s like meeting with an old part of yourself, an old friend. One that has never really left, but you almost don’t recognize anymore… leading to a nostalgic and longing feeling.

They’re all good memories stashed on that box… of course… you guess no one is really keen to proposedly keep a souvenir from the bad ones… but that’s not on what your focus lays right now.  Your attention is caught by a particular thing from the box. A small gasp escapes your lungs at the sight.

You look up at Eddie, whose eyes have been intensely trained on you, before you grab the object in your hands.

It’s a scrapbook you two have made through college years. While you silently and carefully go through the pages your life passes in front of your eyes. Movie and concert tickets… more pictures… a few drawings… software ideas you had together… little notes you’ve written to each other… and then, on the very last couple of pages, there they are.

You remember them. The day you two decided to write a letter to each other, telling how you wanted your future to be.

You roam your fingers through the frayed papers… you don’t have to read them again to know what’s there. You remember. Without knowing, in the end you two had written the exact same thing in both letters… among other small stuff, you two wrote you wanted a kick ass job, live in the city in an apartment of your own… and stay together forever.

Your watery gaze follows when Eddie slides down to the floor and kneels before you, taking your hands in his, “I meant every word then and I still do,” he says, softly, staring deeply into your eyes, “I can’t see my future without you… I just can’t.” He shakes his head, before it drops.

You see how his lips twist before he looks up at you again, with a saddened look on his face, “I know how that guy makes you feel…”

Your body freezes just as your heart does and you feel the precise moment when it splits in two. That heavy sensation comes back to your chest when the image of Bucky pops into your mind and suddenly there are two lives running before your eyes. One there, with Eddie, with everything you've ever dreamed of… the other running straight into Bucky's arms and leaving all of that behind.

And you know there's only one right for you.

You're brought back to reality by the sound of Eddie's voice.

 “I- I know about what happened last night, I, ahm, I’ve heard the girls…” he stammers but holds his hold on your hands when you shift on your seat and he senses your discomfort. “No… it’s ok. “I know it’s new… it’s exciting…” he continues, nodding and hastily licking his lips, “And you deserve to explore that. You do… it’s ok.” He puts on a small smile, “But I want you to know that I’m here. I’m waiting for you. I’m waiting for us… for our future. No matter how long it takes. How much fun you need to have with that guy before you realize what I already know.” He smiles wider, “Because I know you and I are it. We’ve always been it.”

You’re frowning while looking down at him. His words making their way into your senses.  

You free one hand of his secured hold to reach over and cup his smiling face.

He leans into your touch.

You make a decision. 

[sillydg]

You make me whole again: Episode two. When the heart takes over.

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam X Drake

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 3.000

Mini-series: You make me whole again.

Premises: Liam struggles with his feelings after the love of his life almost died saving the supposed to be the love of his life.

Episode two: Drake and Liam have a heart-to-heart the night before the wedding with unexpected turn-off events. This time only Liam's POV.

--Episode one. The secrets we keep.--

--Masterlist--

A/N: This will be a very mini-series with mini-episodes. A/N: Not using my usual taglist. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed! A/N: Characters and some lines belong to Pixelberry.

Warnings! Angst/longing, swearing, mentioning of trauma. Infidelity!!

Episode two. When the heart takes over.

Liam.

I loosen up my tie when I hear knocking on my door. "Who's there?" And my heart stops in anticipation. Is she back.. or… The door opens and a hand holding a bottle of whiskey appears. My heart leaps. It's him.

"Is the best man allowed to get in? I bring booze to ease the wedding jitters." His handsome smiling face peaks around the door, and my first genuine smile appears on my face today, "Always the hero, aren't you?"

Drake enters my room and shrugs casually, "Just another ordinary day in the life of a Walker." He places the whiskey and two glasses on the small table between the two comfy chairs which face the fireplace. He walks over to me and hugs me tightly. I close my eyes, finally able to breathe deeply when his scent washes over me. After only a few seconds I let go of him with a heavy heart, knowing that I'm on the brink of losing myself in his arms. He motions me to sit, before walking over to the whiskey to pour both of us a drink.

I obey, and as always my eyes drift off to his strong hand around the bottle, but when I do it's the label that draws my attention. "Drake," I breathe in surprise, "Is that..."

Drake glances at the label with a smile that makes my heart skips a few beats, "The very first bottle of whiskey we shared together... The one we stole out of your dad's liquor globe to drink away your first date jitters."

I bark out a laugh, "I believe that we didn't even reach half a bottle!"

Drake snorts, "Because we fell asleep."

"Which, if I call correctly, made me miss my date." I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and shake my head with a smile that matches the warmth I feel in my heart.

"That was something, ha?" Once again he glances down at the bottle, "drinking a at least 500 euro's worth bottle of whiskey as a first experience. Man," and he barks out a laugh himself, "we were both so disappointed when we had a taste of the whiskey we actually were able to afford."

"Ahh well," I chuckle, "we were still lucky that my dad didn't catch us, and that Bastien woke us up with a bucket of water over our heads."

Drake finishes up pouring with a grin, "Yeah, but since we learned that lesson, I thought that it might be better to drink those jitters away the night before instead of an hour. We don't want to risk you falling asleep and missing your wedding, right?" Drake suddenly stumbles on the last few words, then swallows heavily, and for just a second I swear I could see him struggle. But before I know for sure, his face is already lidding up again and he hands me the glass of whiskey.

"Right," I murmur while encircling the tumbler with my hand, "I wouldn't want to miss our wedding."

I look up at Drake, who's also still holding the glass and I snap out of it the moment I spot him with his brows raised... I quickly spat, "Riley's and mine wedding of course, not our wedding." God, I wish.

Drake lets go of the glass with narrowed eyes, takes the bottle in hand, and gives me another pour. Then that goddamn signature smirk appears on his face, which always makes my pants just a little bit tighter. "I think you need some extra given the state you're in." He places the bottle back on the table and makes himself comfortable in the other armchair.

I grin back at him and hold up my glass in cheers, "You know me way too well, Drake." The only one who immediately sees through my facades.

He taps his glass against mine and a comfortable silence falls as we both stare into the crackling fire in the fireplace. I carefully glance over at Drake who's leaning back with a deep sigh, before he nervously starts tapping his feet. I laugh, "I thought we were drinking to ease my nerves, bud." I nod at his tapping foot.

Drake groans slightly before rolling his eyes. His feet stop tapping, but I'm not sure if he realizes that his finger has taken over.

-Tap, tap, tap-

I stare with a frown at his one finger tapping against the glass in his hand. I find my mind racing since I have never seen my best friend nervous before. Is there something going on? I snap out it when he suddenly blurts out, "Things are just going to be different from tomorrow on."

"What?" I whisper while observing him carefully. Then his mouth twitches ever so slightly and it immediately sets me off. There is something he's not telling me. My heart's pounding in my chest and my eyes are searching to meet his, while he's doing his best to avoid mine.

An instant pit forms in my stomach. This is not good. I manage to stumble, "Drake, what do you mean? It's us. Nothing is going to change us."

I see him chew the inside of his cheeks, mumbling, "Well..." His eyes shift from the fire to his drink. He opens his mouth again, making me lean forward in expectation, but he downs his whiskey with a shake of the head, before pouring himself a refill. He leans back into the chair, shifts once and the foot-tapping begins again.

I wait patiently, sipping my drink, trying to give him all the time he needs since it's clear that he's struggling with something. I follow him with my eyes when he gets up from the chair to walk over to the fireplace.

He taps his feet in thought against the stone wall, "It's just..." Once again a shake of the head. Once again a sigh. Once again silence falls, and the longer he remains quiet, the longer he struggles, the less I'm able to breathe. I once again lose up my tie a little, but it's useless as my throat seems to be closing bit by bit.

Drake leans with his hand against the stone wall above the fireplace, and once again downs his drink. Tentatively I come up from my chair, walk over to him, and hand him my full glass. He accepts it with a small smile and downs it. "Thanks, Li," he holds up the empty tumbler in front of me, "and you say I know you too well." I find myself only slightly relieved at his small smile, knowing that there's definitely something that he's not telling me.

I take his and my glass and walk back to the bottle for a refill. I glance over my shoulder, and ask while pouring, "Are you going to tell me what is going on? What is making you so nervous?"

I see him struggling, hesitation written all over his handsome face as I walk back to him. I hold up his drink to hand it over. He moves his hand to receive the tumbler as he always does, from beneath the glass. But this time he stops halfway through his motion and after a deep breath he encircles the glass with his fingers, brushing mine.

I freeze at his deliberate unexpected touch. My heart stops, eyes fixated on his fingers lingering against mine, before snapping up to meet his, and I have never seen him so vulnerable before. His lips are relaxed, but his eyes are filled with a mix of emotions. My fingers keep lingering against his, and I'm not able to break them away.

A sudden small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he whispers, "Thank you." I nod, his voice breaking the spell and I manage to pull my hand back. I rub my forehead, downing my drink, walk back over to the bottle to refill it and down it again.

I feel Drake's eyes burn in the back of my head, but I force myself to keep my eyes focused on the empty glass in my hand. He deliberately touched me... I tap the glass on the small wooden table, trying to kill off the sudden flutter of hope in my heart. Is it possible?

He never gave me a sign about returning my feelings. He has never known about my feelings for that matter. But the main reason why I don't want to know if there is a possibility of him returning my feelings is that that means there is no way back.

Because if he would return my feelings by a crazy miracle, things would only become complicated. We would only be able to be behind closed doors. He would be the other. And again. He deserves everything. He's the one, and if he would return these feelings I would never allow anyone to threaten him less than that. Including me.

Knowing means not being able to stop my heart anymore... So I rather believe that he doesn't return them, because God only knows what I'm capable of when we would go down that road. Consequence be damned.

I pour another drink, sigh deeply and turn back towards him. He has taken off his overshirt and leans casually against the wall next to the fireplace in only his white shirt and fitted jeans. God. The small tightening at his chest, his broad shoulders, and the smirk on his face make me want to do things I shouldn't. That shirt is made to be ripped. I swallow hard, not even remotely able to speak.

Drake taps his fingers on the cold stone of the wall. I match his body language at the other side of the fireplace and he snorts when I remain silent. "So, I have to be the talkative one tonight ha? Usually, you have no problem with finishing my sentences."

I rub my hand over my chin in thought and meet his eye, "I'm not sure if I dare to finish what's coming after 'I just..."

He nods in understanding, averting his eyes to the crackling fire, "Do you want me to finish it?"

"Yes." The word escapes my mouth before I even get the chance to think about it. I keep my eyes focused on him in expectation.

Once again he nods, hesitating just a second before murmuring... "I just..." He inhales deeply and exhales slowly, and manages to find his voice again. "The past six months I've come to realize that after your marriage, Herreld will be the one who's going to take care of you. She's going to be your rock, the person to fall back on... I..." He shakes his head and we seems to be back at struggling.

My heart wrenches at the stern, but most of all sad tone in his voice. His eyes are still fixated on the fire, clearly avoiding mine. But this time my heart get's overhand as I blurt out, "It still be us, Drake. Nothing is going to change about us. This," and I motion between us, "Is never going to change."

Drake lets out a mockingly snort, shakes his head and his expression says it all. Please tell me that this is not happening. I feel sudden desperation rising up in my stomach. "Drake," I whisper, setting a tentative step towards him, "what's going on?"

He's still not meeting my eyes, his hands turn into frustrated fists, but somehow he manages to whisper, "I think you're wrong, Li. Everything is going to change after tomorrow. You're going to a fucking married man, and I wonder where that leaves me."

"As I said, Drake," I state in my most reassuring tone, trying to get through that thick stubborn skull of his, "nothing is going to change us. We're not going to change."

"Oh come on, Liam! We both know that's fucking bullshit..." Drake lets out a humorless laugh and finally meets my eyes again. "We both know that being King requires you to get at it after marriage. There will be kids, and you'll have the family you've always dreamed of..."

My heart breaks. If he only knew. Drake looks back at the fire and he mockingly states, "Me sticking around would be just weird."

My breath hatches in my throat, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my head telling me where this is going. I set my jaw, "No, it wouldn't be weird. Everyone knows that you're my best friend. There is nothing weird about you sticking around."

"You're getting fucking married tomorrow, Li. I..." Drake rubs his face, murmuring through his fingers... "I'm sorry. I can't do this right now. I need to go."

"What?" I stumble confused trying to find his eyes, but he refuses and walks past me towards the small table. "What do you mean, Drake?"

He sets his empty glass on the table, "I'm sorry Li, I need to go. I..." He wants to walk away from me, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. "Why are you leaving? What the hell is going on in that head of yours?"

Suddenly his furious eyes snap up to meet mine, "Let go of me, Liam Rys."

"No!" and I meet his eye boldly, "I'm not going to let you go before I know what is going on."

"I don't fucking care if you're the king or not. I'm going to punch you if you're not letting me go, now!" He full-on glares at me and my heart sinks. Never ever had Drake snapped at me like this. But there has to be a reason, so I refuse to give in, "No! You can't walk away like this. You can't leave me."

He set a big step forward, gets straight into my face, and growls with such an intense mix of anger and powerlessness that it instantly grabs me at the throat. "Well, and still that's exactly what I'm going to do Li. After your wedding, I'm gone. I'm fucking gone."

I could swear that time freezes. I'm trying to process the words that just came out of his mouth, but I can't. I refuse to believe it, and all I can do is stumble in confusion, "What?"

He pulls his arm out of my grip, "You fucking heard me. You don't need me anymore after tomorrow. We both fucking know it."

"No, No! You're going nowhere!" I groan back at him, completely overtaken by panic. I try to grab his arm once more, but this time he is able to dodge it. I'm going to lose him. I can't lose him. He's my air, my world, the reason why I want to live.

I'm ripped. Every emotion I felt after almost losing him, comes crashing back. I never even dared to think that there was a possibility that I could lose him in another way. I never even considered him leaving. I'm so selfish. How could I've been so selfish?

"I fucking am," His lips turn into a straight line, "I need to. I can't... stay. Seeing you getting married is one thing, but starting a family Li." He walks back towards the door, "I'm really sorry. But..."

I start walking after him, desperately pleading as the love of my life is making his way to disappear through the door. Not sure if I'm ever going to see him again. "You can't leave. I need you. I have always needed you. You can't leave me alone here in this toxic place. You're the reason why I can breathe, Drake. Please."

But he's not stopping and with his hand on the doorknob, I find myself screaming my longs out in one last desperate attempt to make him stay. To make him listen, and my heart takes over. "For fucks sake, you fucking stubborn ass. What the hell are you doing? I love you! I already almost lost you once and that nearly fucking killed me. For God's sake, it will be my death if you leave!"

Drake freezes at my words, he slowly turns his head and glances at me with wide eyes over his shoulder, "What did you just say?"

I'm panting hard, recalling my words in my head, "It will be the death of me if you leave me alone."

"No," and confusion mixed with a glimmer of hope appears on his oh-so-gorgeous face, "before that."

I fall silent as I realize that I just spilled everything I kept inside for all these years. My eyes are watering and I breathe, "I love you. I always have and I can't stop it. I have tried for so many years... But... God, I love you, Drake."

He stares at me with his hand still on the doorknob, "But you are marrying... Why... If you knew all these years. Why would you..." He averts his eyes for a second in thought, but then his eyes find mine again with just a tang of hope in them, "Do you have to marry her?"

My heart stops and my breath hatches in anticipation at his question. "Drake, what exactly is it that you are asking me?"

His hand leaves the doorknob, and my heart leaps when he sets a step away from the door to turn back to me, "Do you have to marry her? Is there any way..."

I force myself to ignore the flutter of hope in my heart, force myself to say the words I have to say, but I'm barely getting them over my lips. "Yes, and no there is no way. It's why I kept it to myself all these years..." I should've stopped there, I should've stopped myself from wanting to know, but before I hear myself ask anyway, "Does this mean that you..."

Drake holds up his hand to stop me from talking and swallows deeply, "It doesn't matter, does it?"

"But it matters to me," I look at him with pleading eyes, the word is out anyway, my heart has taken over my mind, sense is slipping away and I take a step towards him, "Please Drake."

But Drake holds up his hand once more and I can see the first signs of him tearing up, "I'm going to stop you right there, bud... You have to marry her. Duties come first. I get it." He lets out a deep breath while walking backward to the door, "I guess this is it then, Li. We had a good run."

I feel a few tears streaming down my face, "Don't do this, Drake."

"I have to, and I just realize that I can't wait till after the wedding. I'm sorry, now that I know..." He clenches his fingers in his hair, "I don't think that I can be your best man tomorrow." His hand rests once again on the doorknob, and with a sad smile that instantly breaks my heart he meets my eyes once more, before saying, "Goodbye, Liam."

And he disappears through the door, before slamming it shut.

I'm frozen. He's gone. He's... I'm choking. I want to cry, scream but It's not happening apart from a few escaping tears. I'm in shock. He's gone. Forever. How could I have ever been so stupid... How could I ever let him go?

I need to. I unfreeze. HOW COULD I EVER LET HIM GO?

I run towards the door, pull it open, and freeze while gasping, "Drake?"

Masterlist

Episode one: The secrets we keep.

Episode three. The commoner's reign.

[mgsapphire]

Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

[pitaparka]

eye of the storm

request: Hi! Can you do an imagine where the reader is surfing with John B en JJ on a stormy night and she gets hurts/almost drowns?

summary: john b., reader, and jj go surfing during agatha. they get hurt and the boys fuss and care for them. 

pairings: jj x reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: near death experience, near drowning, large cuts

a/n: no super huge romance, just some friendly post trauma kisses. nothin gay about kissin your homies. big love

You shouldn’t have gone with them in the first place, but by the time you realized the tides were too rough for you, for anyone, it was too late.

The waves were frothy white, loud, and gorgeous. It was impossible not to feel tempted by them, by mother nature’s intense beauty. They surged high, rolling in on themselves before pushing in as far as they could onto the beach.

At first, you weren’t going to go in. You were going to stand around, watching them in the cold rain, making sure they didn’t drown or get hurt. It was stupid, you thought, as they blared music in the van, harsh winds and pelting rains sounding loudly against the metal, almost pushing John B. off the road a few times.

But the crash of the waves and the peaks of the crests, the strong pulling of the tide at your bare, sandy feet were too much for you. It courses adrenaline through your veins at an unfiltered rate. The sides of the beach were blown out, so you’d have to stay in the middle. You’d be able to live with that.

As JJ and John B. paddled out into the water, you retreated back to the van, where your board sat, begging to be used in the storm.

Paddling out into the ocean, you feel how intense the current is. You have to duck under many waves before you get one that’s salvageable.

It’s incredible to see through the barrel of the wave, but only for a second, as the wave changes and you’re under the water, eyes and lungs stinging. Your hand catches your board before you go too far down, and you wait the wave out, before pulling yourself onto the board, stomach flat on the hardwood finish and paddling out further. You have to duck under the waves that have already started to swell, but you have a good feeling about one far out, forming in the distance.

You see the break line and you’re off, paddling as hard as you can to catch it before it peaks. Before you know it you’re up on the board, and you make the bottom turn, cutting through the wave like a knife, balanced out and eyes the clearest they’ve been all week. You curve up, and then back in, watching the water crest right in front of you. But the whole wave closes out at the same time and you go under again, water in your eyes and ears. The wave turns you over in the swell, and you start swimming back to the surface.

Only, you’re not. You feel the tug on your leg, and you realize you’re swimming in the wrong direction. Using all your strength, you make it to the top, but are pushed back under in another swell, breathless and disoriented.

You pull your leg up to find your strap, panicking, and climb it up to where your board was, getting pulled viciously toward the beach in another wave. You swim up to the top, finally getting some air, and try to find your board. You pant as you wipe your face, but you can see another wave coming. You go under as it crests right above you, and your lungs sting. You come up coughing.

After the wipe out you don’t realize how close you are to the rocks near the pier until you’re on top of them, scraping your legs and the palms of your hands. The ocean is pure white there, all froth and harsh currents. But it’s not as strong as the waves in the middle. You pull your board into you, and decide you’ve had enough for the day, when you see John B. on  the beach, board in hand. You wipe your face again, and sit upright on your board. You survey the water and are surprised to see JJ making his way over to you. His hair is curled over onto his face, almost like a wave itself, his chest bare and his arms moving hard.

“Rocks!” You yell out to caution him, but he’s pulling his board to his chest and ducking under a wave.

He’s almost close enough to hear you when you watch him wince. He must’ve caught himself on a rock.

“You okay?” He yells, and you’re nodding, ready to go back in. He’s by your side and grabbing your arm to keep himself next to you. You grab his knee and feel the waves rock the two of you steadily.

“What happened?” He asks, and you know what he means but it’s too dangerous to hold a conversation out here.

“Let’s go in!” You yell over the swell, and he watches you with concerned eyes for a moment, before he makes you go first. It’s not as bad just riding the waves in, and as soon as you can stand, John B. is in the water, taking your board for you and walking alongside you.

You get to dry sand and rip the velcro off of your ankle. The waves are still loud, but at least now you can hear when John B. tells you, “You’re bleeding.”

You look down and see the culprit: a large scrape down the entire side of your calf, which stings with the salty air. He puts your board down in the sand and kneels down by it to get a better look when JJ makes it in too. He drops his board to the sand and doesn’t even bother unstrapping himself from his board.

“You okay? We saw you wipe out pretty bad,” JJ says, and there’s no pride in his voice. Just concern.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just cut my leg on the rocks over there,” you say, watching John B inspect the cut.

“I think I have a first aid kit in the car. We have towels too,” John B. informs, and he picks up your surfboard and his own, waiting for you to start walking.

JJ is on you in a second, throwing your arm over his shoulder, his board under his other arm, as his hand wraps around your side. You smile and hobble with him over to John B.’s van.

The walk is silent save for the wind, and is entirely awkward.

“You’re shaking still,” JJ whispers to you as he sits you down on the floor of the van.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply. He moves to the back of the van as John B. starts it up. You wipe your sandy feet carefully on the asphalt before JJ comes back with a towel, pressing it carefully to the cut.  You wince.

“Sorry,” he mutters, lifting it off the cut to inspect the blood. He places it gently back down and applies pressure.

“Ugh, JJ stop doing that. I’m gonna pass out,” you tease, but JJ is not laughing. He glares up at you, and you watch him with warm eyes.

John B. enters from the other side of the van and closes the door, surfboards piled up in the back. He looks under the seat and finds an old first aid kit, probably from when his dad bought the van. It’s dusty and yellow and disgusting looking. He sits down behind you and starts going through it. You turn to him.

“If you take anything from there and touch me with it I’m gonna drive home and leave you here,” you say, and JJ chuckles.

“Be careful, man, she’s bleeding. There’s no telling what she’ll actually do,” JJ says, and he tries to tie the towel around your cut. He’s having a hard time.

“Come inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” you tell JJ, but he ignores you. Until he laughs out loud.

“A hoe never gets cold,” John B. says from behind you, and JJ remarks, “Hey! I was gonna say that!”

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

“That’s not true. I’m freezing,” you tell the boys, and they both laugh, which fades into silence between you three as John B. puts the kit back under the seat and JJ finishes tying the towel.

There’s a radio station playing ads from the front seat.

“Get in. I’ll close the door,” JJ says, and you scoot backwards as he hops into the back, sliding the door behind him. John B. strategically maneuvers his way into the front of the van. JJ sits next to you, inspecting your fingers and bending them, as if to make sure they’re all in working order.

“You scared us, y’know,” John B. comments from the front. You rest your head on JJ’s shoulders as he notices your scratched palms that have since stopped bleeding.

“It’s okay,” you chide, and JJ runs the pads of his fingers over the cuts.

“It’s just a bad wipeout. It happens all the time to you guys,” you explain, and you feel JJ kiss the top of your head. You pull away to look at him, eyes wide, but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s watching the rain pelt the window on his side. You two should probably be in seats, but it doesn’t matter at this point.

He refuses to look at you, so you don’t make him. Instead, you place your head back on his shoulder, bring his own palm up to your lips, and plant soft, inaudible kisses there.

You feel him smile as John B. takes his time cruising down the highway.

[manonamora-if]

A few weeks ago, I posted by retrospective on MtP, 6 months after I uploaded it on Itch. Today, as promised, it's CRWL. Again, long post under the cut.

If you have not yet played Crimson Rose & White Lily, you can check out its game post HERE.

So from the get-go, CRWL did much better than MtP (and other further projects so far. It blew up much earlier, was played much more (still is) and is still doing quite well. It hit some major milestones pretty quickly (like 1k play within a month, 5k after about 4-5). I don't know how major IF games are doing compared to this one, but I'd say CRWL is doing pretty good all things considered.

On to the stats!

Game Statistics

Language: English (the game is going to be too large for translation).

Word Count: 24k for the Prologue and Chapter 1, without code.

Story Length: about 20k for the Prologue and Chapter 1.

Playtime: 30min to 1h.

Endings: 2, one that will continue in Chapter 2, the other makes the game restart.

Program: Twine w/ Sugarcube.

Current Version: V 1.5 (Prologue + Ch1 re-writes + bug fixes)

Online Statistics

While MtP never broke the hundreds of daily plays, CRWL has multiple times, from a couple of days after it was released to subsequent updates. The curves and pics between the views and plays are much similar as well, with an average ration of 2 views per play. As for the mini-timeline, there are about three periods: Release, Hiatus and Return/Re-Release).

The game was published on Jul-16. The game post was quickly rebloged by @/interact-if and a lot more people (thank you!). Since I had teased the game a while before I released it, it helped people know that this project existed and get excited about it. I am not really sure about the peaks in the beginning of August, though it was around the time I revealed the Romance Options, so maybe it was that?

Starting mid-August, I kinda went on hiatus, so it explains the lower numbers, but not the random peak late August. (I was not really online, so I don't know.)

End of October, I came back, which is the little increase. And End of November, I re-released Chapter 1, with its shiny new polish (where I announced that I broke the game, so peeps had to play it again). There was also a bit more activity throughout December as a whole, since I think I was more active on Tumblr (or not, cause who knows :P)

In the past 6 months, this game has been viewed almost 16k times and played almost 8k times (most downloads are mobile plays, others are when I uploaded each new versions of the game). It has been rated 26 times, for an average of 4.9/5 and commented 9 times (the other comments are my replies). People also added this game to 650 collections.

After MtP where I didn't spend more than 2 months on this project, CRWL has been a huge difference in terms of time put in it (more so since I started working more on Chapter 2). This project has blown away all of my expectations as it reached higher and higher milestones. I have rewarded myself with many, many, treats thanks to it! And it's not over yet!

I learnt some stuff with CRWL, like with MtP. So not to repeat myself, I won't include stuff that was in the other retrospective. Yay! A whole bunch of new lessons I was forced to learn!

Lesson 1: Planning is everything

You don't have to plan everything down to the letter when creating a large project, or you will likely end up getting stuck and frustrated with it. BUT no planning will make your story go all over the place. Structure is important and help you know where you are going with the plot or your characters.

Some authors will plan the whole story in advance before sitting down and actually write it. Others will just plan some important moments and build the story around. Do whatever works for you. I planned the current chapter I am working on with a vague outline of where events/actions are supposed to happen, and get deeper with notes/actual writing after that. I will put aside ideas for future chapter and consequences of these actions for future-me when she starts a new chapter. (I rely too heavily on future-me)

Lesson 2: Choices need to be made

You can't include all of your ideas. No matter how hard you try, it is either not feasible or not worth it for your stories. If I listened to my excited brain, I would not make any progress on the writing, my chapters would be a complete mess, and I would breakdown from not managing to code some stuff. (spoiler alert: this was one of the reason I took a break in Aug-Oct).

So you need to cut things, to cut words, to cut ideas. Which is a bummer, I know. But your story will thank you for it. And who knows, maybe you will be able to include it later.

One neat trick that helped me was to write down on a separate file/paper all of the ideas that came to my head as I was working on Chapter 2. When I was done with a scene, I would look back and see if those ideas could be implemented, if they were needed, and if they were possible. I ended up deleting a bunch as the story just went a different way.

Lesson 3: Proofreading is no joke. Just do it.

So after my little hiatus, I played my game again, just to get into the juice to start the next Chapter. And oh boi was I in for a surprise. Ya girl didn't check for typos or weird turns of phrases before she uploaded her game. Gosh was I red in shame. So much so I just did not finish reading and went back to revamping it instead.

Proofreading is hella important. Don't just upload your first or second drafts (I am guilty of that one too). That goes for testing it too. Beta testing is great, because people will try to break your game (in a good way) to find the errors still in there.

Do it by yourself, or get the help of others. In any case, this step is more important that I thought it would be...

Lesson 4: Find a way to track EVERYTHING

Choices, variables, characters, etc... Whatever it is, track it. Use a program, or go old school with paper, just do it. There were things that I completely forgot about when I started re-working Chapter 1, some details that would probably seem important but that would have just end up as a lost sentence. (I completely forgot that the MC has a huge scar on their leg...)

It helped me with consistency in the events progress, who said what to the MC, who is supposed to know what... I might end up with repetition when MC talks with different characters about one topic, but at least it will be consistent with these characters.

Also variables! Especially their names. I have a file just for the different names and what they refer to, so I don't have to look around every passage to find their name.

Final Lesson: When overwhelmed, take a breath and do you.

So, your game is doing pretty well, the numbers keep going up and people seem to really like what you've done. Great! Now you feel the pressure of disappointing everyone with the next instalment. Yaaaaay...

I was (and still am) really happy and grateful about the reactions I got from CRWL when it came out (and still since). But it pretty much got to my head. And it still does sometimes. Especially as I have pushed the upload of the new chapter again and again since my break.

Something that helps me is to just take a break from the numbers and the comments, and just focus on what I want to do with this project. I have to remind myself that some people will like it and some won't. At the end of the day I just need to be happy with what I put out into the world.

My process working on CRWL has been the continuation of how I worked on MtP, with some changes that made life easier (or more frustrating, depends). I have put a lot of hours on this project, and want to put a lot more of myself in it going forward. It has been quite invigorating for me to work on something more complicated, and just use my brain for something than just mindless entertainment (which is not bad, just something I would do way too much for my sake).

I think the thing that I regret the most was not taking a break earlier (before the Hiatus) and dive into a new project right away (EC and then TTTT). I also became so obsessed with some scene that I didn't manage to write that I couldn't fall asleep because it would just replay in my head over and over. I think I am managing it better this time around.

Also, I kind of lied in my last update... The game is going to be broken again with the new Chapter... I had to add some stuff and fix some macros (sorry....)

--

Play Crimson Rose and White Lily on Itch.io. If you enjoy it, consider rating it here and on the IF database, as well as like and reblog its Tumblr masterpost. Consider following it main blog too @crimsonroseandwhitelily.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

---

Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

-

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

-

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

-

@berrynarrybanana​

[dfdph]

Spotlight - Prologue

Author D.

Pairing Jungkook x Reader (female)

Genre Actor AU | Hollywood AU | Exes to Lovers AU | Romance | Fluff | Angst

Warnings Mentions of cyber bullying

Word count 3.5k

Summary “Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta, the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders,  and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.”

©️ dfdph, 2021 - All rights reserved. Reposting or translating onto other sites is NOT allowed.

     Award season was the period of the year Y/N hated the most. Despite being in the entertainment industry since she was a teenager - and now being in her late 20s -, she still couldn’t get used to the stress it put her through. She actually looked forward to dressing up and posing in front of dozens and dozens of photographers at the beginning of her career, but now that she had made a name for herself, now that everyone knew who she was, Y/N would gladly stay in her king sized bed watching some movie instead. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could avoid attending this season’s ceremonies. 

     The past year had been Y/N’s most rewarding yet. She had been in fact casted by a renowned and award-winning director as the main character of his new historical movie, which turned out highly successful at the box office - earning more than $110,000,000 on its opening weekend - and highly acclaimed by the critics who had praised, not only the cinematography and the intricacy of the plot, but especially Y/N’s performance - described as raw, heartbreaking and graceful. To no one’s surprise, she was soon nominated as Best Actress in most of the award events, winning all of them despite the high competition and enriching the collection of trophies she had displayed in her home office.

     When she debuted ten years ago with a minor role in an episode of a television series she only dared dreaming of reaching such a peak in her career. She could have never imagined that she would become one of the highest paid actresses in the industry, that she would afford buying her dream car and her dream house in Los Angeles, and that she would have millions of fans supporting her all over the world. Yet, there she was, getting ready for ‘the dream come true’, the award of the awards: the Oscars. And she, Y/N Y/L/N, had been chosen as the strongest contender in her category: Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. She had already been nominated twice before, but this time was different, this time she felt she could actually win. Hence why she couldn’t stop walking anxiously back and forth in the 5 star hotel room her staff had booked for the day.

     Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta; the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. 

     Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.

     Y/N was a completely different woman from who she was back in high school.

     She had grown in a very poor family. Her mother had to raise her, alongside her older brother, all on her own, working long hours as a housekeeper for a rich and snob family who mistreated her and paid her just enough so that she couldn’t resign. She was a very sweet woman who had to struggle every day to give her two children the most normal life she could afford. Y/N’s father, on the other hand, was never present: an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, he regularly failed to pay child support after the divorce and never once made a call to hear from them.

     Y/N understood the importance of money early on, in elementary school, when her classmates started teasing her because of her hand-me-down clothes. She was used to wear her brother’s old t-shirts every now and then and never thought too much of it. She didn’t see any difference between the rock bands pictures or the flowery prints, she didn’t realize it mattered. And when she had told her mother that those girls had laughed at her, the woman almost cried, so Y/N decided not to mention it ever again.

     Y/N grew up into a very introverted and shy teenager. She wasn’t good with socializing and generally preferred being on her own. Her desire for solitude was so evident that her classmates gave up on their attempts to befriend her and she soon became the lone wolf of their high school. By junior high, she became almost invisible. 

     Strangely enough, Y/N’s dream was that to become an actress, a profession that required a lot of things she lacked of. Confidence, to begin with, or charisma. The only thing she believed she could do was hide inside the unused storage room on the second floor and play with the old props left by the drama club. 

     She met Jungkook while doing just that. 

     The boy was just coming back from the first meeting of the Mathematics Discussion Club - of which he was the president - when he heard someone crying from a room he never noticed before. He opened the door quietly, peeking his head inside the dim lighted room, only to find the silhouette of a girl lying on the floor in a fetal position and seemingly crying her lungs out in pain. She had her hands clutching tightly her head and she was sobbing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. On instinct, Jungkook rushed to her side, his books, pencils and calculator clattering all over the floor. 

     “Are you ok?!” he screamed in worry, putting his hands over her shoulders.

     Y/N jumped up, her wailing stopping so abruptly that it made Jungkook jump as well. As it turned out, Y/N was doing nothing more than acting the part of a terminally ill girl who was suffering intense head pains - a part she had invented all on her own to test her ability with dramatic scenes. it was something she did quite often. Just the day before she was performing Meryl Streep’s part in “Into the Woods” to an invisible audience.

     “I-I’m ok.” she mumbled, drying the fake tears from her cheeks.

     “What the hell?” Jungkook murmured, looking at her in astonishment. “What was that?”

     “I was ... I was just pretending.” she replied, her voice horse from all the screaming.

     “Pretending?” he repeated as he sat bewildered on the dirty floor. “You were pretending to be in pain? Why?!”

     Y/N felt the heat rising to her face. This was the first time she had to explain her weird little secret to anyone. “Acting.”

     “Acting.” Jungkook repeated once again. “And why are you doing it in here?” he asked looking around the creepy space, with its spider webs and abandoned miscellaneous objects. “What is this place anyways?”

     “It was the old storage room of the drama club.” Y/N replied. “They don’t use it anymore. There’s no space left.”

     “I can see that.” he said staring at the shelf just above their heads that looked about ready to collapse. “So, I guess you’re not in the drama club?”

     “No.” Y/N answered looking down at her crossed legs. She wondered if he was going to snitch on her. She really didn’t want to get in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing something that terrible.

     “I could tell.” Jungkook replied. “I saw last year’s winter play and, let me tell you, you, crying on the floor 5 minutes ago, were ten times better than that.”

     Y/N looked back at him with her mouth open in surprise. She had no idea who this boy sitting crossed legged on the floor with her was, with his white button down shirt and over washed jeans, but he singlehandedly gave her the best compliment she could wish for. “Right?!” she exclaimed sitting straighter. “I thought so too! But everybody else acted as if they saw the best performance of their lives! I knew I couldn’t be the only one who taught that their interpretation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra was nothing but underwhelming.”

     “Damn right.” the boy nodded in agreement. “I actually looked forward to it because I prefer it over Romeo and Juliet, but I was so disappointed. You should have played Cleopatra!” he added in an afterthought. “Why didn’t you?”

     Y/N felt herself blush once again. “I never performed in front of anyone.” she confessed. “Apart from my mother an brother, that is.”

     “That’s a shame.” Jungkook murmured pensively. “You have real talent, storage room girl. Believe me, I’m an expert.”

     Being friends with Jungkook was easy, falling in love with him was even easier. It came so naturally that Y/N didn’t even have the chance to fully realize it before they were officially dating.

     He was everything Y/N wasn’t and everything she wanted to be. Even at 16 years old he already was a very confident boy. He was incredibly smart, funny and a little bit nerdy. He didn’t belong to the upper class of their high school social pyramid, nor the middle, but he had no care in matching those standards because he loved himself for who he was - Stark Trek t-shirts, consumed tennis shoes and all. 

     In the short year the two of them were together, from junior to senior year, Jungkook became the reason behind Y/N’s happiness. She wasn’t aware of how lonely she really had been while asking to be left alone. Jungkook taught her to be open towards the world, to be curious and to believe in herself and her abilities. Thanks to him and his never ending support Y/N came to realize that she wasn’t meant to hide inside the abandoned storage room on the second floor, but she deserved the chance to follow her dreams.

     Together they filed their applications for college: Jungkook always wanted to become an aerospace engineer and had set the personal - and ambitious - goal to work for NASA; Y/N, on the other hand, had worked hard during her last year in high school to win a scholarship for whichever Performing Arts College was willing to take her in - it didn’t matter which one because she knew she started her acting career late. All she wanted was to study to become an actress, to perform on stage and bring to life incredible stories, to be someone one day and someone else the other.

     But it was such a big dream, something so fickle and risky, that Y/N couldn’t help but being overwhelmed by fear, not only for her future but that of Jungkook’s as well, because after all, despite all the changes she had gone through, a part of her was still hiding from the world. So she did something stupid, something very cliché, that nevertheless seemed the right thing to do at that time: she broke up with him.

     It’s for his own good, she had thought. He is brilliant, I don’t want to hold him back.

     Jungkook fought her and for her. He was afraid something like this would happen, he was sure it wasn’t what she really wanted, he knew she was just afraid. But Y/N was a very talented actress indeed and for a moment, as she looked straight into his dark eyes and told him she didn’t love him anymore, Jungkook felt his confidence waver.

     “I’m really thankful for what you’ve done for me.” she had said. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

     “Please don’t lie.” he had whispered, trying to stop the angry and disappointed tears from falling from his eyes. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

     “I’m not.” Y/N replied, her voice firm. “I loved you, I really did. You’ll be my first love forever, Kook.”

     And the very next day, just like in one of those cheesy television dramas her mother loved so much, she flew hundreds of miles away from him, trying to not looking back. 

     If she said she never regretted it over the following years, it would be a lie. As she started her new life, she never failed to think of him. She wondered how he was doing, if his dreams were coming true and if he ever thought of her as much as she did of him. As she grew up and matured, Y/N realized how stupid her choice had been and how important Jungkook’s role had been in shaping her personality and in breaking her shell. Y/N was sure of it: if he didn’t found her that day inside the storage room, she wouldn’t be who she was today.

     Years after she broke up with him, Jungkook still popped up into her mind every now and then. She thought of him the first time she was casted for a walk on role in a movie; she thought of him the first time her name was credited in an episode of a TV show; she thought of him the first time she won an award.

      She thought of him with regret and a little bit of melancholy. Y/N never forgot him. Not even when when became so famous she barely had the time and energy to think about herself.

      The first time Y/N heard his name spoken by someone else’s mouth, three years ago, was a complete shock. She never talked of him to anyone, apart form her mother, her brother and Jimin, her best friend and manager, so he was supposed to be a nobody to everyone else but herself. As it turned out, with a very mysterious turn of events, Jungkook had left the path towards aerospace engineering and had decided to take his chance with acting. And from what Y/N gathered from the overheard conversation, he was starting to make a name for himself as well. 

     That night, back in her multimillion dollar villa, Y/N researched his name on the internet for the first time. 

     He was new to the industry and there wasn’t much about him, it was like he popped out of nowhere. But it was definitely Jungkook, Y/N recognized him from the pictures. He had grown into a beautiful man, so handsome that she did a double take and then had to stop herself from drooling. It wasn’t like he was ugly when they were together, but he was just a skinny teenager back then and this was a man, a real man who had lost all of his baby fat and now had a razor sharp jaw and a muscular body. Apparently, he was the protagonist of an ongoing TV series that was gathering a lot of success putting him in the center of the attention. ‘The new heartthrob’, that was how he was being called.

     Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what happened after they lost contact with each other that made him change his career so drastically. Whenever she thought about him she imagined him working on some challenging project for NASA, never on a movie set. She remembered he was passionate about theatre and cinema, but never once he had expressed the desire to become an actor like her. Y/N didn’t know what to think.

     As the years passed, Y/N watched as his acting career grew, as he starred in a success after the other and as he earned the respect of even the most strict directors and critics.

     Y/N watched, yes, but from afar, never daring to contact him and secretly avoiding the chances to meet him again. 

     She had been successful, until now.

     The drive to the Dolby Theatre went far too quick for Y/N’s taste. She could barely remember how she got from the hotel room where she had been preparing to the black luxury van. Before she knew it her stylist was taking away her favorite slippers and was putting on her dress-matching Dolce&Gabbana heels.

     Y/N didn’t have the time to think. Three years of running away and finally the moment had come. Jeon Jungkook - her first love, her ‘the one that got away’, probably her biggest regret - was probably in the car behind hers.

     “Y/N, two minutes.” Jimin called out, warning her to get ready. “You know the deal. Deep breath and own that red carpet as you always do. And-”

     “I know.” Y/N interrupted him. “The left side is my best side.”

     The man, dressed up as well in a black tux, gave her a wink. “I’ll be right behind you. You got this.” he declared, looking at her intensely. “This is the one.”

     “Thanks, Chim. But from all we know I could be the next Di Caprio.” she joked, the roaring noise from the red carpet now deafening.

     “On my dead body.” he smirked. “Talk to you later, princess.”

     “Later.” she hugged him briefly. “Oh, can you please make sure my mom and Seokjin got in fine? I totally forgot to call them.”

     “Of course. My assistant is with them, anyways.” Jimin said, putting a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

     Y/N took a deep breath, put on her best charming expression and nodded. “Ready.”

     As soon as he opened the door, Y/N was immediately hit by the boisterous and echoing call of the fans. She wasn’t sure if it was only her impression but it seemed like every single one of them was screaming her name. She was, indeed, one of the biggest names of the night, there was no use in denying it, but Y/N couldn’t help but wish they stopped making her presence so obvious.

     A young usher, pretending not so well to be indifferent and trying to be professional, guided her towards the beginning of the red carpet, hundreds of cellphones following her movements like magnets.

     “Please, come this way, miss Y/L/N.” the usher instructed in a slightly trembling voice. “There will be someone from the staff signaling you were to stop to pose for the photographers.”

     Y/N knew this already. She had attended countless of events like this, after all. Yet she didn’t say anything to the shy boy, preferring to smile at him sincerely. “Thank you very much.” she said, watching as he blushed violently.

     Y/N started her walk, Jimin and her stylist following a few steps behind to make sure that everything went smoothly. The photographers went wild as soon as they saw her, the flashes of their cameras blinding her almost angrily. She was used to it now, she had mastered the trick: squinting sexily and blinking strategically.

     As she walked slowly towards the entrance of the theatre, posing with confidence and channeling her best princess warrior, Y/N almost forgot the worries she had about Jungkook, until a new wave of screams echoed to her ears. She stiffened, even if imperceptibly. It was him, the line up said he would be walking right after her. 

     The time had finally come. Ten years had passed and she was seeing Jeon Jungkook again for the first time. 

     She continued to walk nonchalantly, every step confident and her chin up and proud. But once she reached the end of the red carpet and the photographers moved their attention away from her, Y/N couldn’t help but stop for a second, ignoring a fellow actress and ‘friend’ waving at her a few feet further. 

     She could feel him, she could feel his presence behind her back. She could either turn around and catch a glimpse of him, or resume walking and pretend he wasn’t there. It took her a couple of moments of indecisiveness, in which Jimin looked at her questioningly, before taking the umpteenth deep breath of the evening.

     She turned, the hem of her $30 000 black dress brushing almost magically over the carpet, and there he was. For a moment the memory of the nerdy boy from high school overlapped the image in front of her. She was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t that teenager anymore, she had seen his pictures, watched his movies and interviews. The boy she remembered was long gone: standing tall and proud, more than twenty feet from her, was now Jeon Jungkook ‘the actor’, dressed in a perfectly tailored night blue tux that highlighted his toned body, black patent leather shoes and impeccably styled hair.

     And he was staring - with his dark and deep black eyes - right back at her.

[shewholovestoread]

The Haunting of Bly Manor - Ramblings

HERE BE SPOILERS, BEWARE!

The Haunting of Hill House was an exceptional piece of television, both in terms of writing as well as execution. Any follow-up, regardless of its actual merit will be judged unfairly especially because the show is conceived as an anthology- each season is independent, a new story, a new house. In that regard, the key to enjoying Bly Manor is to watch it with no ties to Hill House. A tough thing to do but a must. If you watch Bly Manor, expecting the story and scares from Hill House, you will find it sorely lacking.

Bly Manor and Hill House could not be more different from each other. Other than a few repeated cast members and some behind the scenes crew, it's a completely new concept. Like its predecessor, the season resembles its source material only in the broadest of strokes. There are a bulk of characters, story arcs that don't exist in The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. Instead, Mike Flanagan and his team of writers have woven in other, more obscure stories by James into this television adaptation and the season is richer for it.

The beauty of a show like Bly Manor and indeed even Hill House are its characters. The story is engaging and keeps the audience glued to their seats, the characters though elevate it to a whole new level. I am perhaps waxing poetic but as I sit here having just finished the last episode, I find myself going back to the characters. There is such abundant richness to them, so many layers, even to the ones that we would mostly dismiss as the "villain". The show infuses such heartache into their stories that to label any of them as villainous would be to completely miss the point. Which is not to say that there aren't characters who do absolutely despicable things, like a certain Peter Quint, nor does the show offer them a redemption, merely understanding, a look into their lives.

Unlike Hill House, where a majority of the ghosts retained their menacing and malicious edge, the last 2 episodes of Bly Manor completely rid the ghosts of the house of all that makes them frightening, revealing them to be nothing but unwitting bystanders who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The heartache is a running theme especially among 4 principle characters- Hannah, Owen, Dani and Jamie. Hannah who constantly finds herself in different times, who hasn't yet realised that she's no longer among the living, existing like an echo, repeating the actions in death as she did in life. Filled with regret at the life unlived, the regret of being in love with Owen and never telling him. For Owen to be in love with Hannah but also held back, whether due to his mother's illness or just never being sure of how Hannah felt about him.

I tip my hat to Mike Flanagan. In Hill House he gave us Theo Crain, the only complaint being that perhaps Trish only existed in the story to serve Theo's character. He does a much a better job in Bly Manor with Dani and Jamie. You can see the yearning in Dani's eyes almost as soon as she meets Jamie, there is an instant pull. And then through her flashback, you can see that it was her guilt that was holding her back. And once she let that go of it, you could see her embracing the happiness that came from being with Jamie. Their love for each other was one of the high-points of the show. The way the show concludes, leaves a bittersweet taste, in that, at the end, Dani does come back for Jamie and they can finally be together. And that was just beautiful.

Bly Manor is also beautifully made show, though if I were being honest, I missed some of those brilliant single takes shots from Hill House which were so superbly executed. The structure of the season bares some similarities to that of Hill House, in that almost each episode focuses on a particular character but it's not necessarily from their point of view. With each passing episode, the story slowly unfolds, until the last episode brings everything together like a tapestry unfurling, finally presenting the whole image in its entirety. That's the other thing to watch out for in the show, it is slow, it takes its time, the first episode especially. We have become so used to fast-paced storytelling that there is something soothing about one that takes its time, that also occasionally pauses and lets its inhabitants breathe and simply exist instead of pushing along one story arc or another. I almost miss it which is why shows like this are a treat.

The acting is also top-notch, though some of the accents take some getting used to, most notably Henry Thomas as Henry Wingrave. All of the others, especially the kids Benjamin Evan Ainsworth and Amelie Bea Smith as Miles and Flora respectively were amazing. Special mention also to T'nia Miller who played Hannah Grose with such depth and sincerity. I'm going to mention all of the main cast members because of how amazing they all were- Victoria Pedretti as Dani Clayton, Amelia Eve as Jamie, Oliver Jackson-Cohen as Peter Quint, Tahirah Sharif as Rebecca Jessel, Rahul Kohli as Owen, Carla Gugino as The Narrator. Special mention also to Kate Siegel who only appeared in one episode but owned every frame she was in.

Mike Flanagan was being honest when he said that Bly Manor is gothic romance. It is not the horror-fest that was Hill House. Bly Manor, like Guillermo Del Toro's Crimson Peak, is a love story with ghosts in it. At its core, its about people deeply in love. Some of it, transcendent like Hannah-Owen and Dani-Jamie and some of it toxic like Rebecca-Peter. The Haunting of Bly Manor is a beautiful show and to watch it in the shadow of Hill House is a gross disservice to it's beauty and nuance.

P.S. – Petition to have Victoria Pedretti in the next season of The Haunting and to get a happy ending and if we get a wlw ship, that’s just an added bonus.

P.P.S – Netflix better not cancel this show! Seriously, keep your cancel-happy hands away from this.

[hughiecampbelle]

White Rose (Pre-War!John Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1,089

Inspired By: TwentyTwo by Thea

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes

A/N: I am a monster :))) I heard this song it made me instantly think of pre-war Shelbys :) Thank you @lovemissyhoneybee for recommending loml John!!! The more I listened the more fitting I thought he'd be! I know the Peaky Fandom isn't doing so well and I just wanted to bring a lil fluff and joy with a beloved character :) Then I got to the ending and well. . . it was too good of an idea to pass up!!! I promise the next fic will actually be cute all the way through!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You love can survive anything, even war, right? 💕

Gif Credit: @unintended-yuzuki :) why is he so cute!!!!!!!

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

I know you're scared

But I am scared too

Life is unpredictable

And we're barely twenty-two

Young. Baby faced. You hadn't even had the chance to kiss each and every one of his freckles yet. Counting them to yourself softly, losing track, starting over. Too many kisses, too little time. The scream of the train tracks a constant reminder of what was to come, what you were going to lose, what would and wouldn't come home. Sweet John, your John, all yours, but not much longer. The distance between you already growing. Tangled in the sheets, sleeping so quietly. Watching his back fall and rise, his arm outstretched towards you. He never let a moment go by where you weren't together, not even before the letter. Even as he dreamed, he had to hold on to something, someone. The affection in him undying. And you let him. There was never a touch you welcomed more than his hand on yours. Skin to skin. A sense of home, a safety you found yourself trusting. The sun has yet to rise, peaking her way up in the cloudless sky, perched just above the long, summer grass. Your bedroom, small though not camped. Just enough. Everything in this moment was just enough. Gold streaming through the windows, resting on you like a warm blanket. You didn't want to get up, face the day, the uncertainty , instead pulling him close. Your John, in need of being held, cared for, loved, even when he couldn't find the words. A kiss on his head, the last, you were never quite sure. . . .

I heard your cry

But you'll hear mine too

After all, we're only kids

And this feeling is so new

Blue eyes bloodshot. His face flushed. Behind locked doors, his body shook, sobbed, choking back everything that scared him. Mourning the loss too soon, picturing his own shallow grave, anonymous among the rest. A completely unremarkable life lived by John Shelby. His fate sealed. You learned to pick locks, pick yourself up off the floor and wrap your arms around him. No words. There was nothing to say anymore. Just your racing heartbeats in sync, your fears finding solace in one another. Too many what if's, too many things to go wrong. Neither of you could manage anything more than the strength to hold, to cherish, to will the universe, like all kids do, to keep you together. The privilege of false immortality, of a careless kind of love, thoughts of conquering the world in your youth, none of it was a luxury you could afford. Challenging God instead of bowing your heads, there was that little bit of fight you had left. His heavy head in your lap, hands through his hair, pleading, praying you'd never have to say goodbye.

If you took my heart and you ran away

I hope you'll realize and bring it back some day

And all the while, promise me you'll keep her safe

So you don't ever lose what you can't replace

On one knee, he holds your hand, his words a little slurred, knee dirtying on the cobblestone, asking for your honor of letting him be your husband. No ring, though. Drunk on love, your boy. Offering nothing but a flower he picked on the way. A night on the town, he promised. London, full of life, of joy, a getaway, an escape from all that was to come. Home was too much a reminder. Stumbling your way through the park, his arm around your waist, he decided then and there there was no better time. Now or never. Impulse, the crazed thoughts of a dying man. Proclaiming his love for you so the whole world could hear. It wasn't real. Not in the eyes of any blood you shared, declaring yourselves too young to do so, too impulsive, too blinded by a new romance, even in a time like this. You said yes anyways, and when he kissed you, spinning you until you were dizzy, pulling apart only to laugh, you were kissing a new man, you were kissing your husband. Til death would you part.

We think we both know what the future holds

House in the sun, happy grey and old

There's nothing really wrong with the master plan

But you don't really need one to be a happy man

A house of your own, he promised you. Fingers laced together, the warm breeze welcomed on your cheeks. A house of your own, in a field like this, where no one could ever find you, away from the grey of your home. Wildflowers everywhere. A bedroom big enough for more than just two, with no leaky roofs or moldy spots on the tub. A bath for the both of you, where you could lay as one in between the bubbles. Little feet up and down the stairs. A family of your own, too. Kissing scraped knees and sewing torn shirts. Happy and safe, it's all he dreamed of. A future with you, a lifetime of love. Growing up, lives of their own, leaving you in your prime. White hair, age spots, wrinkling together, hand in hand, as if nothings changed, no time has passed. No ring, just the flower. That would be enough, like it always had. He looks up at you, eyes wide, all smiles. You want it, you want it all, you want to believe that's what you'll have, but you can't let him get his hopes up. You can't crush him, either. So, you nod along, picturing everything that hurts. From ten little toes, to beautiful storms, to the end of a life long and well lived.

So let us love without any thought

Let us love without thinking it over

He saw the end of war, the end of the world, riding the train all the way home. He spoke to the Devil himself, and walked away. Counted his lucky stars every single night, promising himself that he'd come back to you eventually. But you didn't. You'd never know the end of war, the end of waiting, you'd never even know what happened to him all along. Your little flower, a white rose, pressed between the pages of a book where you knew he'd find. Prideful, your worries all for nothing, your sweet John, always too naïve, too hopeful. Mourning a life cut short, but not his. He survived, but he came home to nothing.

We're just young in love

Why would we give up?

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party

Title: Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5812

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Clyde was handling another assignment so you were working out of Quantico for the time being. You'd learned really quickly that not everyone had a Penelope Garcia at their disposal and you needed to skill up fast. You'd bribed her with concert tickets and a very handsome Elliot Greenberg as her escort in exchange for teaching you the basics.

Elliot worked for the white collar crime unit in New York after the BAU rejection and had recently made the transition to Quantico for sex crimes. The two of you had kept in touch over the years and he'd hit you up when he'd moved back. He'd broken up with his girlfriend back in New York for the job - which really just told you the girlfriend hadn't mattered all that much. Elliot was smart, good looking, and doing well at work but you knew he also had a nerdy streak that Garcia would appreciate.

It was kind of fun being on the other side of a case and watching Penelope in action. You figured it would be easiest to learn on the job so you'd stayed holed up in her office and the two of you worked together with the team on a case. She taught you how to do some of the less complex stuff and you got to flirt with Hotch anytime he called for an update - it was a win-win really.

When they got back, he'd decided to have everyone be home for a week and do reports and consults to coincide with your schedule. No one was really complaining about a week of no travel.

Aaron had gotten home before you as you'd had a late afternoon meeting with McKinney to update him on your progress. When you walk in, you can smell roasted spices wafting from the kitchen. Aaron had always enjoyed foods from other cuisines but with you he'd really embraced cooking it as well, since you'd lived all over and had curated your own recipes over the years. If your nose wasn't mistaken, he was trying his hand at your Chicken Vindaloo recipe.

You walk into the kitchen to see him wearing an apron and manning the stove while Jack sits at the island doing his homework.

"Hi baby." You greet Jack and place a quick kiss to his head before going over to observe Aaron's handiwork - it smelled pretty good and he already had the rice cooker going as well. Jack mumbled a hello and you could tell something was off. You raise an eyebrow at Aaron who mouths "Soccer" to you, peaking a glance backwards at Jack's head bent over his worksheets.

Aaron and you had decided to sign him up for soccer lessons, figuring it was a good age to get him into team sports and be a little more active in a structured setting. Apparently he wasn't taking it too well, though you couldn't fathom why.

You take a quick taste from the spatula that Aaron had been using to stir and add a little pinch of salt to the pan. He throws you a mock glare. "I was getting to it," he mutters, shooing you away.

You leave him to the cooking and go sit at the island by Jack. Grabbing a tangerine from the fruitbowl, you peel it and break off a piece. "Orange for your thoughts?" you ask Jack.

You can see him hesitate but he still reaches out for the small slice, putting his pencil down. "I don't want to do Soccer," he confesses, reaching for another piece. Aaron's back is turned and he appears to be bustling around the kitchen.

"What part of it do you not want to do?" You pop a piece of tangerine into your own mouth as well.

He seems to consider your question as he chews on another piece. "It seems messy and the other kids seem mean."

You and Aaron had taken Jack by the soccer field a couple of weeks ago and you realize he's referring to the mud covered kids all pushing one another. Jack was a sweet and sensitive kid and you could understand how that was maybe a stressful situation for him. But you also wanted him to give it a shot because it would be good to do some team activities - help him make some more friends and be more active.

"It does seem kind of messy," you agree. "But I don't think the other kids will be mean. You're good at making friends and as long as you're nice to them they'll be nice to you."

He thinks over your response and you know you can seal the deal. "If you don't like it after you give it a fair shot, then we can discuss. Is that okay?" Jack was a reasonable kid and you and Aaron tried to give him choices as much as possible.

"Okay, Y/N." Jack nods, grabbing the last piece of tangerine from your palm.

"You know," you lean in a bit to Jack, lowering your voice, "your family has a special history with soccer fields."

"We do?" He quirks an eyebrow at you and he looks so much like Aaron in that moment. The cheeks are all Haley but the expression is completely Aaron.

"Well, you know how your parents met, of course," you confirm with mock seriousness.

Jack smiles and nods. "Pirate #4"

You laugh, ruffling Jack's hair. Aaron had kept his word to Haley and he did his best to make her a part of Jack's life as much as you could. But you had a feeling this wasn't a story Jack knew yet. Jack had been obsessed with all of the Disney movies lately so you know he'd appreciate a good romance story.

"Yes, your parents met during the play. But your dad was quite the young soccer star when he was in high school." You look and see that Aaron is adding the finishing touches to dinner and undoubtedly listening in. Jack has turned fully to face you, bringing his chair a little bit closer to yours.

"Well, your mom started to go watch him practice and go to his games. After a game where your dad scored the winning goal," you pause as Jack hangs on every word, "they were hanging out on the field and your dad finally plucked up the courage and asked your mom to be his girlfriend."

"That's pretty cool, I guess." He smiles, turning to look at his dad. "But not as cool as Buttercup and Wesley. Can we watch The Princess Bride again after dinner?"

You and Aaron laugh as he nods and tells Jack to go get washed up for dinner. The three of you had already watched The Princess Bride a couple of times and Aaron insisted that Inigo Montoya looked exactly like his old boss, Gideon. He'd pulled up pictures to show you, but you just didn't see it. It was probably the longest argument the two of you had had in recent memory.

As Jack leaves, Aaron turns to look at you, his face identical to Jack's from earlier, eyebrow quirked just the same. You know he's wondering how you knew that story about him and Haley because it sure hadn't been from him.

"Jess and I bonded while you were gone," you explained with a small smile. "He should know your love story."

Aaron nods as you get up to get changed for dinner yourself. He adores that you go above and beyond to make sure that Jack feels connected to Haley. Sometimes, though, he worries that you end up minimizing your role in his and Jack's life in the process.

As far as Aaron was concerned, Jack got to be witness to his favorite love story.

*------------*

With the whole team at home base for the coming week, you and Aaron decided to host the long postponed dinner party that you had initially aimed to have as your relationship reveal party. Between the team jumping the gun on you and then all of the work and cases, it had gotten pushed back indefinitely. However, now seemed like the right time to do it. You'd planned it for the end of the week when both Henry and Jack were invited to a birthday sleepover and all of the adults had the next day off.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope were all bringing dates. Rossi was seeing Strauss but knew better than to invite her to a team thing. You still remembered worming that particular secret out of Aaron. You had known something was up when you'd happened to catch his face when Rossi told him. You'd been too far to actually hear what caused that face, so you'd brought it up later. In his defense, he'd valiantly tried to protect Rossi's secret, but you had your ways. When he'd finally given in and told you, you regretted having tried so hard to get it out of him. Rossi and Strauss. Just the thought of it made you shudder.

However, with that large of a group, you decided to get some outside help, though you'd still make dessert. You'd left for lunch to go meet with the caterer, taking Rossi along with you since he'd actually be helpful. Aaron was in some budget meetings through lunch anyways and you'd grabbed him a salad on the way back. You thanked Rossi for joining you and he took Aaron's food up with him as you turned to see Derek and Emily hanging out by her desk.

"Hey, so what'd Hotch mess up?" Derek asks as he sees you.

You're confused for a second as to what he means but then you catch sight of the large bouquet of flowers on your desk. Your heart stops. You recognize that arrangement - the ostentatious roses arranged artfully. You'd forgotten what day it was. After he missed last year, you'd thought he'd forgotten - that he'd moved past it finally. This was the first time they'd arrived at the office. Usually it was sent to your home so you could deal with it in private.

You approach your desk not bothering to look for a note. Quickly, you pick them up and place the bouquet in your trash can, in the hope that no one else would see them. Both Derek and Emily eye you curiously.

You have to make sure your voice will come out steadily before you speak. "They're not from Aaron."

You hope they'll just go back to their conversation as you sit down in your chair, your mind whirling. You'd have to deal with this situation. Him sending them to work was an obvious escalation and to what end, you couldn't be sure.

From the corner of your eye, you see Derek stand from his spot on Emily's desk. He walks towards you with purpose and before you can stop him, he's reached into the trash can and fished out the note.

"Matthew? He's sending you flowers?" His voice is low and he looks troubled, holding the note in his hands and taking a seat on your desk instead. Seemed like him and Emily had decided he'd deal with it, as she was conspicuously missing, leaving just you and Derek in the bullpen.

You sigh internally. It had been too much to hope that they would've just ignored it. "It's our anniversary," you explain, looking around and making sure there wasn't anyone else around. "He didn't take the break up well. Now he sends flowers every year to torture me - though usually he's tactful enough to send them to the house."

Your revelation does nothing to ease Derek's mind. If anything he looks even more worried now than before. "So he's escalating. Trying to get your attention."

"He's not going to actually do anything," you say, trying to sound reassuring. "I can handle it, Derek." You place a hand on his knee closest to you and look firmly up at him. The last thing you needed was for Derek to be all worried and nosey about the situation. Or worse, for him to tell… "Do not tell Aaron."

He looks at you as though you're stupid and you can tell he's going to argue with you, but you really don't want to bother Aaron with this. Not in the one week you guys have at home together. "I mean it, Derek. He has a thousand other things to worry about. My sociopath ex does not need to be one of them."

Derek frowns and you know he's racing through the thousand cases you guys have done on stalker exes and escalation. Luckily for you, Matthew was too lazy to actually stalk anyone. Unluckily, he still found the time to order you flowers to remind you that he'd once been a very large part of your life. You didn't even like roses. With a glance up to Hotch's office, Derek nods, knowing he won't be able to convince you otherwise right now. He drops the note back into the trash can as Emily returns and you all go back to pretending to work.

It's late afternoon when you hear Hotch calling your name from the upstairs landing. "Y/N, can you come up here please?"

You'd gotten very little done, your mind whirling with what to do about the Matthew situation. You just wanted it to be over. You briefly wonder if Aaron wants to talk about the meeting with the caterers or Jack's schedule for the following week when the two of you will both be away. You enter his office, closing the door behind you.

"Hey, what's going on?" You walk in and take a seat on his couch. The blinds facing the bullpen are closed, but the ones facing outside are open, casting a warm glow around the room. Curiously, he hasn't moved back to his desk and is standing in front of you, with a concerned look on his face.

"When were you going to tell me about the Matthew situation?" he asks, placing his left hand on his hip and looking every bit the part of SSA Aaron Hotchner instead of your boyfriend.

You let out a breath. You couldn't believe Derek had told him, after you'd specifically asked him not to. And now he had that furrowed brow and the concerned face and he has a deadline from Strauss on the new budget. This wasn't what he needed right now and you knew it would distract from everything else.

You grit your teeth and stand up, ignoring his voice, and open the door to his office to scan the bullpen until you catch sight of who you're looking for. "Agent Morgan," you call out, "could you please join us up here?"

Derek looks up at you before he quickly walks upstairs and enters Hotch's office. He goes and stands by Hotch while you close the door once again, undoubtedly knowing what this was about. The two of them made quite the image - frowns marring both of their faces though Aaron's was less pronounced. I knew moisturizing was a good call.

Squaring your shoulders, you cross your arms across your chest, facing the two of them. "Figured it was more efficient to just talk to you both together. Save you the trouble of finding each other afterwards," you say, your tone hinting at how annoyed you were. Not that either one of them had the decency to look ashamed. If anything they looked defiant.

Aaron started to speak but you cut him off.

"You two need to realize that I can handle my own problems. If I say Matthew isn't an issue, trust me. If I say I have it handled, believe me that I do."

"No." You expected that, but not from Derek. Maybe from Aaron, but not from Derek.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no. Not with our jobs. Not knowing what we do. I'll tell Hotch, I'll tell the whole team. The more people on the lookout the better."

"I -"

"Morgan's right. So, let's figure out what to do."

"There's nothing to do. He sent flowers, not a bomb. Leave it alone. If the worst thing he does is send me flowers once a year - well people have dealt with worse. You're both overreacting."

"You expect us to do nothing? What about when he escalates?"

"He won't!"

"You can't possibly know that." His entire demeanor is stiff and tense and he's aggravated with you for not taking this as seriously as he is.

"I was with him for four years, Aaron. Trust me. I know him. He has nothing to gain from an escalation and everything to lose. He's married, he doesn't exactly want me back. He just hates that I dumped him and once a year he remembers that and gets pissed off and drunk and in his own passive aggressive way, chooses to do this. It's not worth any of us wasting a second more of our time on!"

Derek looks like he'd rather be anywhere but standing in the middle of the two of you at that moment.

Aaron breathes out slowly before he speaks, as though if he takes a moment it'll prevent him from shaking you into seeing it his way. "I still would like for the team to be on alert. Just in case." It would appear he'd decided on the reasonable approach.

You groan, but know that's the best you're about to get. At your nod, Aaron and Derek exchange a look before Derek moves to leave the room.

"Hey," you stop him as his hand touches the doorknob. "Next time I ask you to not tell my crazy, overprotective boyfriend something. Just don't."

He grimly shakes his head at you. "No promises."

You narrow your eyes at him. The two of you will be discussing this later.

Turning away from you, he nods at Hotch before opening the door and closing it behind him.

Aaron sighs before sitting down on the couch next to you. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" he asks, as though he's afraid of the answer.

You know he's genuinely worried about you and grasping at the implication of you not telling him about this. You reach across the couch cushion and grab his hand, squeezing it. His fingers intertwine with yours instantly.  

"Aaron, if I thought - for even a second- that this was some sort of actual threat, you'd be the first person I'd tell."

Which was the truth. If there was any chance that Matthew was a threat to Aaron or Jack, you'd have told him immediately. As it stood, however, your ex boyfriend was nothing more than a coward who got off on his little annual psychological warfare.

He nods, his mouth a straight line.

You spend a few more minutes in his office reassuring him properly (How convenient that the blinds were already shut), before leaving him to finish up the rest of his work.

*------------*

Derek watches from the bullpen as you exit Hotch's office, not a hair out of place, though he could imagine that hadn't been the case a minute earlier. He sees your eyes dart around furtively before making a quick phone call. You say barely two words before hanging up.

*------------*

Ricky Costello had the self-assured charm of a boy who had never questioned his place in life. He'd grown up scrawny and had to learn how to fight and stand up for himself. As he'd grown older and filled out some, people knew better than to pick on him or anyone he was friends with. He was loyal, headstrong, and the smartest of the family - which is why his father had pulled some strings and gotten him into a good school where he could learn something and be of some use to the family.

You'd met Ricky in your accounting class when he'd tried to partner with you for a project, thinking you'd do all the work for him. He'd had to rethink that strategy when you'd shown up at his dorm room, pretended to be his girlfriend to get rid of his flavor of the week, and then promised to continue ruining his chances with every gullible freshman unless he did his share of the work. Needless to say, the two of you had the best project in the class.

You arrived at the bar he'd texted you the address to. It was in a quiet street just off central downtown and at six in the evening, there were only commuters headed back home. No one paid much attention to you as you quickly looked around before entering.

The place was mostly empty save for an older couple seated at a table in the corner. You see Ricky seated at the bar and you make your way towards him. Feeling someone approach, he turns around, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees you.

"Hi Doll," he stands and wraps you in a hug that lifts you off the ground and elicits a small squeal of surprise.

"Hi Ricky." Your face lights up at the sight of him. It had been a while.

He indicates to the bartender for another round, before guiding you to a small table at the other corner of the bar. He pulls out a chair for you as the bartender sets down two glasses of scotch.

"Cheers," he says, lifting his glass and clinking it with yours. "To seeing old friends."

"Cheers," you smile, taking a sip, your eyes studying him. He looked older, the beginnings of grey could be seen near his temples. His leather jacket hugged him just right and he'd grown out his usual stubble into a full, well-kept beard. His smile was still very much him - a little cocky and every bit as affectionate as you remembered it.

The two of you drink for a while as he catches you up on all the drama your old group had gone through recently - the weddings, the breakups, the kids. It was odd to have missed out on all of it.

"So, tell me, why'd you really call?" he asks, leaning back in his chair, his hand playing with the rim of his glass.

You take a breath, mimicking his posture. "Matthew is planning on running for Congress."

He takes in your pursed lips and the tenseness of your shoulders. "I heard," he says slowly, deliberately. "Been meaning to pay him a visit. Congratulate him."

"Congratulate him for me too."

The quirk of his lips tells you he knows why you're telling him this. There was no love lost between Matthew and Ricky. If they were in the same room they were bound to get into it. You'd done your best to keep them sequestered in different parts of your life - however some events were inevitably meant for larger groups.

He nods with a soft laugh, before indicating to the bartender for a second round, which is delivered promptly.

"You should come back, Y/N. Give up the straight laced thing. The crew, we miss you, doll." His voice is earnest and for a moment you see the hint of the boy who'd confided all his secrets to you during study sessions that had bled into the early morning hours.

You smile, and your voice catches ever so slightly. "I've met someone - and well, he's pretty much as straight laced as they come."

Ricky laughs at that and you know he's just a little surprised. "What's his name?"

"Aaron." His name feels right at home in your mouth.

"Nice Catholic boy?" His face is one of boyish teasing.

"I always did have a thing for those," you joke. And you know, you know Ricky will take that in the friendly manner that it was meant.

The two of you wrap up and Ricky closes out the tab before walking you back to your car. As you're about to pull out of the parking spot, he leans into your window, placing the lightest of kisses to your cheek.

"Tell your boy Aaron, he's the luckiest guy in the world."

*------------*

You hear the front door open and close as Aaron arrives, having dropped Jack off at the birthday party sleepover he was invited. You'd spent the day making sure you'd made enough tiramisu for all the guests while both Jack and Aaron snuck bites of it when your back was turned.

You've just finished dusting off the final pan with cocoa powder, when you feel Aaron's arms circle your waist from behind. You have to slap his hand away as it makes its way into the dessert. Him and Jack had polished off half a pan that morning and at this rate, you'd have none left for the actual guests.

"You can't eat all of the dessert before the guests get here. At this rate, you're pretty much cut off from it entirely. I don't think I can make it again if you and Jack are going to be like this," you scold, turning and poking at his stomach.

He doesn't have the decency to look even a little embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs, his arms encircling your waist again. "I'll just have to find something else to eat instead, I guess."

His words send a spike of heat and desire through you. The two of you had been making the most of being home at the same time and every night had ended with him between your legs - one way or another.

Shaking your head, you escape his hold and move to clear the island for the caterers. He was relentless, however.

"You expect to wear this and have me keep my hands to myself?" His voice is a deep rumble behind you as his arms cage you against the island countertop and his mouth finds your pulse point. He's referring to the off shoulder dress you'd changed into while he'd been gone, highlighting your collarbone magnificently. It flared out from the waist, making you look like the epitome of the perfect housewife you had once been destined to become.

"I'd hoped you'd at least wait till the end of the night," you retort. His arms are warm and his chest firm behind you and you really didn't have it in you to push him away again. You were pretty helpless against him.

"I always like to get a head start." You can hear the humor in his voice as he pushes you against the counter a little more firmly, his arms coming from around you to clear the space right in front.

"Aaron." His name escapes you with a soft sigh as he plants warm kisses along your neck down to your exposed shoulders. He sweeps your hair to the front, lips traveling down your spine as his hands move underneath your dress, finding the waistband of your underwear and then slipping inside to find you wet, warm, and waiting for him.

He lets out a groan at the feel of you and can't help but grind himself against you. He knows he's working against the clock and is surprised you've let him get this far.

You let out a sharp gasp as his thumb presses against your clit and he inserts two fingers deep within you. He had the art of getting you to come, down to a near science. He quickly pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in repeated circles. With his other hand he brings your head around and captures your lips. The press of his lips against yours is a feeling you'll never tire of you.

You come embarrassingly quick, fluttering around his fingers, your back arched and your ass grinding into his hard length behind you. He turns you around, his mouth hot and needy against yours. When you pull away, his eyes are blown wide and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the exertion of keeping himself from simply plowing into you.

You make quick work of his belt buckle and help him work his jeans and underwear down, eager to have him in you. With one eye on the clock behind you, he hoists you up to the countertop, placing you on the edge, and enters you swiftly, eliciting a loud groan from you.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Always so ready for me. Always tight…wet." His voice is rough and low and makes the coil in your stomach tighter and your breath come out harsher. He moves efficiently, his head tucked into the crook of your neck and his arms working to keep you balanced on the edge.

His breath is warm against your neck, and he's panting and leave wet open kisses to any skin available to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you. You're close and you know he is too based on how irregular his movement is becoming.

You remove one hand from his shoulder, pulling on his hair to move his head enough to reach his mouth in a lazy kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, drawing your orgasm out right after, causing you to tremble against him.

As you come down, you're entirely slumped against his chest and he's moved you to sit more firmly on the island. You know you look nowhere near as presentable as you did fifteen minutes prior, but you're finding it hard to be too upset about it.

Still, you can't help but be a little bratty about it. "I'm going to have to redo my makeup," you whine against him.

Laughing breathlessly, he picks you up to carry you upstairs. It was a wonder he had the strength to do that right after. You could barely stand up when he deposited you outside the shower.

The two of you work quickly to get cleaned up and Aaron is the one to let the caterers in as you redo your hair and makeup. You fish out another dress - one with sleeves and a higher neckline. You couldn't afford to be pulled into the coat closet with people around.

*------------*

An hour and a half later, the party is in full swing. Emily had brought Henry Eastwood - Senator Williams's Chief of Staff. The two of you had run into him while out shopping a few weeks back and having recognized you, had come up to say hello. You had a feeling that had Emily not been with you, he would've entirely ignored some girl his boss had dated for a few weeks a year or so ago. However, you couldn't deny that they made a handsome couple.

Penelope had brought Elliot - the two of them had really hit it off and you were happy to see her smiling and laughing with someone. You'd given in and allowed Rossi to bring Strauss and you were pleasantly surprised to see her being on her best behavior around Aaron. Derek had brought Savannah and they were talking to JJ and Will.

You walked to the kitchen to open up another bottle of wine and refill everyone's glasses. It seemed Savannah had followed you, empty glass in hand. Laughing, you top off her glass with the almost empty bottle in hand, before opening the next one.

"Thanks for having everyone over," she says, taking a drink from her glass.

"Of course. Aaron and I honestly meant to do this ages ago, but work got away from us."

You have a feeling Savannah wants to talk to you about something else, however, so you don't say much more, trying to give her the chance to speak up.

She looks around a little nervously, but seems to make up her mind. "You're different for Derek, you know. Different from Emily and Penelope. He's very protective of you."

"I'm protective of him too," you respond softly. You know what she means however. You and Derek had gone through the worst thing in the world together and only came out the other end because of one other.

"Savannah, you have nothing to worry about," you reassure her, knowing that's what she really needed at the moment. Her and Derek hadn't had much time together lately and you could understand feeling insecure. "Derek loves you and you're good for him. You challenge him and you're the first girl I've seen him be so head over heels for."

She smiles and you know that helped a bit. "Thanks."

The two of you each grab a bottle and head back to the main living room. As you pour more wine into Dave's glass, you catch Aaron's eye and you feel warmth pooling in your stomach, the promise of a good night ahead of you. You walk around the room and top off everyone, making sure there's enough appetizers still out.

Derek offers to help you carry back the empty platters and follows you into the kitchen. "So, I heard something interesting today," he says, placing the platters on the counter.

You hum, as you grab more of the stuffed mushrooms from the warmer and arrange them on the empty platter.

"Cops responded to a call about a break in in New Hampshire, placed by someone's neighbor," he pauses and he knows you're listening. "When they get there, guy living in the house was obviously beat up, but his wife seemed alright. Just a little shaken up. Funny thing is - dude refused to press charges, even though cops could tell that the house had been broken into."

Your posture has gotten incredibly stiff as he spoke. He knows. You don't say anything, simply look at him apprehensively.

"Tell me," he continues, "what's the Italian mob's going rate to put the fear of God in someone?"

You take a breath, before meeting his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. Probably get the friends and family discount," he trails off, grabbing the platter and walking out of the kitchen.

Crap. He really did know. He knew about Ricky. Which meant he'd probably gotten Penelope involved as well.

Quickly composing yourself, you carry the other platter out, joining him by the appetizer table.

"Derek - "

"Don't worry. Garcia won't say anything."

You look at him, and you know he won't either.

"Thank you."

He nods, popping another mushroom in his mouth and smiling at you. He wouldn't be doubting you again when you said you had something under control.

He wouldn't tell anyone. When Hotch asks him later about the Matthew situation, all he'd say was that it was handled. Hotch would pause, look at him, but then trust Morgan to know that it was really handled.

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Ice Cream Expertise (All the Little Lights #1)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Kawoshin

Rating: G

Summary: Shinji is faced with a dilemma of sorts, and is characteristically indecisive. Fortunately, Kaworu is there to give some helpful advice. Or maybe just call himself an ice cream expert. Let's be honest, it's a bit of both.

Notes: This is intended to be the start to All the Little Lights, my attempt at a relatively happy Evangelion high school AU featuring the pilots we know (and maybe love) actually getting to live a normal life (including all the cute gay romance they deserve). That said, it also works totally fine as a one shot. Considering it's an AU, there's going to be some rather interesting deviations from canon, some of which are alluded to here. So, if something seems off, that's probably because it is.

As usual, any errors, grammatical or typographical, are mine. I apologize in advance.

This was originally posted to my old AO3 on May 21, 2020. I hope you enjoy it!

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Shinji Ikari was not having a good day. No, perhaps that was an understatement. He was having a distinctly bad day. School had been tedious to say the least, considering that testing week was approaching, and the teachers seemed to be doing their best to “prepare” the students using every form of academic torture known to humankind. Okay, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it had been a hectic hell all the same. Not to mention the fact that his best friend Touji was going through a rough patch (not the first one, mind you), with his girlfriend Hikari, which led to a tense mood within their friend group outside of class as well. Adding onto this was the fact that he was getting worried about his sister (what wasn’t new?) Rei, who had been especially quiet the past week or so, even by her standards. That was usually a sign that her depression was going through a rough spot. He had wanted to mention something to his mother about it, considering she usually had better luck at getting through to Rei than he did when his sister was going through a difficult time, but unsurprisingly, he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He was gone too often, and his mother was gone too often. There was all of a one to two hour period when they were both home and awake on any given night. Rei always ending up alone probably doesn’t help her state of mind improve either. I wish she had more friends. People she could connect with.

And, of course, to top all that wonderful baggage off, he had had work after school, which had gone lovely. Just lovely. A simply wonderful group of customers had come in, and stayed for a better part of three hours, ordering intermittently while they all talked (way too loudly, in his opinion) at their shared table, which, in a predictable move, they hadn’t even bothered to clean off. He was a barista, not a waiter, despite what some people seemed to think. To make matters worse, they had been laughing so hard partway through their “discussion,” that one of the party had practically flung her iced latte through the air by accident (how someone could do that by accident, was a whole other topic for conversation), sending its contents flying halfway across the room (in a bafflingly impressive display, he had to admit, as irritating as it was). Of course, he had drawn the short straw and been the one tasked with cleaning it up. His boss seemed to get a special satisfaction out of giving Shinji all the “fun,” jobs. Okay, maybe Mr. Anno’s not that bad, but he still gets a kick out of watching me suffer. Or something like that.

Shinji sighed as he pulled his car into the store parking spot. As he exited it, he glanced down at his phone. 7:16. That meant he should have enough time to get home and get dinner going before his mother got home. These days, it seemed as though she worked progressively later and later. It had been a couple months since she’d been home before 8. She was almost certainly still out at the base at that moment. Whatever project she’s working on now is one of the more intensive ones.

He headed for the doors. He was planning on making stir fry, which meant that he needed to get soy sauce for sure, since he knew they had run out from the last time. He thought they had most of the rest of what he needed at home. So, this should be a quick run. Just in and out. After a day like today though, he was tempted to grab something sweet. Come on, after this whole mess, I think I at least half deserve something to take my mind off of it. Just a little.

Inside, he made a bee line for the condiments aisle. Alright, first things first. Get what I need. Then, maybe, I’ll just check out what they have. He grabbed soy sauce, and then wavered for a moment, trying to decide just for what he was in the mood. Okay, just something little. Nothing too big. I am going to be cooking, after all. Hmmm . . . I mean, it’s probably not the best idea, but . . .

Making his decision, he set off for the frozen section. Once again, he paused when he arrived at the aisle, looking through the glass freezer doors at the available options. I’ll just get a pint. That should be more than enough. Even if Rei goes for some too. ‘Cause mom hardly ever eats anything sweet, so I doubt she’ll have any. He tilted his head, tapping the soy sauce bottle against his thigh as he considered the selection. Why are there so many flavors? I didn’t even realize they sold Pumpkin outside of November. And Lime-Raspberry? What would that even taste like? Who comes up with these things? I’ll go for something classic. I could always do Vanilla. But, that’s a little boring. I don’t even really like it that much. Chocolate’s always classic, except that Rei doesn’t like it. And her favorite is Cookie Dough, which I don’t like the texture of . . . there are way too many choices here. Running his eyes over the racks, he did a quick count. Forty-two different flavors. Why are there forty-two different flavors? I wonder if anyone’s ever tried them all. Then again, that might take a while. And be kind of pricey. Dammit, I’m getting distracted again. The only conclusion that Shinji was coming to was the fact that he liked ice cream far too much, and was wasting far more time than he should be trying to pick out something. Maybe I should just get the soy sauce and head home. He peaked down at his phone. 7:29. Yeah, I’ve already been here longer than I should be.

A voice interrupted Shinji’s thoughts. “So, what’s your drug of choice?”

Shinji head snapped to the side, his concentration broken. “What?,” He asked, a little surprised.

The source of the interruption was standing a little further down the aisle, casually leaning on one of the freezer windows, his head cocked to the side, watching Shinji with a friendly smile on his face. Shinji thought the interrupter looked to be about the same age as him, though that fact was complicated slightly by the fact that though his face was youthful, his hair was an ashen grey. He must dye it. Is grey hair a style though? The interrupting individual sported a pair of black jeans and a band shirt for a group whose name looked vaguely familiar to Shinji. Porcupine Tree . . . I feel like Rei might listen to them. Maybe. Not to mention the fact that the newcomer had red eyes. Red eyes. Okay, so maybe this is a look he’s going for. I mean, those are definitely contacts, right? Unless there’s a genetic mutation I’ve never heard of, I don’t think humans can be born with red eyes. Which means that they’re contacts. Which means that the hair is almost definitely dyed too. I’m pretty sure that’s not what ‘scene’ looks like . . . there’d be brighter colors . . . and I don’t think it’s emo either . . . I’m pretty sure his hair would be black then . . . huh . . . maybe that’s goth. Yeah. Let’s go with that. In addition to making him second guess what scene fashion looked like, Shinji’s visual analysis of the interrupter also led him to a more definite conclusion. That regardless of what category his fashion fell under, he was pretty cute. Seriously Shinji, focus here, and stop thinking about how some random boy in Safeway who asked you what type of drugs you like is cute. Don’t be an idiot. Sure, you haven’t been on a date in months, ever since Martin broke up with you, but he was a manipulative jerk anyway— Shinji realized the interrupter had started talking again, which snapped him back into reality and out of his wandering mind.

“Yeah. What flavor is your favorite. I mean, out of the forty-two, there has to be one you’d pick, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Probably cookies ’n’ cream,” Shinji answered, feeling more than a bit confused. On an afterthought, he added, “You’ve counted all the flavors too?”

“Not a bad choice,” the boy said with a firm nod. “Although, I’m more into mint chocolate chip myself. And yes, I’ve counted them all. It’s an important part to being an ice cream expert. Keeping track of the available flavors at the nearest store.”

“Okaayyy.” Shinji’s tone betrayed his uncertainty concerning just how he should deal with this stranger. “Ice cream expert?”

“Yep, that would be me,” the boy replied matter-of-factly, as though the question was a pointless one. He strolled over to Shinji and extended his hand. “Kaworu Akagi, ice cream expert, at your service.”

Shinji shook the offered hand, deciding he should be polite, despite the fact that his perplexity had not been substantially diminished in any way. This guy is . . . interesting, to say the least. As their hands met, Shinji was struck by the strange, but intense, sense that this wasn’t his first time meeting Kaworu.

“Shinji Ikari.” Against his better judgement, he decided to follow his introduction with, “Have we met before?”

Retracting his hand, Kaworu pursed his lips, ostensibly mulling over the question in his mind. After a few moments, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. At least, not that I can recall. I just got into town a few days ago. Why do you ask?”

Shinji shrugged, trying to play off his earlier question. “Oh, I think you just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

Kaworu nodded, seeming to accept this answer. “Ah, that makes sense. So, have you come to a conclusion, or would you like a second opinion?”

Shinji raised an eyebrow. “About the ice cream, you mean?”

“Indeed. That is the topic on the floor, as they say,” Kaworu responded nonchalantly.

Shinji blinked. “Who says?”

“Why, they do of course.”

“Oh. Umm, alright.” Shinji looked back through the window, surveying his options once more. A obvious choice didn’t present itself. “Well . . . I suppose a second opinion probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“Great,” Kaworu stated, his tone even and pleasant. “Any occasion in particular you’re buying for?”

Shinji shook his head. “Nope, not really. Just . . .” he hesitated, uncertain how much he wanted to tell someone who was still basically a stranger to him. “Just a bad day,” was what he ended up deciding on.

Kaworu pretended to stroke nonexistent hairs on his chin, nodding slowly as did so, in an amusing imitation of the stereotypical philosopher. “Hmm . . . ice cream for a bad day, you say?”

“Uh. Yeah. I guess so.”

“I’d have to recommend Cherry Chip for that. It’s a guaranteed mood improver from my experience. It is nearly impossible to feel down while you’re eating Cherry Chip ice cream.”

“Really?” Shinji’s ice wandered down the display, finally locating the flavor in question. Fortunately, they had it in pint size, which meant that the option was on the table. He couldn’t think of any reason not to go for it. As far as he knew, Rei liked Cherry Chip. At least, he thought she did. He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d ever seen her eat it. For that matter, he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d ever eaten it himself. Which means it might be pretty good, and I just don’t know it yet. You never know. “Really. Trust me, I’ve tested its potency. It won’t let you down.”

“Alright. Why not?” Shinji opened the door and grabbed a pint of Cherry Chip. He examined the container in his hands for a few seconds, before looking back up at Kaworu, who now seemed to be smiling in encouragement, which had the effect of making him look even cuter than before. Come on Shinji, don’t get distracted! Sure, he might be attractive, but he’s also a self-proclaimed ice cream expert. . . not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing yet, to be honest.

“That’ll do the job,” Kaworu remarked, in a straightforward tone that made it sound as though he was utterly confident in the truth of his words.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Shinji furrowed his brow as another question popped into his mind. “Hey .. . you said you just got into town a few days ago. How is it that you already know all the different flavors they have here?”

“It was one of the first things I scoped out after we got into town. Always important to know what kind of ice cream game you’re going to be dealing with. Plus, I had plenty of free time once we finished unpacking, considering I won’t be in school up here until the fall.”

“Ah, okay. That makes sense.” Almost on a whim, Shinji was tempted to ask Kaworu where he had moved from, but decided that could come across as prying a little too much, since Kaworu hadn’t offered that information. As it was, Kaworu gave a partial answer to the question without Shinji even verbalizing it.

“School down south ends earlier. Though, to be fair, it also starts earlier there as well. We left a couple days after my semester ended. Which means I currently have relatively few obligations, other than locating and obtaining a job for the summer.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Shinji still wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, but he decided to field a question of his own. He figured it could come across as a polite inquiry, rather than being nosy, taking into account what Kaworu had just revealed. “So, what brought you up north?”

“My mother got transferred out to the base,” Kaworu returned offhandedly.

Shinji tilted his head in response to this answer, the gears in his brain turning. Well, that’s interesting. He almost wanted to make some sort of follow-up remark expressing their similarity in that regard, but he decided that might be a bit too much to say for the moment. Instead, he merely offered a casually, “I gotcha.” He continued with an amiable, “Well, welcome to Asherdale,” along with a more ironic, “It’s halfway decent, once you get used to it.”

Kaworu’s face broken into a grin at the humor, an expression that Shinji couldn’t help but feel made him look all the more attractive. Oops, getting distracted again. . . don’t do that . . . too much.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Kaworu said warmly.

“No problem.” The thought suddenly entering his mind, Shinji shot a momentary glance down at his phone. Hmm, what time is it? The answer was 7:37. 7:37?! I’ve been talking for eight minutes?! That felt like four or five at the most. I have to bail, now, if I’m going to make it home in time to get cooking.

He looked back up at Kaworu, who was still watching him, his gaze soft, the smile still on his face, his head tilted to the side. Shinji had the strange feeling that if it had been anyone else, the observational pose the boy had struck would have looked unusual, to say the least, but somehow, on Kaworu, it didn’t look half bad. It gives him a kind of elegant aesthetic . . . okay, where did I come up with that? I definitely need to head out.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry to leave so quick, but I need to get going.” Shinji cringed a little internally, hearing the awkward tone in his voice. You could have said that in a way that didn’t basically announced the fact that it made you flustered. Great going.

“Understandable. You wouldn’t want that ice cream to melt before you get the chance to test out its powers.”

“Haha, yeah, you know it.”

Kaworu nodded, imply that yes, he did indeed know it. “Why don’t I give you my number?” He remarked. “That way, you’ll have someone on hand for any future ice cream dilemmas.”

“Ahhh . . .” Okay, that was actually kind of smooth, in an odd way. And . . . it’s not like it could really hurt anything. I mean, he didn’t even ask for my number. Which means he’s not even necessarily flirting with me. It’d probably be a bit of stretch to say he is. After all, if I have his number, and he doesn’t have mine, that means I can choose whether I want to text him or not, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Which isn’t really a good way to flirt with somebody. I think I’m stalling again here . . .”

Shinji noticed Kaworu was watching him again, waiting for a response. “Sure. Sounds like a good plan.” He pulled out his phone and hastily created a new contact, before offering it to Kaworu. “Here, you can put it in.”

Kaworu nodded, his smile remaining intact, and typed in the digits, before handing it back to Shinji. “It was nice to meet you, Shinji Ikari,” he commented affably.

“You can just call me Shinji,” Shinji quickly responded.

“Alright then. It was nice to meet you Shinji.”

“You too . . .” Should I use first and last name like he did the first time? Or just go with first name. I don’t want to offend him, if that’s the sort of thing that’s important to him. After all, he does seem a bit, umm, particular.

“You can just call me Kaworu,” the boy suggested, his smile widening.

“It was nice to meet you Kaworu,” he finished lamely. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, maybe so.”

Shinji nodded again, spun on his heels, and promptly made for the registers. Well, that went excellently. You meet a boy who’s kind of cute, even if he is a little eccentric, and straight off the bat, you’re second guessing yourself and fumbling for words. Fantastic.

Shinji shot a brief glance back as he reached the end of the aisle, to see that Kaworu was now retrieving an ice cream carton of his own from the merchandise freezer. Shinji turned away again before the boy could look back in his direction. Don’t want him to think I’m staring at him or something.

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Shinji collapsed back onto his bed with a satisfied sigh. He was glad to have finally reach it, after the nigh-interminable day. Well, maybe not quite interminable. But definitely overlong. Without much thought, he grabbed his phone from his nightstand and spun in about in his hands a couple times, feeling the sensation of the textured case against his skin.

Dinner had been a success, such as it could be, anyway. He had impressed himself with just how fast he managed to throw things together when he went into slight (well, maybe more than slight) panic mode.

The ice cream had been a success as well. He had to admit, Cherry Chip was a pretty good flavor. He still wasn’t sure whether he had tried it before or not, but he was glad he had definitively tried it now. Rei had also enjoyed it, which was an added plus. In fact, their mother had even had a bowl, something altogether unexpected. Apparently, Cherry Chip ice cream was one of the sweets she would indulge in. Didn’t see that coming. All in all, the majority of the pint was no more.

Powering on his phone, Shinji was faced with another choice for the evening. Unlike his earlier ice cream deliberation, however, this cerebration was of a cursory duration. After a few seconds, he had composed the text, and was hovering over the send button. Alright. Let’s do this. He tapped the icon.

Shinji I.: Thanks for the recommendation. It was a good choice! Lol. This is Shinji, btw.

The response to his message came swiftly. Wow, he must type fast.

Kaworu A.: Happy to be of service. I’m glad it worked out.

Shinji found a smile edging its way across his lips. Maybe, in spite of everything, today wasn’t such a bad day after all.