#also finally with red white and royal blue coming out next month people hate the trailer cause its corny?

[cxinis]

its all ‘where did all the 90s and 2000s romcoms go’ and ‘ why cant we get a lgbt romcom’ till we actually get one then its ‘why is it cringy’ like my brother in christ romcoms are meant to not be taken seriously???

and god forbid an lgbt movie has a sex scene and its all “fetishising” but if it doesnt its “too pure” and “unrealistic”??? like if a bi character is attracted to the opposite gender its “queerbait” but if theyre with the same gender its “basically gay”??? a gay character is morally grey and its “bad representation” and if they arent its “unrealistic” and “too wholesome”???

i’ve seen people do this with movies, shows and books name any peice of queer media. Like what do yall need?? ive seen people say critically aclaimed oscar winning movies are “too serious” “boring” and that they just want a queer romcom but they get a queer romcom and its “cringy” and “bad” huh? with all the new queer media coming some are bound to be not to their liking just cause something has queer characters doesnt mean youre going to be the target audience

[mrs-takami-keigo]

Mesmerize

Song:Mesmerize by Ja rule

Club owner Bakugou X Fem!Reader Rating E! 18+

As stated in my RULES all characters I write will be 21 and up! In this Bakugou is twenty-nine.

Prompt: Character flirts with you at the club and couldn’t wait till you got somewhere secluded to have you.

Word count:4.2k

Warnings:Dirty talk, Orgams denial, public sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation, alcohol

This was a request from my PROMPTS I did for my zodiac twin @katsukikitten​. This was so much freaking fun to write!! 

And this will also be my first tile off of my BINGO masterlist! 

Huge thank you to @samanthaa-leanne​ and @shoutogepi​ for beta reading this for me! 

You felt the bass of the loud music vibrate through your body as you maneuvered through the crowd of people, bodies pressed together, lights flashing and drinks in everyone's hand, you expected nothing less from the hottest club in the city. Usually the smell of alcohol would bother you but right now it didn’t matter because you were finally out of the house and having a good time. That quarantine felt like it lasted for years but you also understood it was necessary. Everyone was drunk, inhibitions thrown out the window, tonight was about living it up.

“What can I get for you!” The bartender shouted from across the slightly sticky white countertop. Even on an insane night like this he had a giant smile on his face, happy to finally have business.

“Can I get a gin and tonic with two limes and make it a double please!” The red haired man gives you a curt nod of his head before grabbing a glass and making your drink.

Turning around you pressed your exposed back to the bar, elbows resting on the surface. You took in the sight of the club, people dancing, laughing, lovers showing their affection for each other rather publicly. A smirk played on your lips at a couple as their lips seemed to become molded together, wandering hands gripping ass, boobs, anything they could get their hands on.

It made you a little envious. How long has it been since you’ve had your back blown out, moaning at the top of your lungs by some good dick? Months, six months to be exact, but it’s not like you were counting or anything.

“Here you go, love!” The sound of the bartender's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Turning around you went to open your clutch only to have his hand cover yours. Looking up, the bartender was shaking his head. “Your drinks for the night have been covered by someone already.”

“What? Who?!” You looked around to see if anybody was looking in your direction, assuming whoever did this would want for you to talk to them. You’ve had drinks bought for you in the past on numerous occasions, may it have been the old man trying to relive his youth after a divorce to a young guy just trying to impress you by spending money on you.

“Not at liberty to say, but just enjoy it love. Name is Kirishima, if you need a refill just let me know.” The red headed man sent you a playful wink before he slid down the bar, helping the other patrons.

‘Covered for the night huh?’ A smirk played on your lips as you twirled the little red straw between your fingers, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. Wrapping your glossed lips around the plastic material you took a sip of the drink, the slight burn from the gin hit you first but was subdued by the sweet and tangy taste of the limes. Kirishima made this drink super strong but it was still pleasurable. And if drinks were gonna be covered all night nothing was stopping you from downing the small glass of alcohol in five minutes, before waving down your new favorite bartender for another.

Not sure how much time had passed, you were only counting by drinks and you were positive you were on your fith glass. You weren’t completely drunk, still sober enough to know your name, address and phone number but you were sure if you drank two more right now you’d be black out drunk. Pulling out your phone you clicked the button on the right side, bringing the small device to life.

‘It’s only one am and I’m already like this?’ You still had the whole night ahead of you and you were damned if you had to go home early. Facing the bar you looked for Kirishima, trying to get his attention. But he was distracted by a group of women who were fawning over his bright red spiked hair.

“Oi dumbass! You got other people here waiting! Stop tryna get your dick wet and get her something to drink!” You weren't sure when the male had snuck up behind you, but between his loud voice and his body fully pressed against yours you couldn’t move. His chest felt like a rock against your back, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he yelled, looking down to your right you saw one of his hands pressed on the bar. Not even seeing his face yet, you could feel your pussy come alive.

“Damn Bakugou! I could have really had some fun tonight.” While you were lost in your slight desire for this Bakugou person, Kirishima had reluctantly walked away from the group.

“I really don’t give a fuck.” You could feel him lean down so his face was next to your’s. Not even daring to your head, afraid if he was attractive you’d lose the last of your resolve. “You want another gin and tonic, double with two limes, or you want some water?” He spoke in a lower tone almost like a growl, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You started to love and hate the fact that you wore this specific dress tonight, it was a skin tight royal blue satin dress, a small strap wrapped around your neck leaving your entire back exposed. What you really loved about this dress was how it hugged you curves in all the right places while still looking classy. The bad part was you could feel his other large hand placed on the small of your back and because of that your cunt started to pulsate. You were already sure you had a small wet spot on your black lace panties.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you turned your head to look at the male that had this effect on you. ‘Holy shit he’s fucking hot.’ His crimson colored eyes were fixated on you, blonde brows lifted as a smug smirk graced his lips. Messy fluffy blonde hair on top of his head, a black button down fitting perfectly on his slim yet fit body. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the silver chains that hung from his thick neck.

“You’re pretty fucking hot yourself.” A tongue slipped past his lips in a swift motion, those crimson eyes glanced down roaming over your curves, drinking in the sight of you like he was ready to eat you right there against the bar. You were sure you felt his hand on your lower back shift so his fingers were brushing dangerously close to the edge of the dress that sat right on top of your ass.

At first you were perplexed on why he would say that to you only to realise you said he was hot out loud instead of in your head. First time out in months and you embarrass yourself infront on the finest man you’ve set your eyes on, fucking great.

“You want another drink love?” Kirishima placed an empty glass on the bar, ready to make your usual.

“Can I get water this time?” You were trying to ignore the man who was still behind you. His gaze on you was so intense that you were sure he could see right through you. Bakugou had said less than twenty words and you were ready to have his face buried in your pussy. Yeah you definitely needed water if you were gonna try to talk to this fine ass man.

“You know it’s pretty fucking rude to ignore a person who was talking to you.” He had moved from behind you, to stand next to you. Resting his right forearm on the bar he leaned so he could see your entire face. “But I’ll let it slide, I’m in a good mood tonight.”

You still haven’t looked in his direction, trying to hide the fact that this man had you flustered. Kirishima had passed you a tall glass full of ice cold water, lifting it up to your slightly parched lips, you let the cold water slide down your throat. You didn’t realize just how thirsty you actually were til that moment. Closing your eyes you relished in the feeling of the water cooling you down, a little spilled from the side of your mouth, sliding down your neck.

Bakugou watched as that clear liquid flowed down your smooth skin, it glistened as the club lights hit it. He wanted nothing more than to use his tongue and lap up that water but restrained himself.

“And it’s rude to creep up behind a girl and place your hand on her like that without asking.” You set the glass down, turning to face him, coping the same position he was in. “No introduction, no ‘excuse me’. You even yelled at sweet Kirishima as if you owned the place, asshole.”

“Oi Kirishima, who owns this fucking place?” Bakugou never shifted his gaze from your fiery ones as he called out to the bartender.

“Uh you boss.” The minute those words rolled out of his mouth you could feel panic run through your body.

‘Boss?! No fucking way!’

“And who covered her tab for the night?” You didn’t know if you wanted to slap that smug look off his face or let him have his way with you at the moment, right now both sounded like a good plan.

“Once again you boss.”

“Thanks dumbass, you can leave now, I’m sure those hoes are still waiting for you.” Bakugou stood up straight, towering over you even in your heels. He moved forward forcing you to move back away from him. You weren't sure if it was because of the gin or if it was because of him but you could feel your face begin to flush, legs becoming like jelly with each step you took, the look in his eyes were dark and full of lust. As if he was a lion waiting to pounce on his prey.

“Now who was the asshole again?” His voice came out as a snarl, lips curled up showing off his canines and gums. Stumbling backwards your back came in contact with the wall at the end of the bar. It just so happened that this particular corner was hidden in the dark corner of the club. “What happened? You got all that bark and no bite?”

Bakugou had caged you between the wall and his body, his right arm blocking you from the crowd and with his broad build shielding you from the people behind him. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, tilting your head up so you could look at him. His face was so close to yours, breaths mingled together as his eyes bore into you.

“I’m gonna be fuckin honest here, I saw you the minute you entered my club. I watched as you made your way across the dance floor and over to shitty hair. You cast a fuckin spell on me and all I wanna do is fuck you against this wall right now.” You felt your breath hitch as he placed his thigh in between your legs. His semi-hard cock was pressed against your leg. “But I won’t do anything unless you want me too. I’m not a fucking animal.”

The way your mouth went dry as he spoke and your pussy began to ache for him. This man you met only ten minutes ago was just your type, dominating, handsome and still a fucking gentelman. If anyone cast a spell it was him.

“Age?” You had a few questions before letting this man dick you down.

“Twenty nine and you?”

“Twenty eight. You clean?”

Smirking down at you he knew that this was your way of saying yes to him. “My body is my temple princess.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you ground your sex against thigh, a moan floating out of yours and his lips. “Do your worst asshole.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was pressed against your glossed ones. Nothing about this situation was romantic, no it was nothing but carnal desire. Your body longed to be touched by someone and fuck did you hit the jackpot with this one.

His hands roamed down your back, slightly scratching your smooth skin leaving small red marks in their wake. Soon he gilded his hands over your ass, cupping your cheeks in his large calloused hands. Breaking the kiss you let out a shuttered breath, by him gripping you up like that caused you to rub against his thigh again but this time it was much harder than before.

“I can feel how wet you are through my fucking pants, you want me that bad huh?” Bakugou growled against your neck, giving it small licks and nips, eyes started to roll into the back of your head. Between his attack on your neck and him constantly making you rub your pussy against his thigh, you were sure he was gonna wreck you.

“Don’t flatter yourself dipshit, it's been a long six months.” He was right though, you wanted him, you wanted him so bad. Your nimble fingers made their way to his belt, trying to unbuckle it and get what you wanted.

“You’re an eager little slut aren’t ya?” Grabbing your hands, Bakugou lifted them above your head, holding both wrists in one of his hands. “Don’t worry princess I’ll be sure to make you cum hard. We’ll save all that sensual shit for next time.” Fuck, he had you completly under his control. As much as you wanted to fight him and challenge him, you couldn’t. All you wanted was for him to fuck you.

Bakugou had turned his body slightly to the side, covering you from anyone that could still see you. You were so lost in him that you forgot that you were in the fucking club and out in the open. But you were far too deep now to care, and so was everyone else.

You could feel Bakugou lift the hem of your satin dress up, exposing your black lace panties. Taking his long middle finger he grazed it against you, slightly pressing between your folds. “I fucking knew it, you are soaked. Look at my finger, it's coated with your juices.” He brought the same finger he used against you, sticking his tongue out, sliding the coated digit over it.

“God with just that little bit I can tell you taste so fucking good.” His leg was still between your own and your arms still above your head, you ground your hips against him once again. He was doing too much teasing and all you wanted was that sweet sweet release.

“Stop playing with me and fuck me!” You hissed between your teeth.

The hand holding your wrists tightened as he held your hips down. He leaned down, lips barely touching your own. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You knew he wouldn’t cause any actual harm to you but that statement sent shivers down your spine. “Just for being a brat I’m gonna make you beg for it. Make you beg to cum, make you beg for my dick to stretch that tight sopping wet pussy.”

You gulped as his grip on your hip loosen. “Are you gonna be a good fucking girl for me?”

You could only nod your head, words and sentences were something you weren’t capable of at the moment.

“Use your words princess. Say, yes Katsuki.” His fingers went back to torturing you in between your legs. Each stroke becoming rougher than the last.

“Yes Katsuki.” Those words came out like a moan. The feeling of his hands on you, how he growled with each brush of his finger against your pussy, it was driving you wild. One of his long fingers hooked on the side of your drenched panties, pulling them to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him.

Clenching your fists as you let out a gasp, you felt Bakugou slipped a finger between your folds. Burying his face in your neck you heard him cuss under his breath, giving you praises about how good you felt and he wasn't even in you yet. The man pinning you to the wall started to roll his finger over your hardened clit, sending waves of pleasure surging through your body. You could feel his hard cock against your thigh with each roll of his hip, god did you want that dick in you.

“Oh fuck!” Your body shuddered as he inserted a finger inside of you. You didn’t care how loud you were seeing as how the music in the club would just drown you out.

“God princess you’re so fucking tight.” Bakugou dragged his tongue along your shoulder, before biting down on your neck. You responded by rolling your hips into your hand as he started to move the digit in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“More please.” Your mouth was agape, sharp intakes of breaths as he moved. That’s when you felt him add another long finger inside of you. You could feel your walls stretch around his fingers. Bakugou switched between scissoring motions and just moving his fingers against you, pressing on that soft bundle of nerves.

“Look at you,” His fingers started to pick up their pace, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. “I got you fucking whimpering for me and all I’m doing is fucking you with my fingers.” between his words and the speed of his fingers you could feel that familiar tightness forming in the lower part of your abdomen. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers, are you about to cum?”

“C-cum…”

“What was that I couldn’t fucking hear you.” His arm started to move at a speed you were sure was inhuman. It had your toes curling, your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“I’m gonna cum!” Ready to feel yourself unravel for him, to feel that white flash of release, you closed your eyes. But it never came. Opening your eyes, you watched as he pulled out his fingers from inside your cunt, holding them in front of your face.

“You can’t cum until I say you can.” He ran his tongue over his fingers, cleaning them of your essence. “I want you to cum all over my dick, as I fuck you into this wall.”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out, your legs were getting shaky and your arms were numb at this point. You wanted this, to have someone fuck you like this. Using one hand Bakugou undid his belt and button of his pants and unzipped them. Reaching in the front of his pants he pulled out his hardened cock.

Involuntarily swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth, you licked your lips. You imagined wrapping your lips around him as he fucked your mouth, making you gag on him. Bakugou could see the hunger in your eyes, and god did he want to do whatever you were thinking of doing but he was going to explode if he didn’t fuck you right now.

Bakugou leaned down, placing his forehead against your own. You could feel the dampness from the light coat of sweat on his forehead mix with your own. His breaths were shallow and deep, lust filled eyes mirrored yours. The noise of the club and people around you seemed to disappear, the only thing that could be heard was your heart beat as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your glistening folds. Bakugou coated his cock with your juices as a lubricant before aligning himself with your entrance.

Slowly he pressed the tip of his cock through the threshold of your pussy. The feeling of your hole stretching around him as he eased his way inside. Bakugou never broke eye contact as moved, letting you see every emotion he went through. How his eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and mouth opened as your pussy engulfed him.  

“Oh fuck princess, you feel so fucking good around me.” with a swift thrust he pushed himself the rest of the way, fully sheathing himself inside of you. Arching your back off the wall and whimpering, you could feel his cock twitch as he waited for you to get accustomed to him.

Bakugou let go of your wrists, bringing your arms down and wrapping them around his neck. His right arm came down, grazing his hand down past your ass, bringing it behind your thigh. Gripping your smooth skin, Bakugou hoisted your leg up to his waist allowing him to go in a little deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves. With your hands now free from his grip, you clawed at his back. Bakugou growled when he felt your nails dig into his skin. Moving his hips back he snapped them forward, causing you to scream out his name. A sinister smirk played on his lips, enjoying how his name fell from your lips like a mantra. With each thrust of his hips the harder you clawed at his back, he was sure you left scratch marks but he didn’t care.

“You like this don’t you? Getting fucked in the middle of a club, knowing anybody can come over here and see how much of a fucking slut you are.” That knot in your lower abdomen came back as he snarled in your ear. His hand gripping your thigh tightened, Bakugou was using that as leverage, making your body meet his with each thrust. And he was right, the fact that anybody could walk over and see you was exhilarating.  

Between Bakugou’s constant biting on your neck and how relentless his thrusts were, you were so close to reaching an orgasm that was surely going to make you see stars.

“Yes right there! I’m gonna cum.” Your hands found purchase in his hair ready for him to send you to the fucking moon.

“Oh no you don’t bitch.” Bakugou halted his movements, his cock was almost pulled out of you. “I told you I need to hear you beg for it.” You looked at him with fire in your eyes. There was no way he could be serious. Wrapping your hoisted leg you went to push his hips forward only to be met with a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I don’t think so. Good girls get to cum princess and all you’ve been was nothing but a brat. So why should I let you cum?” Bakugou had his lips grazing over yours as he spoke, his eyes were showing how serious he was, it sent shivers down your spine. “Now princess let me hear you fucking beg for my cock, for me to let you cum.”

“Please Katsuki let me cum.” You whined as you moved your hips, trying to get friction anything to help you release. “I promise I’ll be good, just please I want to feel you stretch out my pussy. I want to scream your name as I cum all over your dick, please!”

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.” With a sharp snap of his hips, Bakugou drove himself back into you moaning as he did. You had eyes rolling in the back of your head, drool coming down the side of your mouth while screaming his name. All the people near you could get fucked, the way Bakugou made you feel at this moment was all that mattered.

“Holy fuck!” You could feel Bakugou lose his rhythm for a split second and you knew he was close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” You had moved to moan in his ear before licking his thick neck and biting on it.

“Cum for me princess.” It came out as a low growl and that's what had sent you over the edge. Screaming his name louder than before you came all over his dick, hands pulling his hair as your body began to convulse.

“Oh shit!” Bakugou pulled out just as white streams of his cum began to spurt out, landing on the lips of your pussy and some on your thighs.

Bakugou had let go of your leg and slightly moved away from you. As soon as your leg hit the ground you felt them give out from under you as you started to tumble forward. Luckley the blonde man had quick reflexes and caught you, helping you lean against the wall.

“Let's get you cleaned up and some water in your system. My office is right upstairs.” Grabbing some napkins from behind the bar Bakugou began to wipe off the reminisce of his cum off your thighs, while pulling down your dress.

“Why didn’t you just take me there to begin with asshole?!” You smacked his arm as you looked around. Some people were staring at the two of you while whispering in their friends' ear

“It’s your fault! No one told you to come in here and get me mesmerized!” He leaned back down to whisper in your ear. “I just couldn’t wait to devour you princess.”

Biting your lip you grabbed his hand pulling him towards the stairs. “Now it’s my turn to devour you, asshole.”  

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2021 #10: In which Cameron tries to spoil Donna

[CN: food and eating mentions]

.

.

In January of 2021, Donna realized and voiced the obvious while watching television one day: “We’re really not gonna be able to have people over for Galentine’s Day, are we?”

Cameron didn’t always entirely enjoy the spectacle or debauchery that sometimes happened at Donna’s Galentine parties, but she was still sorry that it wouldn’t be safe or advisable to celebrate that year. Gently, she replied, “Not considering a Galentine’s video conference, then?”

“I guess I could do that,” Donna sighed heavily. “It won’t be the same though. And we won’t be able to give out gift bags!” she wailed. 

Donna looked forward to organizing a party for February 13 every year, but her favorite part of Galentine’s Day had always been making and giving gift bags filled with expensive indulgences to their friends, and Cameron had never really understood it. It was, in fact, one of the very few things that Cameron didn’t love about Donna, and she wasn’t sure why it bothered her. Donna certainly had the money for it, and what better way to spend your money than on giving nice things to your friends? But no matter how hard she tried, Cameron just couldn’t shake her discomfort with the gross materialism of it. 

Still, Cameron tried to be encouraging. “You could send care packages, couldn’t you?”

Donna thought about it for a moment, and then said, “Putting all that strain on the postal service just so I can send my friends expensive scented candles and handmade journals?” Her face collapsed into a look of utter despair at the very thought. “That just feels so ‘let them eat cake,’ doesn’t it?”

“You are not a naive and undereducated young queen who was bamboozled into inheriting a bankrupt and rapidly disintegrating monarchy,” Cameron said, patting Donna’s hand comfortingly. “And you’re also not a nameless, possibly non-existent princess in a non-fiction work by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, or Maria-Teresa, the Spanish princess who might have actually said that.”

With a bemused smile, Donna said, “I love that you just know that.”

“Yeah, well.” Cameron said, putting an arm around Donna. “Just because I have a reputation for being a princess-hater doesn’t mean that I actually hate them. I mean, look at who I married.”

“Cameron Howe, Defender of Princesses,” Donna said. “That has a ring to it? I’ll have to make you head of my queensguard when I inherit the throne.”

Cameron arched an eye brow at Donna. “Are you trying to tell me that you wanna play exiled gay princess and devoted butch lady knight?”

Finally and fully distracted from her galentine’s day disappointment, Donna laughed. And then she kissed Cameron.

***

Cameron got out of bed late that night and went downstairs for two hours. When she returned, Donna woke up briefly, and she said, “Hey? You okay? Where’d you go?”

“Never you mind,” Cameron said, getting under the covers. “I was making you some brioche to throw at the peasants.” 

“What?” Donna cried. Then she realized that Cameron was kidding and giggled. “Okay, okay. Keep your secrets.”

Curling up next to Donna, Cameron kissed her shoulder. Resting her head on her pillow, she said, “Good night, sleep tight, your royal highness.”

“Likewise, good Sir Cameron!” Donna said, falling back to sleep.

***

In early February, while Cameron worked on the requested Valentine’s Day decorations, Donna tried to come up with an alternate Galentine plan. She filled out cards and sent them early, and then she sent messages to everyone on her guest list to see if they might have time for individual video chats. She wound up scheduling early morning coffee with Tanya, an afternoon check in with Dr. Katie Herman, and cocktail hour with Risa and her partner, and also Cameron. She spent the next few days trying to come up with ‘something else.’ When she finally resorted to mopily looking through all of their saved and archived photos of past Galentine’s Day parties, she figured it out. 

Cameron woke up on the 13th to an email from Donna. While Donna fried eggs and bacon and poured mixed berry waffles, Cameron, sitting at the kitchen island, looked at her phone, and asked, “Did you email me this morning?”

“You, and many of our friends!” Donna chirped. 

Flatly, Cameron said, “If it’s a severed head, I’m gonna be very upset.” She clicked on the email with her thumb to read it.

The email said, “To my favorite galentine: while we can’t celebrate with our friends this year, we can give to others, and we also absolutely need to give as much as we can spare during this on-going crisis. So while I do love giving ridiculously priced candles and pens to our friends, this year, my gift is a donation in your name to Girls Who Code.” The closing of the email said, “With any luck we’ll be able to celebrate with our friends next year, but in the meantime: Happy Galentine’s Day! -xo DC.” 

And then at the very end of the email, there was an attachment, a photo of Cameron and Donna in the kitchen, preparing snacks, that Haley had taken at their first Galentine’s Day gathering. 

Cameron stared at the photo for a minute, and then asked, “Wait, did you make donations for everyone?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Donna said, as she opened the waffle iron. “To different places though, food banks, abortion funds and domestic violence support groups, bail funds, and Black and indigenous justice orgs.”

Overwhelmed by a rush of affection toward her wife, Cameron said, “I think that that was a great way to celebrate. Nice work, Boss.”

Donna’s blushed as she made their plates. “Thank you! I just hope it helps, somehow. Sometimes it all feels futile, you know? It feels less futile when you bring all your friend into it and then email them about it, though!”

They ate breakfast, and then before Donna could say anything else, Cameron said, “Okay, so, I’ve done something. Something that was meant to help cheer you up.”

“Oh?” Donna asked, intrigued.

Cameron got up from her seat, went around the island, and took Donna’s hand. Donna got up, and Cameron escorted her their living room couch, where Cameron had placed two large red gift bags. “You always said that everyone opening their gift bags together was your favorite part of all of this, so. I made two bags for us. It’s not the same as all of our friends opening our git bags together, but, it’s something?”

“Oh, Cam,” Donna frowned. “I love the pseudo but not-quite Gift of the Magi vibes, but, you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t, but everything sucks so I figured why not,” Cameron said, picking up her bag and sitting down on the couch. Come on! Sit!” She picked up Donna’s bag, and handed it to her. 

Donna accepted the bag from her. She looked at it, and then said, “If this is a severed head, I’m also gonna be very upset.” 

“It’s not, it’s a gun rack,” Cameron deadpanned. “For the last time, sit, already!”

Donna sat down next to her, and with the bag in her lap, she started to pull out the pink tissue paper Cameron had crumped and stuffed into the top. “Okay, so what have we got first?” Donna reached into the bag, and pulled out a small plastic bottle. “Scented moisturizing hand sanitizer!”

“The white vetiver scent,” Cameron said, holding hers up. “I didn’t like it at first, but you were right, as always. Now it’s my favorite.”

“A luxurious yet practical item, and a fine choice!” Donna enthused. “What’s next?” She reached into the bag, and pulled out a large tube of aloe-infused hand cream. “Ah, an old standby, and another Emerson-Howe household staple.”

Looking at the tube that been in her bag, Cameron said, “I wanted to go with something fancy, but this stuff just works so well! I feel like we can never have enough of it.”

Reaching into her bag again, Donna felt some plastic wrap, and then pulled out a black and blush pink leopard print 100% silk face mask, packaged with its own silk case.

Cameron looked at her own navy blue and star patterned mask, and admitted, “This is the biggest splurge in here. But as long as we’re double masking….”

With a small sigh, Donna reached into her bag again, and found a set of silk scrunchies, with the same leopard print as her mask. “Oh, I was thinking about trying these! Thank you for remembering me talking about it.”

“What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t buy you the one thing you single thing you put off buying for yourself?” Cameron said. “You can try mine, too, I don’t think I’ll end up using them.”

Donna reached into the bottom of the bag, and found the next to last item, a small cardboard box. When she looked at it, it was a fresh tube of her favorite nude pink lipstick, which she’d been wearing since the late ‘90s, and had been meaning to repurchase. 

“I just got a drugstore lip balm for myself, nude rose is your color, not mine,” Cameron said.

Donna snorted. “That was probably the best way to handle it. Thank you for knowing my color.”

“That’s the end of what’s in my bag!” Cameron said. “There’s one more thing in your bag though, because we only need one.”

Donna found the last item. A copy of the Criterion release of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Donna held it up and said, “Oh…as I recall, you liked this movie better than I did!”

“Yes,” Cameron agreed, “but, you said that you liked it, and that you wanted to try watching it again at home. Which I thought we could maybe do sometime this month.”

Donna smiled at her. “Honestly, I would love that. It’s a date.”

Donna was about to lean in and kiss Cameron to properly thank her, when her phone, forgotten in the kitchen, rang.

“Ack, that’s probably Tanya!” Donna jumped up. “We’re supposed to ‘have coffee’ together!” 

“Go answer, then!” Cameron said. “I can clean this up and I can take care of the dishes, too.” 

“This was perfect and I love you!” Donna hurriedly kissed her, before rushing off. Already half way to the kitchen, she called out, “Happy Galentine’s Day!” behind her.

“Hard same, have fun, tell Tanya I say hi!” Cameron shouted after her.

[professionalfangirl24601]

AI continues the Riko roast attempt N2

in this one you'll see still no Riko, confused Kevin and Neil's questionable PR skills.

"You know, I get it," Neil said. "Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you're worth a damn off the court—yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it's not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you're physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don't think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone. We'll come to your games in peace, and we'll buy your gear. But we'll only do that if you step aside and give me another go at this thing called life."

Neil watched Kevin in silence for several minutes before deciding that—for once—he had to say something. "Kevin, you're great on the court, and the star players in this league who don't know how to act around each other deserve a big applause. You're a great teammate, a solid community person, and a great player. And I'd take a red-hot Dirk Nowitzki in the Finals any day over you. I like a lot of the things that you do on and off the court. I just don't like you. And I'd really appreciate if you could just not be yourself around us. At least then we can have a conversation."

"Nah," Kevin replied after a long pause. "I'm going to be myself."

Taken aback, Neil nodded. "All right, Kevin. You can be yourself. But, you know, a few rules. First of all, you'll have to leave for all practice and shootarounds, and for team meals. I don't want you fucking up the guy's practice routine or spoiling his warm-up routine. And I don't want you parading around half-naked around the arena, much less take my job from me. And while we're on the subject of nudity, I can't have you acting like a jackass with a blown-up Pepsi banner on my back like some sort of tramp."

"Got it," Kevin replied. "I promise to do my best."

"Good. Now, I also need you to tone down your sarcasm, petulance, and dry wit," Neil added, "and stop throwing your mouth open like some sort of baby duck whenever you're excited about something. It's embarrassing. It makes you look like a little punk kid who's already finished with elementary school. Let's see, since you've become a star, your teammates have won five more playoff series and won one more NBA championship, which makes you the winningest player in the history of the team."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm the best."

Neil sighed. "Yes, Kevin, you are, and you know it. You're also the most hated. I know you probably don't want me to tell you this, but your public is starting to catch on to your royal punkiness. Fans are starting to ask when you're going to stop messing around and start being the good-natured soul that you truly are. And while they're asking, they're not as excited when they see you coming to the game anymore. Now that they're no longer getting everything for free, they're demanding a fraction of your paycheck and coming to games only if they've got a death wish.

A quick look at your recent numbers shows that you're never gonna be able to sustain your market value, so you're losing sponsors faster than a Zippy the Pinhead cartoon. I think it's time that you made some more changes to your image and get back to being the class clown. You're going to have to wear these goofy glasses that are now a part of your uniform. You're going to start speaking in a baby voice and begging reporters for softballs as if you were some poor, innocent baby who just wants to be noticed. Then, you're going to bring every scrap of lunch meat and grease-stained Kleenex into the locker room with you, and you're going to start sucking on garlic-flavored toothpicks as if you were some cheap wannabe poser trying to play the part of an intellectual.

And last, but not least, you're going to start jerking off and spraying your entire body with strong-smelling hairspray before going out for a road game, and after the game, you're going to do it again. And then, when you get home, you're going to do it some more. You'll also start sniffing your own armpits, licking them, and making weird comments like, 'Look at that freakin' blue streak in my dreary locks.' You're going to stand in front of your mirror and constantly ogle yourself in the toilet bowl. You're going to call yourself Ginger, gussy yourself up, and belt out 'White Wedding' in the shower, and if you have a date, you're going to purposely rip her clothes off and pretend that it was your idea all along."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to ignore everything you just said, Neil," Kevin replied, trying to speak without giggling.

"Fine. So, then, what's your big idea, Kevin?"

"Oh, this is priceless." Kevin giggled maniacally, and his teammates yelled for him to shut the hell up.

"You're totally gonna be in movies," Neil said. "You're going to play the bad guy, but make sure you get the girl in the end. You're going to go undercover for weeks and sneak into death-metal concert events, where you're gonna stage fights, mess up everyone's hair, and drink bleach while being the absolute worst thing to ever hit a concert stage. People are gonna love it. You're going to start releasing dark, angst-filled folk-rock ballads, full of powerful emotion and heartache. You're going to start writing scathing criticism of the president and your teammates on your blog, but under a false identity so that nobody will recognize your name when you're actually being serious.

You're gonna get married, have two kids, and then have to suffer through a divorce that's so nasty that your ex-wife's going to get remarried within a month of the divorce. You're going to get beaten up regularly by her new boyfriend, who will be an enormous douche, and then have a car accident, and your legs will be broken so badly that you're going to need crutches. You're going to lose your job as a sportswriter, and then your wife's going to get fired from her job as a waitress because your friends will keep inviting her to your games. You're going to have to drive an old junker car that is crammed with mismatched parts, and you're going to have to flip yourself through traffic lights and weave in and out of oncoming cars while wearing a suit that's way too big for you. You'll bring hundreds of dollars of Taco Bell and Tostitos lunch meat into your home, and you'll be constantly sniffing your fingers like a dog, but somehow, that's going to work for you."

"Why don't you shut up?" Kevin demanded.

"I'm telling you, it's the perfect plan," Neil said Kevin finally stopped laughing and his cheeks began to redden.

"I'm sorry, but I don't get it."

"Well, all I can say is that you're damn lucky that the Sacramento Kings are playing against the San Jose Sharks this season, otherwise I'd lock you in your room right now, and I'd make you eat a full eight-course dinner," Neil replied. "I don't think you're ready for a Gregg Popovich type of coaching. I'll let you take the next couple of days to ponder this information."

"Uh, okay," Kevin said. "Thanks, Neil," he added quickly as he ran off to the bathroom to vomit in the toilet.

[neocity-sarai]

“Love in _____ “ series

❀ chapter 3: reader x jaemin

❀ forbidden love

❀ alerts: fluff, tinge of angst, language, suggestive, making out, i do not speak fluent french whatsoever, please forgive the mistakes, mentions of the dreamies

❀ song rec: “paris” by sabrina carpenter

“Love in Paris”

You’re surprised how you managed to make it this far. When you first told your parents that you wanted to move to Paris, they shot you down even before you finished. You told them you wanted to live by yourself to experience independence in a cultural epicenter and have some type of outlet to practice your french skills. Not that you were an expert in any way. Several days later, your father convinced your mother that it would be a good way to see the world and live in an environment that was different from your dull, quiet neighborhood. Before you knew it, you were on a one-way plane to Paris, France. 

Several months later

Thankfully, you were pretty decent at your french skills without butchering the accent you had to adopt when speaking. You got a job at a nearby cafe that was close to your studio apartment but you couldn’t feel any happier. Despite having such a small room, you adored it. All you had was a small bed, a wooden vanity, a mirror, and a few belongings from home. Every morning, you’d wake up to the honey-colored window next to your bed as you hung your arms out of it- looking at the Eiffel tower that scraped against the dawn sky. It was like you were living in a painting, the way that the sky turned a light shade of lilac during twilight or how the city glowed in the late hours of the night. In the mornings, you’d always pick up a bouquet of pansies in the market that resided in the Jardin des Tuileries. You’d place the flowers in a crystal glass that you found in some vintage store in passing, you considered it your best investment. During the night time, you always felt yourself relaxing with the sound of occasional car honks or the buskers playing their accordions on the streets. You’d put your headphones on to play some soft music, swirling a glass of red wine that sat in your hand. Over the first few weeks of coming there, you mostly stuck to your day to day routine rather than exploring Paris for yourself. When you had the time, you promised that you would scour the city by every corner and alley. You just had to earn your rent money first.

You actually found the boulangerie by accident. You made a wrong turn somewhere and discovered a quaint, two story bakery that was called, “Claudette’s.” By chance, you decided to follow the comforting scent of fresh bread and honey-glazed pastries, an older woman who wore a chiffon skirt smiled at you. The establishment only had a couple customers in it, she made her way around the corner, “Comment puis-je vous aider madame?” 

You answered her, “Embauchez- vous?”

“Oui.”

You walked closer to her, shaking her hand, “Je voudrais travailler ici. Parlez vous anglais?”

“Oui, un peu.”

“Merci.”

Though you could speak french without many problems, you still preferred speaking in english. You’re grateful that the woman was willing to cooperate with you. She eyed you curiously. She seemed like a character straight out of a novel as her hair piled into a messy bun of white, her apron is embroidered with tiny blossoms, and she looked extremely young for how old she actually was. In a heavy french accent she spoke to you, “Are you new in Paris?”

“I am, since a few months ago.”

“What- er, why work at my shoppe?”

Though the job is to make money, you really did want to experience the life of working in a bakery. You always were interested in how to make coffee or how to ice cakes and back home, you just couldn’t. You continue, “I want to learn from you, mademoiselle.”

“Call me Claudette, welcome.”

After your encounter with Claudette, you had been in Paris for nearly a year. Time flew by and you hadn’t even noticed. You were comfortable after trying and failing to make french-foam macchiatos, mixing up people’s orders, and getting the texture of the pastries right. You were thankful that Claudette was patient with you. 

Like every other Monday morning, you swung the sign that hung on the bakery’s door to open, taking the morning rush on by yourself. Claudette entrusted the shoppe to you when she needed to sort out inventory or go on errands. You didn’t mind that, knowing your customers’ names, conversations about their lives. When you finally got to the end of the line, a peculiar customer had stepped foot through the doorway. He seemed to be taller than you, dressed in a white t-shirt and a blue blazer with matching pants to go with it. The odd part was that you couldn’t clearly see his face as it was covered with a black scarf, hat, and blake sunglasses. Why did it seem like he was trying to hide his face? You asked him, “Comment puis-je vous aider?”

“Je voudrais un expresso, pas de lait.”

“Donc tout noir?”

“Huh?” Despite the dark shades over his eyes, you could still sense the boy’s confusion in his voice. You took your chances, “Are you fluent in english?”

“I sure am.”

You nod at him skeptically, “I was asking if you were sure you wanted all black, that’s a lot of caffeine.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, his voice muffled under his scarf, “Are you questioning my refined tastes?”

“Uh- no sir. That is not my intention. But, don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

The boy pulls out his credit card as he darts his eyes around the cafe. Like he insists, you serve him his tiny cup of all black espresso, you even grimace at the heavy scent despite working with coffee for so long. He wasn’t kidding, he had gulped it down like it was nothing- your eyes widening at the sight. He smiled, his scarf still wrapped around his face. “I’d like another please.”

You eye him incredulously, “More? really?”

“Yes, that’s what I said miss..”

“Y/n. It’s y/n.”

“Your establishment is quite the place. You’ll be seeing me here often.”

Trying your best to smile at him, “I look forward to it.” You walk back to the counter, packing sweets for the next customer as you watch the boy gaze out the window. Even his posture seemed so formulaic due to the way he crossed in legs in a prim-proper way, dainty fingers stirring his half-full espresso shot. When you get around to the boy’s third espresso, your surge of confidence makes you lean down at him, “You asked my name, isn’t it right that I know yours?”

He slides his shades down slightly, his eyes a dark brown, “Oh, don’t worry y/n. You’ll be seeing plenty of me that you won’t forget my name.”

He places a large bill on the table, winking at you, “Keep the change, y/n. You deserve it for working so hard.”

He struts out the door, leaving you just as confused as you felt when he first walked in. Who was that? And why was he acting so mysteriously? Throughout the day, you hadn’t thought about him after being so busy taking orders and fulfilling them. 

To your surprise, the same boy came the next day around noon. You could tell by his odd disguise that contrasted with his crisp, white suit- his voice in a lower octave than yesterday. He whispered, “I’d like another espresso and a croissant please.”

You typed up his total on the register, two girls whispering behind him in line. He sat at one of the tables before one of the girls could tap on his shoulder, her expression falling when he walked away. When you set down his cup, you eye him carefully, “If you want more espressos, you’ll have to tell me what’s going on.”

He rests his chin on his hand before yanking his scarf down, “In what obligation do I have to do that? Isn’t it called customer confidentiality?”

“Not if you’re causing a disturbance. You look so suspicious right now!”

A scowl is scribbled on the boy’s face, some pink hair sticking out of his dark bucket hat, “Do you have anywhere private?”

“Follow me.” You lead him to your back stock room, his proximity too close for comfort. His eyes dart from the front of the store and back to you, his hand ripping off his mysterious ensemble. The boy finally reveals his face, a beautiful one at that. The locks that sit at the top of his head curl on his forehead are a shade of bubblegum pink, his lashes accent his eyes attractively, and his cheekbones accentuate his boyish charm. The boy smiles at you, his teeth shining through his pink lips, “You can’t tell anyone that I’m me.”

You stare back at him, “Who exactly are you?”

The boy dramatically runs a hand through his pink hair, “You don’t know who I am?”

“Should I?”

He sighs, “I’m Jaemin Na.”

You don’t catch on. Instead, you look down into space, catching a sight of Claudette’s magazine pile- a picture of a pink-haired boy on the front cover.

“Wait a minute-”

You grab the magazine hastily, holding it up next to the boy’s face, “Y-you’re Jaemin Na?”

He smiles brightly at you, “The one and only.” You rub your fingers against your chin, “Wait, what do you do exactly?”

Jaemin sighs at you, resting a hand on the wall near your head, “Listen sweetie, I’m the son of the Na family- consuls to the royal family of Versailles. I stay in the palace.”

“Ohh- so you’re a rich elitist boy?”

“Well- I guess you could put it that way.”

You scan him up and down curiously, “Well that explains the lame disguise. I’m sure girls would try to maul you. If it’s so much work, why don’t you just have one of the palace people make you coffee? Why bother coming here?”

Jaemin scrunches his nose, “Well I don’t appreciate the insult and I also hate to admit that no one makes coffee like you do- that’s why I started sneaking out and coming here. Don’t take too much credit though.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you smirk, “For someone who sits on their butt in the palace all day, you sure drink a lot of coffee, you should see a doctor.”

Jaemin smoothes down the fabric of his white vest jacket before covering his face with the scarf again, “My taste buds and stomach lining are perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Shoving his bucket hat over his eyes, he storms out of the shoppe- leaving you with an amused grin on your face. The next day, Jaemin came once again. You asked him, “one espresso shot coming right up.”

Your fingers nimbly move on the register’s keyboard, a hand flying across it without any thought. You bring Jaemin his espresso cup, setting it down on a dainty white saucer in front of him, “Here’s your black coffee of death. Enjoy.”

You swivel back around, only to be stopped by the sound of Jaemin’s voice, “Hold it. Not so fast.”

“What is it now?”

“I never said I wanted an espresso- it’s a lavender latte kind of day.”

You step closer to him, your eyes widened like disks, “But you didn’t stop me at the counter? You always get an espresso- all black?”

“Not today. Plus, you only assumed and never thought to ask.”

You resist the urge to slap Jaemin square in the face, he was acting like a spoiled, conceited child. You eye him sternly, “Are you going to waste that?”

Jaemin bats his eyelashes at you, swinging the fabric of his scarf over his shoulder, “Well I certainly am not going to have an espresso today. I take that as a yes?”

You feel your eyes roll back into your head, you’re surprised they don’t turn inside out. Grumbling, you march away with the espresso in your hand- dumping it into the sink drain as Jaemin smiles an amused grin. You come back to him, a menu in hand, “What do you want and make the choice good because I won’t do this.”

Jaemin raises his eyebrow at you, “Isn’t that your job? Customer knows what’s best?”

Scoffing, you smash your fist on the table, “Don’t do this Jaemin or you’ll regret it.”

The pink haired boy narrows his eyes at you through his pretentious sunglasses, “I’d like a lavender latte- make it oat milk. I don’t digest dairy well.” Heading back to the counter, you whip up the drink, layering a mint-berry compote and oat milk as you strategically place a lavender stem at the top of it. You stand back to admire the perfection of the drink, the purple gradient blends into a cloud of white. When you place it onto the table in front of Jaemin, he takes a sip of the drink as you wait for his reaction. He uses his index finger to motion you closer to him, your feet moving on their own. 

“Well, how is it?”

A bright smile lights up his face, his white teeth gleaming between his lips, “It’s good but you need to come closer.”

You do as he says, his eyes flickering to your lips- you feel his breath on your face. Is he about to kiss you right now? He darts his eyes from your lips to your eyes. The fast-pace of your heartbeat skyrockets before it ends suddenly, Jaemin smacking his lips before whispering at you, “The oat milk could be a little less nutty.”

You break the tension, launching back from you, “Are you kidding me right now?”

Jaemin gives you a cheshire cat-like grin, “Yes but not to fear, I’ll still drink this since you worked so very hard on it.”

You raise your cloth rag at him, stopping your hand just before the crown of his head- your brows creased with distress. Before this, you had never dealt with such a difficult customer before. Your voice is laced with irritation, “Do you enjoy this?”

“Oh, so very much. I hope you don’t miss me, I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow.”

Grabbing his book sack, Jaemin heads out the door, leaving you alone to be irritated. Like he promises, Jaemin is back the next day. The whole evening after yesterday, you spent taking note of every trap Jaemin would set for you- there was no way he was going to get you this time. When he steps up to the register, you try to sound as polite as possible. 

“Welcome to Claudette’s. What would you like to order?”

He nods at you, clicking his tongue at the same time, “Let’s go with the caramel frappuccino, no whipped cream or foam please.”

After he pays, you skillfully make the drink right in front of him, carefully measuring the correct proportions of every ingredient. He places his fingers on his chin, one hand on his hip in a taunting manner, “This is so fascinating to watch y/n. You’re truly the master of beverage arts.” You scoff, pushing the finished drink to him, “Try that.”

When he takes a sip, his eyes sparkle with pleasure as he visibly shudders, “Well, I am pleased to say that you have passed the frappuccino test except for one thing.”

“What now?”

“The straw is upside down.”

You groan, slapping a palm to your forehead, “You’ve got to be kidding me Jaemin.”

Before Jaemin can answer you, you hear a familiar voice from the back of the stock room and you feel a hand sit on your shoulder, “Are you satisfied with miss y/n’s services sir?”

You whip around to be met with Claudette towering above you, her lips graced with a fond smile. Jaemin clears his throat before answering her, “She’s doing great but she’s having so trouble accepting constructive criticism.”

You stare back at him, gritting your teeth, “What are you talking about? I just-”

Claudette pats you on the head, “Maintenant, maintenant petit pan, what do I say?”

Respectfully, you repeat after her, “Customer always knows best.”

Jaemin adds, “I was just telling her that the straw was upside down just so that she doesn’t do this to other customers.”

“Oui Monsieur! Learn from the customer, y/n, it’ll make you a better worker and person.”

Jaemin lets out a hearty laugh from over the rim of his maroon scarf, “Other than that, she’s great.”

Glaring at him, you look up to Claudette who’s smiling at him, “I see that you come almost every day monsieur, thank you for enjoying my shoppe. Merci beaucoup!”

He smiles back at her, “It’s because of y/n.”

You feel your breath hitch at your throat when you hear Jaemin’s words, how can he say things so casually? You want to believe he’s saying these things to get under your skin again, you can’t seem to predict the pattern of his ways.

Claudette practically jumps out of her skin, her hands clapping wildly, “l'amour est dans l'air! Y/n, you need a break right now- let this nice man take you out for some air.”

Waving your hands in front of you, you shake your head at your boss, “Claudette, please. I need to look after the shop in case of more customers and I-”

The older woman cuts you off, “Nonsense! You’ve been working too hard since I’ve been out! You’re done for today! Out!”

Claudette holds out her hand to you to hand over your apron, an amused smile on her face. After you hand it to her, you gather your belongings from the stockroom before breezing past Jaemin out the door. You turn back to Claudette for affirmation, she’s always trying to shoo you out when she thinks you’ve worked for so long. You don’t mind her motherly aura. It makes you miss your own mother. You begin walking down the street towards your apartment, your bag slung over your shoulder. 

“Wait up! y/n!”

You turn around to be met with a huffing Jaemin, “Where are you going?”

Sighing, you say, “What does it look like? Home obviously?”

Jaemin holds up a finger so he can catch his breath, were you walking that fast? He says, “Why don't you spend the day with me?”

“Yeah, after you embarrassed me in front of my boss? No way, I’ll pass.”

Turning around, you continue to walk until Jaemin runs in front of you, holding his hands as if he’s going to entrap you if you try to make a run for it, “Please, let me make it up to you.”

You eye Jaemin skeptically, “Why? What would you get out of that?”

“Can you just trust me?”

Scoffing, you try to get more steps in until you’re halted by Jaemin once again, “I promise, if you spend the day with me, I won’t bother you about coffee or upside down straws again!”

You gaze at him, your eyes searching for some malicious sign. When you don’t find any, a smile creeps on to your face, “You better stick to your word Jaemin Na or else!”

The first several minutes of walking next to each other make you cringe from the awkwardness. You steal a glance at Jaemin who’s messing with the rim of his bucket hat, the accessory covering his eyes, “So, where are we going?”

He answers you plainly, “Have you been around the city?”

You rub the back of your neck, “I’ll have to admit, I haven’t been around much.”

He stuffs his scarf into his book bag, the sun too hot for the thick fabric, “No worries, I have a plan. Prepared to be amazed out of your mind.”

You let Jaemin guide you to the plaza of the Louvre, the glass pyramid reflecting the sunlight into a million rainbows. People stand in front of the water structure that it sits on, the water is like a pristine mirror that catches even the most subtle details. You had seen the Louvre in travel books and magazines but never in person, “Are we going to the Louvre?!”

“Nope, that can be for another day. I have something even better.”

Jaemin walks over to a man who stands by a red cart, they converse in basic french before the man hands Jaemin two wristbands. He puts his on, motioning for you to do the same. A big red tourist bus pulls over by the front of the Louvre, “All aboard the passengers! tous à bord du bus!”

Without a second thought, Jaemin takes you by the hand before hosting you onto the bus as you both dash up to the second story of the double-decker. You take a seat at the very front, Jaemin’s shoulder touching yours. You try to wave away the tingle you feel when he brushes against you, his cologne smells of fresh pine needles and mint. A skinny teenager dressed in a striped shirt wears a beret at the top of his head smiles at you, extending a fake rose to you. Hesitantly, you take it while smiling back at him. 

“Bienvenue à bord! My name is Pierre and I will be your guide to your journey across the city of love, city of the la romance! Let’s begin!”

Within a few hours, you had already seen so much. You felt like you were on cloud 9 when you stood up on your seat as you passed under the Arc de Triomphe, Jaemin resting his hands on your waist to keep you stable. You don’t resist him. He watches you with adoring eyes, “Look like someone’s having too much fun!”

You look down at him, “How can you not?!”

The bus speeds over the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris that crosses over the Seine, Jaemin pointing out the ducks that float on the banks of it. You laugh as Jaemin takes your rose, putting it in between his lips in order to make you giggle in which you do because he grimaces as a thorn pokes his lip. You swerve with the bus as the driver maneuvers it through Place de la Concorde, the spot where the French Revolution took place. When Pierre told you fun facts about Marie Antoinette, Jaemin would scream at the top of his lungs, his voice getting lost in a blast of wind, “Let them eat cake!!”

When the bus halts at the final stop, you descend down the stairs and off the vehicle- the cool weather sending a chill down your spine. You and Jaemin walk over to the Notre Dame and the Saint Chappele to keep shelter from the blustering winds, the stained glass windows making your faces glow with shades of blues and greens. You sit on a bench, Jaemin’s body pretty much pressed to your body as you both hold a candle between your fingers within the quiet church. Jaemin turns to you, whispering, “So what do you think of Paris?”

You chuckle at him, “Paris is the city of love right? I think I’m in love with Paris, when do we get married?”

Jaemin stiffens his frame, “We as in you and Paris or as in you and I?”

You hit his arm, “No silly! Paris! I don’t want to get married right now!”

Shaking his head, Jaemin laughs at you, tufts of pink sticking out of his bucket slightly. The hat covers less of his face now, at least you can see his eyes. 

“What do you say, we get something to eat?”

“You’re right, I’m famished. All that exploring has made me ravenous.”

Jaemin wins at you, “I know just the thing.”

It’s about evening now, the sun starts to set with a shade of champagne and violet- the trees glinting a shade of vermillion green when you pass the numerous cafes and boutiques on the street. You both find yourself in a field under the Eiffel Tower, the structure staring down at you with regality. You feel as if the air in your lungs has been sucked out, blue lights blink along the lattice pattern of the tower- creating a luminescent effect on your vision. Jaemin nudges you with his elbow, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You don’t even realize he had been gone since you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful sight in front of you, your head fuzzy from how the gold and blue cut the painted sky. When Jaemin comes back, he sets down a blanket away from the other people- most of them couples- you avert your eyes from them. In his right hand, he holds a basket full of unknown goodies waiting to be eaten. You and Jaemin sit on the blanket before Jaemin reaches into the basket to pull out a multitude of things. He hands you a long baguette of bread before spreading out various shiny fruits, cheeses, and a bottle of blush cider. 

“Did you really prepare this all right now?”

Jaemin smiles at you, his eyes softened, “I have my ways.”

For the next hour or so, you feel as if you don’t need any alcohol to feel drunk. You and Jaemin watch the dusk fade into a black sky, stars glimmering over the golden glow that surrounds you. You both nibble on pieces of havarti cheese or opt for a slice of bread as you talk to each other in hushed whispers. You had never done this with anyone before, it felt so easy, so light. You learn about Jaemin’s life as the son of the consuls and how exhausted he is to be expected of perfection every second of his life, how he’s had his freedom stripped from him since he was born. In turn, he listens to you when you talk about your life back home, how your parents almost cut off ties with you- thinking you were foolish to want to randomly move to Paris by yourself. You never regretted your decision after all. You say, “If I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Jaemin laughs, downing his glass of rose blush cider, “This is the first day that I have felt like myself in front of anyone- just me, not perfect Jaemin Na in front of the cameras.”

You nod at him, scarily aware of how close your fingers are to Jaemin’s on the plaid blanket, “Do you have a favorite part about Paris?”

He turns to you, his cheeks and bridges of his nose illuminated by soft golden light, “After living here all my life, I hate to admit that it’s gotten a bit boring. Now, I think that’s changed.”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, moving your hand away as heat travels up to your cheeks, “And what has changed?”

You see Jaemin laugh to himself, “You’re unlike any girl I’ve ever met. You don’t fall at my feet like the other elitists in my family- you’re not afraid to call me out and criticize me. I like that.”

You nervously laugh, “Thank you? I’m not sure what to say.”

Jaemin’s expression turns serious, his lips looking more prominent when he turns his face to you, “Then you don't have to say anything.”

Before you can register, Jaemin leans into you as his nose bumps against yours in a soft kiss. You pull away, boring your eyes into his before he scans your eyes for some sign of refusal. When he can’t find any, he molds his hand to your cheek, folding his lips over your bottom lip. Jaemin speeds up the pace by pressing into you further, a sound escaping your throat. You blush at the noise, Jaemin leaning his forehead into yours before sweeping a hair behind your ear, “Wow.”

Your bodies feel like they sing with electricity, Jaemin’s fingers hot on your skin as he pulls you into the space of his chest. Your ear is pressed to his heartbeat, “Do you hear that y/n?”

You shut your eyes at the quiet rhythm, “I hear it.”

You take it open yourself to edge your fingers on the rim of Jaemin’s hat, slowly taking it off him to reveal the pink shade of his locks- the soft tufts messy from the day. He watches you take off his sunglasses too, placing a hand on his neck while pulling him in for a fiery kiss. His eyelashes extend from his eyelids, framing his dark irises that reflect the Eiffel like swirling stars. He whispers to you, “Are you ready to get out of here?”

You nod at him, standing to help him fold off the blanket and carry the basket. The whole way back, you and Jaemin dance along the walkway of the Seine- to the beat of your hearts, to the beat of the acoustic guitar that echoes from a late-night cafe. Ending right back at your apartment, you don’t want Jaemin to leave just yet. He holds your hands like you’re a fragile porcelain, the warmth of him gentle and soothing. He leans his head against yours, pressing a kiss to the spot in between your eyebrows, “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it Jaemin?”

“This is only if you want to, don’t feel pressured. My parents are holding a masquerade ball at the palace tomorrow night. Do you want to be my date?”

You stare at him, a hand resting on his shoulder, “Oh, Jaemin, I’d love to go with you, there’s just one problem. I didn’t pack a ball gown when I moved.”

Jaemin’s expression is shocked as if he never expected you to say yes, “Really, you’ll come?”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Don’t worry about the dress, I’ll take care of it.”

For a final time, Jaemin presses a firm kiss to your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow night y/n.”

“Goodnight, Jaemin. Today was perfect.”

“I’m glad. Now, go in first. I won’t leave until you do.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“Positive, goodnight y/n.”

In the morning, you wake up the sound of your doorbell ringing. Sleepily, you saunter over to your door, finding a neatly wrapped package on your welcome mat. Unfurling the paper, you hold the delicate satin of a scarlet red dress between your fingers, the softness making you sigh. It’s got billowing belle sleeves that are cuffed with pearls at the wrists, the train of it falls on your hardwood floors. You find a note at the bottom of it, “For the most precious girl, who’s beautiful even without this dress. -Jaemin”

You lay the dress agross your bed, the scarlet organza blending into a shade of fuschia as white sparkles cover the bodice. In awe, you can’t take your eyes off the dress- one thing was for sure, Jaemin had impeccable taste. You had gone to work with a pep in your step- you debriefed Claudette of all the details of seeing the city with Jaemin and how his eyes held every form of adoration. Neither of you had fallen so hard so fast before. You were tingling at the thought of it. Thankfully, Claudette let you off early so you could get ready for the ball, your head filled with the thought of dancing with Jaemin in a fancy ballroom. 

Nighttime approached quickly, a jet black limousine had pulled up to the front of your apartment- Jaemin’s voice crackled through your phone speaker when you answered.

“I’m here y/n!”

“Be right down!”

You descended the stairs, your train dragging slightly despite holding it off the ground the best you could. When you came outside, Jaemin’s eyes met yours, his mouth agape from seeing the sight of you, “How is it so possible that someone can be so beautiful?”

Laughing at him, you hug his waist, “You need to stop with all these cheesy compliments, that’s what a boyfriend would say.”

Jaemin smiles into the hollow of your ear, pressing his lips at the shell, “I can make that happen.”

Suddenly, Jaemin pulls out a clear box. It holds a gold band, a white rose attached onto it. You let Jaemin slip it on your wrist before letting him whisk you away into the car. The whole car ride was full of hushed whispers, lips sealing stolen kisses, and bodies pressed together. Out of your time living in Paris, you have never experienced anything like what you felt with Jaemin.

 Upon arriving at the Palace of Versailles, it was definitely a castle straight out of a fairytale. Fountains line the garden courtyards as different colored lights shine on the cars that line up in front of the palace, guests piling out of them. A velveteen red carpet was rolled out down the stairs of the entryway, giving off a glamorous effect. Extending his hand, Jaemin held out his arm for you to grab- both of you entering the palace. Over the top couldn’t hold a candle to the real description of how the atmosphere looked. Caterers dished out trays of hand towels and small crackers topped with caviar, desserts dusted with glitter in the shape of the Eiffel Tower. You whisper to Jaemin, “Is your life always like this?”

He chuckles, “Mostly. It gets boring all the time though.”

In the center of the main ballroom is a live band, musicians playing their cellos and their violins in sync with the music as guests dance in a flurry around the floor. You felt your heart sink. You were never taught to properly dance because there wasn’t a reason to learn back home. Jaemin feels you stiffen, “Y/n? Are you okay?”

Nodding slowly, you say, “I don’t know how to dance-”

“Relax, just follow my lead.”

Without a moment to breathe, Jaemin already placed his hand on your waist before guiding you hands to his shoulders. Like walking on air, you glide with Jaemin despite tripping over your feet for the first half of the song- you rest your chin on his shoulder, swaying. You two don’t say anything for a bit, Jaemin’s grip on your body feels secure.You’re interrupted when an older woman who resembles Jaemin taps him on the shoulder, “Honey?”

You feel Jaemin’s arms fall from you, hugging the woman you presume to be his: “Mother?”

“Honey, who’s this?”

Jaemin pulls you to his side, “This is y/n. I’ve been showing her around Paris.”

The woman smiles at you, her hand tucking back a strand that’s fallen from her black braid, “Please to meet you, has my son been treating you well?”

You take her hand firmly, nodding, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Na. Jaemin’s been wonderful to me, he’s been showing me around and telling me good things about-”

“Yes, that sounds great. Jaemin, I need you to come with me- there’s someone your father wants you to meet.”

“Can’t it wait until next week mother?”

Her eyes sharpen coldly, the warmth slipping out of her smile, “Do not disobey your father, come now.”

You hear Jaemin groan before he turns to you as he’s being dragged away, “I’ll be back. Do not move. I mean it- don’t.”

You nod at him confusedly, “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

You opt to take a seat by the tables where guests pile their plates up with various foods, your eyes watching Jaemin’s mother introduce him to a girl that’s a lot shorter than him, her eyelashes batting at Jaemin. They shake hands as Jaemin’s father and the girl’s father laugh, cheering their flutes of champagne as they converse. Immediately, you feel yourself rise from your seat when the girl launches herself into Jaemin’s arms, his face is riddled with surprise. She smiles up at him, whispering something inaudible as Jaemin’s mother teases them to kiss- Jaemin sternly staring at his mother. Getting up from your chair, you turn back into the nearest hallway, your black slumped against the wall. How could you have been so naive? Did you honestly think that Jaemin could sweep you off your feet like some cheesy romcom and then you’d fall in love with Paris’s it boy? It seemed inconceivable. Around the corner, you hear Jaemin’s voice- you start to run towards where you hear him- only to be met with the sight of the same girl pressing Jaemin up against the wall. Her voice sounds like a slither, “Little birdies are telling me you’ve been running around with some peasant girl that works at some dusty cafe. Didn’t you say you loved me?”

You continue to listen in on them. Jaemin holds her at an arms distance, “That was when I was 4 and didn’t know what the word meant. I don’t see you that way. Aleah, I don’t like you that way.”

She laughs into Jaemin’s shoulders, “Your mother has always adored my family- we’re destined from the start. Don’t turn me away, Jaemin.”

Jaemin shakes his head, “Y/n, isn’t some peasant girl. Just because she’s not like you and your family doesn’t make her a peasant.”

Aleah combs her fingers through Jaemin’s hair, “Sweet little Jaemin, that girl could never give you what I could. She’ll only bring you down. Face it, we’re to be betrothed soon- in the palace, side by side.”

When you don’t hear Jaemin protest or even say a word of refusal, you take off running. You don’t care that the ends of your dress are frayed now, your heels causing blisters on your feet. What felt like a dream has now transformed into a nightmare. You burst through the doorway of the palace, guests shooting you dirty glances when you tell the limousine driver to take you home. As the car dashes out of the courtyard, you hear Jaemin call your name on the steps while tears fall from your eyes. Paris has never looked so melancholy. When you arrive at the doorstep of your apartment, you glare up at the moon- the same moon that Jaemin had kissed you multiple times under. You sit on your stairway, crying into the lap of your dress as your hands fist the layers of fabric tightly. With a screech on the pavement, Jaemin flings himself out of another car- slamming the door behind him. You look at him, shaking your head, “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want-”

He doesn’t listen to your words when he wraps his strong arms around your sunken frame, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You collapse into the crook of his chest, your tears staining his dress shirt. Jaemin tilts your chin to him, “I’m not going to marry Aleah, I hope you know that.”

“What about your mother? She said-”

“I don’t care what she or my father says. I can’t marry someone I don’t like- I don’t love. Not for money, not for status. I won’t.”

“Jaemin, you can’t. You can’t sever from your family because of me-”

He raises his eyebrows, “Who says I’m doing it for you? I’m doing it for myself. I know what my heart says, I know that it chooses you. I’m not doing it for you.”

He takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckle, “I’m going to do it for us.”

When you try to say something else, Jaemin shut you up with a passionate kiss before eyeing you closely, “Let’s go rest for tonight.”

Letting  it go, you nod at him. Jaemin picks you up, your dress covering his body as he unlocks your door for you before setting you on the comforter of your bed- your room lights are off, the scent of Paris air drifting in from your open window. The darkness invokes the calmness, you start to kick off the heels that are strapped to your feet. Jaemin sits on your bed next to you, “I’ve never seen your room before.”

His dark eyes scan the wilting peonies that sit on your desk and the ivory walls that surround you both. “Your room suits you.”

You let yourself collapse onto the bed, your head hitting the cool fabric of your blanket, “It took me a while to settle into it.” 

Beside you, Jaemin lays down to watch you, his elbow propped up, “I should probably go soon.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“Can I?”

You chuckle, “That depends if you want to. Your mom’s probably wondering why you’re with a peasant girl.”

Jaemin clears his throat, “Did you overhear Aleah?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you want to spit out a string of insults about the rich, how they judge people based on money. For Jaemin’s sake, you don't. He parts his lips, “You know that’s not how I see you right?”

Nodding, you whisper, “If you did, I don’t think you’d be next to me right now.”

Immediately, you feel Jaemin hover over you, “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

Your bodies burn like flames as you kiss each other hotly, Jaemin’s tongue gliding over yours. You grip his hair, slightly tugging on it so that he lets out a sound- your legs entangled with each other on the bed. Panting, Jaemin tosses his black suit jacket to the ground- you practically yank of his tie. Jaemin drags his lips down to the juncture of your neck, causing him to smirk when you gasp. You bore your eyes into his, “I need you to help me.”

Jaemin seems to understand when he reaches behind your neck to pull the zipper of your dress now, your chest exposed in front of him. In the dark, his eyes glimmer with adoration- his lips connecting with your own. Using your hands, you take his dress shirt off him to reveal his muscular body, his skin glowing under the soft moonlight. You smell the heaviness of Jaemin’s strong cologne, the scent makes you dizzy. By the end of it, your dress lays on the ground by your vanity and Jaemin’s clothes by your wardrobe as you press your cheek to his bare chest, watching him sleep peacefully. Jaemin has his arm on the small of your back, stroking your skin even in his slumber. You take note of how his pink locks are mussed and his eyelashes have a subtle curl from how long they are. Jaemin flicks one eye open, “Y/n? How come you’re not asleep yet?”

You snuggle deeper into him, “It’s because you’re next to me.”

“You’re right- I’m just that good- hey!”

You slap Jaemin’s chest, a blush creeping onto your cheeks, “That’s not why stupid!”

“Then what’s the reason?”

Without any hesitation, you tell him, “I like you and I want to be with you.”

“You’re a tad late y/n. I knew that already.”

“How? I’ve never told you that.”

“I can just feel it. You and I- we have this connection that I’ve never felt with anyone else. The only reason I come to that bakery isn’t only for the espressos. I want to protect you from harm’s way- even if that includes my own family. I just want to be there for you like no other guy can.”

Smiling to yourself, you reach up to pat Jaemin on the head only to have Jaemin’s hand catch yours, you whisper to him, “It’s only been a little while since we met?”

He sinks to your level, meeting your gaze before pressing a kiss to your eyelid, “That’s the beauty of liking someone. Time doesn’t stop for anyone. I just knew when I saw you.”

Giving Jaemin’s hand a firm squeeze, you press the curl of your lips to his knuckles. It makes him chuckle, his smile upturning on his cheeks. Once again, you shift closer to him. You both succumb to sleep, the low occasional honking of beetle cars and soft music from your neighbor’s window as your own Parisian lullaby- Jaemin wrapped in your embrace. 

[secret-keeper18]

I’m Gay - Eugene Lee Yanga

An analysis by a bisexual asian dancer

In honor of pride month, Eugene Lee Yang has gifted us this beautiful work of cinematic and choreographic art. First off, congratulations to Eugene for officially coming out in this video. It was beautiful, it was bold, and most amazingly, it was so incredibly brave. Secondly, if you haven’t seen the video yet, PLEASE DO!!! Thirdly, the video is also in collaboration with the Trevor Project, a free suicide hotline for LGBTQ+ youth, so please please PLEASE if you can go support it.

Scene 1 - Family

Starting with the beginning of the video, the camera pans back showing Eugene and four others. The women are looking one way, the men are looking the other, and Eugene stares dead in the center.

These people are representative of a family, and later go on to represent the impact of gender roles and familial influence on Eugene’s life. In addition, the men are both wearing suits and the women wearing dresses and high heels (though not shown in this picture), fitting the societal gender norms for dressing. Eugene, however, is not only wearing red, which stands out in great contrast to the plain black of the family, but is wearing a flowy dress/robe.

The mother is seen on the right, putting on lipstick and crossing her legs, representing the traditionally feminine actions and role. Eugene, the brother, and the sister, imitate this behavior, as children often do. Then, the father is shown, legs spread, drinking alcohol, yelling, pounding his fist violently. The children also initate his behavior, as children have little concept of feminine vs. masculine roles until taught that way by society.

During this time, when children are impressionable and learn by copying behaviors, the parents separate the children by gender. The mother takes the daughter, and teaches her. They do the movement together, while the father and the brother do different choreography in the background. The women’s movement is lighter, more indirect, while the men’s are far more masculine. The men’s movements are direct and more grounded, crossing their arms and taking strong steps, almost as if they were marching. However, Eugene clearly prefers to follow his mother and sister’s movements, immediately joining in.

When he attempts to put on lipstick as his mother had, the father knocks it out of his hand and slaps him on the head. Most heartbreakingly, the brother watches, observes the consequences that comes with acting like their mother and sister instead of their father, and follows him. This is representative of how something like this is such a common practice, enforcing gender roles in a family by simply pairing actions such as following the traditionally feminine roles with punishment and reprimand. Finally, Eugene follows with their movement, transitioning into the next scene.

Scene 2 - Church

The first thing we see are two lines of people, marching together. Marching in such a way usually denotes military, uniform. It is clear the message here: stay in line, don’t make waves, be just like everyone else. Eugene follows, but begins to add his own spin to the movement until he finally is doing something completely different from what everyone else is doing. Everyone else continues dancing together, even covering their eyes at some point and blindly following each other to the pews while Eugene keeps his eyes and arms open. However, someone comes to him and physically fixes his movements, changing and shaping him until he is doing the same thing as everyone else. His movement up until here is free and strong, whereas when it is fixed to follow everyone else, changes the quality of the movement to be bound and the energy and power that he initially was putting in to become dulled. Their willful closing of the eyes is meant to represent closemindedness, and the setting of the church is a clear message of his experience. Religion was a toxic subject for him, its closemindedness and hatred and bigotry hurt him as he fought to break out of the uniform.

This is when something happens. The people are all wearing neutral colors, until suddenly, the man standing at the podium begins gesturing angrily, clearly yelling and spewing hatred. The man, and the side of the pews that begin getting riled up and yelling back in agreement, all suddenly are wearing white. However, the side where Eugene is sitting is wearing all black, and they are in agreement with the people in white. In fact, Eugene turns his head to look at the others, and their heads are bowed, their eyes lowered.

Scene 3 - Relationships

This is a clear timeskip from the family and church scenes, from childhood and teenager/young adult years. He turns and sees a woman dancing. The music here turns from strong and quick to softer, with a piano melody rather than electronic to convey a romantic tone. Eugene stands up and begins dancing with her. Their movement is smooth and free, their partnering work equal and balanced.

There is a genuine appreciation on Eugene’s end for her, something that does not change even when he turns again to find a man dancing. He is dancing just as beautifully and gracefully, and Eugene steps in to perform similar partnering movements with the same anount of ease. The woman joins in, and does her own movements traveling while Eugene and the man do the same choreography, differing from her own. In fact, this time, Eugene is the one being lifted, rather than the other way around.

When they finish the sequence, Eugene takes a moment to embrace the woman, before turning back to the man, and the woman departs, clearly still on amicable terms. I think what is beautiful here is the truly genuine attraction he had toward her, and it is evident in their flawless partner work and appreciative expressions when they look at each other one final time before Eugene turns back to the man. A truly “Thank You, Next” sort of a feeling. The seamless transition into him twirling the man and the man lowering him down on top of him was beautiful and such a powerful sight for me, seeing the joy in their faces before the scene once again is swept away into the next phase of Eugene’s life.

Scene 4 - Drag

Eugene has done a good few videos on drag and how important it is to him, and he can speak about the subject with far more authority than myself, so I’m going to keep this scene relatively short.

One of the clearest differences in this scene is he sheer amount of color in this. From the purposeful placement rainbows, it is clear that color was an incredibly important aspect to include in this video. The contrast from the black and white from the first two scenes is so evident. This and scene 3 is clearly the beginning of the parts of his life that began to literally bring color into his life.

He begins interacting with people, smiling widely and truly enjoying spending time with these people as he joins the crowd of bright and colorfully-clad individuals. Not one of them looks the same or even dances the same to another, an important distinction to the movement characteristic to the church scene.

Then, the camera focuses on someone approaching the group. Most obvious about him is his attire- white shirt and blue jeans, the same outfit from the hateful group in the church scene. This is the most transparent part of the video, as the man raises his hand in a gun symbol and the people around Eugene begin to fall.

It is a symbol of how hatred takes lives through both murder and suicide.

Eugene reaches out desperately, but hands reach up and literally drag him down. Once again, the people in white pull and beat him down, transitioning into the next scene.

Scene 5 - Finale

What I find most interesting about this is the total change in costuming and color from the previous scene. In this scene, he is stripped of his clothing, accessories, and make up. Anything that did not fit society’s expectation of remotely masculine is gone, leaving only a pair of misfiting jeans. It is after the crowd of those in white leaves, when the family from the first scene reappear. This time, the parents are in white, while the siblings are in black. It hurts, knowing that the parents, the people expected to love you unconditionally, are amongst those who hurt you. The siblings, who are dressed in black, take Eugene’s hand and help him stand again, pulling the parents away from hurting him anymore.

However, after he is beaten down, he once again rises, this time clad in royal blue, sharp make up, and slick backed hair. He strides toward the camera, determinedly persevering despite those pushing and shoving around him, trying to knock him down. The crowd is a mox of people in white and people in black, all trying to either hurt or aid him. The contrast between the gently touchss of the people in black and the angry shoves from the people in white is evident. Eugene makes it past the crowd, remaining steelfaced despite the anger and fighting going on behind him. The music builds and builds, swelling as he stands with his head held high and sway from the crowd. The camera pans in closer to his face as people continue to argur behind him.

The music cuts out, and the only audio accompanying the sight of Eugene’s expression is that of the angry crowd’s arguing and yelling. The scene ends with a close up of Eugene’s face, a mix of emotions as he attempts to steel his expression against the pain, trying to remain stoic despite the clamor in his ears and the hatred undoubtedly being strewn about just behind him. The resignation to his obligation, to remain strong even when there are those trying to pull him down, is clear in his eyes as he tightens his jaw and stares directly into the camera, purposely ignoring the chaos in the background.

Conclusion

This is truly an amazing work of art, from the choreography, to the music, to the costuming, to the story being told. Eugene’s ability to tell this story, his story, in such a manner is simply a work of creative genius. There is just so much emotion portrayed in a single scene, representative through dance and acting that gets his point across in such a clear yet artistic manner. His conveying of his struggles and triumphs was breathtaking.

A few extra notes worth appreciating that I couldn’t quite manage to slip in.

1. The casting of actual asians in a dance role. Honestly brought tears to my eyes.

2. The athleticism it takes to pull off some of this choreo, specifically in the third scene. The partnering work was just gorgeous and the choreography so beautifully told the story with absolutely zero need for words.

3. Eugene has not really kept his sexuality a secret before, but recognizing the importance of “coming out” especially at this time of year and through such a creative medium is truly commendable. No matter how many times you come out, it’s scary, especially at such a large scale.

4. Eugene has always been known as the stoic one of the Try Guys, so for him to be putting himself and his art (as they are essentially one and he same) out there in such a vulnerable manner is amazing, and I don’t think a lot of us are as brave as this.

5. On a devastatingly personal note, this video meant so much to me. Growing up, there was no lgbtq+ representation in media, much less non-white, Asian lgbtq+ representation. The medium in which this is portrayed is so close to my heart, too, as I’d spent four years in a dance program where I would analyze dance shows and videos such as this one. It was terrifyingly easy to relate to, but one I so desperately hope many others find light in as well.

Please share the video and encourage others to donate to the Trevor Project! I wrote this in the few hours after the video came out so there are undoubtedly things I’ve missed, so please feel free to add your own interpretations or things you’ve noticed/what this video meant to you.

Thank you, Eugene, and Happy Pride Month❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[the2020romanceproject]

Review: Red, White, and Royal Blue

You guys. This book. This book is FREAKING AMAZING. This is basically everything I wanted from a romance novel. I am probably ruined for other romance novels now because this one is SO GREAT.

Not going to do a full summary of this one, because 1) lots of stuff happens (which is part of why it’s so great), and 2) I want everyone to read it and don’t want to completely spoil it. But the basic premise is that Alex is the son of the sitting U.S. president and Henry is a prince of England, and—according to Alex, anyway—they start out hating each other. Then they inadvertently cause an international incident and have to pretend to be friends for P.R. reasons, and feelings happen and so do lots and lots of other things and it is ADORABLE and ANGSTY and PLOTTY and all the characters are amazing and I can marry this book, yes? Thank you.

I was worried when I started reading romance novels. I was worried that the strength of the romance-focused plots found in fanfiction would be diluted by the need to include other aspects of plot. Then I read a couple of romance novels and was worried that the strength of the romance-focused plot would be diluted by romance-genre customs like having the characters sleep together halfway through even if that destroys all the tension. This book is proof that neither of those things has to be a problem. It had an excellent romance plot that was only enhanced by the very robust political and interpersonal subplots that happened around it. I am SO impressed.

Okay, the romance plot first. Here are some of the things I liked about it (spoilers, caution):

Alex didn’t realize he was attracted! He didn’t even realize he was bi!*

But he obviously was attracted to Henry

Henry was obviously into him (obvious to everyone except Alex, that is)

We were only in Alex’s POV and not Henry’s and so we got to enjoy the dramatic irony of the above

Alex is very stupid about his own sexual past and how normal best friends act together

Everyone else knew basically all of this before Alex did

Even after they got together, Alex lied to himself about how he was falling in love even those it was clear that he was

Henry had real reasons for backing off from the relationship and being scared

The characters had SO MUCH DEPTH omg

Their banter! It was so good

I really liked both of them and believed that they were better together

(*It’s super legit to write characters who do know they’re queer. I just personally love it when they don’t know, because it speaks to my didn’t-realize-she-was-bi-until-age-25 soul.)

These plot elements are not specific to fanfiction. There’s plenty of fanfiction that doesn’t do all or even any these things. But they’re also all very common in fic, and when you put them all together it felt very much like the kind of romance plot I might have come across on AO3. I hope these plot elements aren’t unusual in the romance genre, either, because I find them SO effective and satisfying.

Take Alex not realizing at first that he was attracted. This is something I was surprised by in the other romance novels I’ve read so far: that those characters saw each other and were immediately like, “Yup, that’s my type of person, super into that body!” And...that’s fine, I guess? A little alien to me, since I don’t tend to experience attraction that way, but I guess there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s a bit of a missed opportunity, though, because it jumps right over the potential tension of us watching and waiting for the character to realize they’re attracted.

Granted, it can be hard in a book with original characters to signal to the reader right away that yes, these two people are going to be into each other. I can see why many romance novels include that initial recognition of attraction. But this book is proof that you don’t need to do it that way. It’s completely clear to the reader that Alex is going to be into Henry—that he already is, and isn’t recognizing that attraction for what it is—and we still get to watch him go on the delightful journey from, “Ew, this guy is the worst” to “Oh crap I’m actually super into him.”

I think this is getting at a fundamental type of tension that was missing from the first two romance novels I read. I talked about the difference between sexual and romantic tension, and that stands, but each of those comes in a couple varieties: there’s the tension between what the characters want and what they have, and then there’s the tension between what the characters want and what they THINK they want. In The Soldier’s Scoundrel, those two things are pretty much the same: the two characters know they’re attracted to each other, and then, as they go through each step of falling in love, they acknowledge it openly in the narration. That’s fine but kind of boring, and it means that instead of waiting for the characters to catch up to their own feelings, we’re waiting for those feelings to form. It is just plain not as interesting to wait for a character to develop a feeling as it is to wait for them to acknowledge a feeling they’re hiding from themselves. Plus, people are bad at recognizing their own desires! It’s a thing! Especially when those desires are inconvenient or unexpected or would leave them vulnerable. There are plenty of good ways to introduce this tension without it feeling forced, and it can add so much.

(This is probably part of why I like characters who don’t recognize that they’re queer, actually—it adds another layer to the knowledge gap. But, again, that’s largely a personal preference, and I recognize the value of a variety of queer experiences in literature.)

The other thing this book did that I think strengthened the romantic plot in a major way was to stick to one point of view. I honestly don’t think I would have said a month ago that I felt so strongly about this. Most of the fic I’ve read is in one point of view, and I’ve never really thought about the alternative. But I’m starting to realize that switching points of view can take a reader out of the characters’ heads in really unfortunate ways. The human experience just never involves knowing absolutely what someone else is thinking. So if you’re living through a character’s eyes, experiencing the world as them...you shouldn’t know what a different character is thinking. Not every story has to immerse us in a character’s head to this degree—but romance should, I think. That’s the fun of it. And it just doesn’t work as well with two points of view. Plus, you lose the question of what exactly the other person is thinking, and even if you can pretty much guess—well, again, you’re going to be more fully in the main character’s head if you have to guess instead of knowing.

And the tension. Oh man. There isn’t one thing this book did to ensure continual tension in its romantic plot; it just did a fantastic job of transitioning between one kind of tension and the next. (Major spoilers ahead.) First Alex doesn’t think he’s into Henry, even though the reader can tell he has a crush. Then Henry kisses him and Alex realizes he’s attracted, but we get sexual tension because Henry’s not talking to him and then because it’s hard for them to end up in the same place at the same time (situational tension). Then we start to get romantic tension where Alex is in love but doesn’t recognize it, and then later when Alex knows he’s in love but isn’t saying it yet. Then more romantic tension when Alex finally confesses and Henry walks away (which, btw, major props to this book for succeeding at having someone walk away from a love confession and not having me think any less of their potential relationship). Then they finally get together for real but there’s the situational tension of them maybe doing serious damage their respective governments. Every single time one kind of tension gets resolved, there’s another kind waiting in the wings, ready to take over. It’s just...what a masterpiece.

So, yes, excellent romance plot, top marks. Everything surrounding the romance was fantastic, too, which just...that is SO HARD TO DO. One of my questions at the start of this year of reading was whether romance novels would feel more like novels than fanfiction does, and this one certainly does. There’s a phenomenon in fanfiction, and I noticed it in previous romance novels, too, where the outside world just sort of...dips into view where convenient, and then recedes from view without having real consequences or significant continuity. And that’s fine. It works better in fanfiction than in original works, I think, because fanfiction can draw on an independent canon or fanon. But in both places, it results (or can result) in a very strong romance where nothing else in the world matters much to the story, and that’s okay.

But this book. There was so much plot! So much world, and I cared about all of it! ALL the characters are extremely well-drawn, and I cared about their mini-arcs. The political situation interacted with and enhanced the romance plot but also mattered in its own right and had its own complexities. And none of it made the romance feel any less present or central or powerful. It was so well done.

Okay. I’m done gushing now. I’m moving on to what I hope will be a recurring new feature: fanfiction I’m going to recommend based on this book. These are all stories that I thought about while reading Red, White, and Royal Blue, and if you liked the book, you might want to explore these. (It’s worth noting that I regularly read fanfiction without knowing anything about the canon. I know that weirds some people out, but if you’re on the fence, I would encourage you to give it a try!)

Let Toretto Be Toretto (The Fast and the Furious political AU, by astolat)—oh man, astolat. Truly the best of us all. This one is much shorter and doesn’t have the prince aspect, but it’s a fanastic journey through gay pining and the presidency.

The Student Prince (Arthur/Merlin college AU, by fayjay)—this felt like the most obvious comparison story for me. Fanfiction boasts a plethora of modern-day prince AUs across many fandoms, but this is one I read recently and really enjoyed. The non-romance plot is less robust than in Red, White, and Royal Blue, but there are a lot of strong similarities.

Not Easily Conquered (Steve/Bucky, by dropdeaddreams and WhatAreFears)—Henry and Alex’s emails reminded me so strongly of this one. All-around gorgeous.

And now, on to the next romance novel that I will almost inevitably be disappointed in after this phenomenon. Someone tell me when Casey McQuiston publishes something else.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

He looked tanned. 

Spencer took a luxurious drag on his Belmont, the ember exploding like a mini-supernova in his aviator sunglasses, and exhaled swirling spirits into the early morning mist of Diefenbaker Park. It was two days after Christmas and I’d left my pregnant wife and baby daughter at home to visit his memorial bench, the day after my sister died, and together we sat looking down at the central pond in the distance. I liked that he’d finally grown out his beard again, so that it had a scraggly surfer quality. The afterlife was agreeing with him.

I sighed. “The crazy thing is I’ve been grieving this shit for years, you know? Like I knew this could happen any time, any moment. And then the universe custom-designs this perfect French Exit for her. It was like it was staged,” I said, unpacking the one-gram pre-roll I’d picked up from Vancouver.

“Like think about this: Kristina went into labour on Kathryn’s birthday this year, then one day later Celista is born. Now she dies exactly nine months later, to the day. There’s some weird math there I can’t figure out.”

Spence smiled. “You’re always looking for the patterns.”

There was sweat collecting in my hairline. I’d gotten four hours of sleep, maybe, and I’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes. My family was circling the wagons hard, my other sister flying back from Belgium, and I was being inundated with social media engagements. I knew what was on everybody’s mind: this was exactly the sort of event that could send me back into my hyper-manic tail spin, put me back in the psych ward for the third time.

The thing was, Kathryn was more than a sister. She was me. With our matching dolphin tattoos, our matching blue cars, our blonde hair and our outrageous emotions. She was the female version of me, the sister whose soul was most entangled with mine. For years I’d assumed that one day I would end up derelict in her basement, while she played at domesticity with her healthy suburban brood upstairs. 

She had my back when nobody else did.

“I know she’s still here, man. But I can’t talk to her yet. So I wanted to come to you, you know? See if she’s made it to the other side,” I said. I was crying now, taking puffs off the spliff and blinking heartbroken at the baby blue sky through the clouds. 

Spence took off his aviators. I hadn’t realized he was crying, but now I could see his eyes were red-rimmed. For a moment I wanted to lunge for him, to touch his face with my hands. Then I remembered that he wasn’t there, that he’d been dead for years. Our last meal at Royal Jubilee flashed before my eyes, the way he looked with Canuck-coloured toe nails in his boss robe. Goddamn, I loved him. 

“You know I loved your sister,” he said. “She was family to me.”

I nodded, took another drag. The last time I saw Kathryn, in the basement of our house, she was wrapped up like a Pharaoh in her bedsheets. I touched her little cheek, with Celista riding on my hip, and told her that she wasn’t alone. That she would never be alone, that we were right there with her and death wouldn’t scare us away. With my siblings lined up behind me, I kissed her forehead and ran my hands through her duck fluff hair.

“You were perfect to me.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. He hated when I got too demonstrative or weepy, mostly because his emotions made him uncomfortable. Years earlier, when we’d lived together in Victoria, he had a short-lived fling with my sister. I envisioned them being together, making him real family, but the circumstances weren’t right. Shortly later she was married to someone else.

Spence sighed. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.”

“What?”

He took another drag off his Belmont, then ground it into the grass. Slowly he began to explain to me how the afterlife works, how your soul stays connected to what’s going on in the contemporary timeline for a while, but eventually you transcend that. You stop haunting your friends, you stop wondering what’s going on in real time, because you’ve ascended to another plain of being. One with beaches.

“For a while there I was checking in on Taylor all the time, you know, and Shannon. It’s so much easier to be a Facebook creep once you’re dead. I know so much shit I can’t tell you yet,” he said.

“I know everything that happened to you before you met me, and I know everything that’s going to happen to you. I’ve read the whole story now, but we’re not supposed to give spoiler warnings to people who are still alive. That’s not how life works.”

I coughed a few times, and nodded guiltily at an elderly couple walking by with their dog. I hoped they hadn’t seen me talking to myself. I took a deep breath through my nostrils and tried to imagine how Spence’s consciousness was reaching me, whether this imaginary figure before me was a legit spectral presence or just another fucking delusion, like the time I thought J.K. Rowling was my Mom and G.R.R.M was my Dad.

Spencer bit his lip. “We’re not really allowed to intervene, is the thing. So I know when bad things are going to happen, but I can’t do anything to stop them. I’m at peace with it, but those are the rules.”

My heart was beating a little faster. “You knew. You knew this was going to happen and you didn’t tell me.”

A tear dribbled into his beard, and he pulled out another Belmont. “I’m sorry, man. I really am. I would’ve done something if I could’ve. I swear.”

Now I was really crying in public. “I was like twenty feet away, man. When she drew her last breath. It was like I knew I had to be closer to her, like she pulled me back into her orbit. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what I could’ve done. I could’ve done so many things,” I said.

“What-ifs are useless, man. You did what you could. You all did. She picked a fight with a demon and it killed her. That’s all there is to it.”

I was starting to get annoyed with Spence, like the time we went on vacation together and I spazzed out at A&W because he complained about the colour of the pickles on his burger. I was going to the trouble of conjuring up his apparition, I figured at least that he’d say something comforting. But that was the thing with Spence, he always told the unvarnished truth. Even when it was uncomfortable.

“So what’s this thing you were going to tell me?”

Spence took a few trembly drags, his fingers shaking. He took a long moment after exhaling. “When I found out what was going to happen to Kathryn, I told you I couldn’t change anything. I had to watch it happen, just like you. But while you were sleeping, I went into Kathryn’s room.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “She was laying on her face, half under the covers, wearing those designer white jeans. She looked so precious, Will. Like Marilyn Monroe.”

I gasped. “Or Princess Di.”

“Exactly.”

I’d never seen Spence this emotional. His eyes were like the Grinch’s as he took another puff. He looked off towards the sand cliffs, and the waterfall where we used to come to drink back in high school. He was pausing because he was trying to work up the courage to say what came next.

“So I crawled into bed with her, Will. I put my arms around her, with her face to my neck, and I cradled her like she was a newborn. I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I whispered to her that I’d be waiting on the other side. With her Gran Dad. I told her she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

My joint was finished now. I pulled out a cigarette, and Spencer offered me a light. Was this a pleasing fiction, or was I grasping at some legit truth from beyond the veil? These were exactly the sort of strange thoughts that would get me in trouble, but I needed to have them. I needed to let them out. And I needed to believe Spencer was telling me the truth.

He smiled. “But I didn’t even get to the best part. This is some real Rick and Morty shit.”

I snorted. “What?”

“Again, the metaphor isn’t perfect, but time doesn’t exist once you’re dead. Everything is happening all at once, like the Tralfamadorians in that one Vonnegut book.”

“The Sirens of Titan, right.”

“So the thing is, I’m talking to you right here but you’re also hanging with me in the afterlife already. We’re all together here. And when I went into that room, I wasn’t the only one there. Your whole family was there, and not just the nine of you but all of your aunts and uncles and all these other people I didn’t know,” he said.

I couldn’t believe it. “They were all there?”

“Packed in, shoulder to shoulder. All her boyfriends had to wait out in the living room. Then there was her swimming friends, her Sauder girls, her B.C. Ferries crowd. There was so many people they couldn’t even fit in the basement suite, so a bunch of them were out smoking in the driveway. And you know who else was there? Celista.”

I wanted to believe him so bad. “Would you believe that, if you were me?”

Spence shrugged. “Probably not. All I know is what I saw. And everyone wanted to be there, to let Kathryn know she wasn’t alone. That includes you. The future you was there, like a Force Ghost from Star Wars. And you were so proud of her for how hard she fought. She was a Jedi.”

“I’ve never heard you get this maudlin before. I mean, you didn’t even believe in God. This shit sounds pretty bonkers.”

He laughed. At first it was just a surprised blurt, but then it escalated into body-shaking belly laughter. He wiped his eyes.

“What’s the joke?��� I asked. “I don’t get it.”

Spence’s eyes gleamed with mischief. 

“We are God.”

The Kootenay Goon

[thesparksbro]

Maximus’s bad day [Part 2] (fanfic written by sidekickjoey)

Max is tired.

How can one horse possibly be as quick, agile, and all-around better than him as Axel? He is the top of his class! He is the best war-horse around! Ask any of the guards! Even Eugene would agree. Well, maybe. Max would hope so, at least.

But, that is beside the point! Axel is not that great! He is all show and no real reward, if you ask Maximus. An untrustworthy, unfaithful wolf in sheep’s clothing. No good. He knows it to be so. Sure, no one else does, but he does, and with a little hard work, he is sure he can get the others to believe so as well.

So, he plots.

When the time finally comes to enact his plot, he finds himself in town. It is not exactly the easiest of places to snoop through, as people love to clump together and make it hard for a horse like himself to keep a close enough distance behind Axel, but he manages. Anything for my duty, he thinks. He repeats that mantra as he has to rudely shove past a few people with large boxes, knocking them over and leaving a wake of unhappy townsfolk in his wake. If he could speak, he would say sorry. But, he cannot, and he has bigger fish to fry, such as Axel galloping away.

Wait.

Axel is galloping away?!

Max has no time to think. He simply darts through the crowds, knocking more people over with high whinnies. Oops. He even knocks into three street vendor carts – a fact he regrets, especially upon hearing their wails of dismay at tons of lost jewels and fabrics. He makes a mental note to try and help them eventually before continuing his chase. Sure enough, as he picks up speed, Axel grows closer and closer in his sight. He’s as good as got, a mere few feet away, when suddenly he takes a hard right and goes right across an intersection. A busy intersection! Max is aghast. He is even more aghast that Axel managed to do so right as a whole crowd of people are allowed to cross, thus forcing him to screech to a halt and watch helplessly as he galloped down an alley, out of sight. The nerve of some horses.

He would make him pay…

…after he figures out what he just saw on himself in a passing mirror.

Was that a bonnet he saw? No, that is ridiculous! He did not wear anything today! Just his standard guard saddle and crest. But, wait! There is a bonnet! A big, blue one. And a dress! A pink one! With heels! How on Earth did he end up wearing all of that? That is when Max realizes. The vendor carts. The heat of the pursuit. The lack of realization.

Max pales.

He really needs to offer his help to them later.

Now, he just needs to really leave where he is, because two girls with their mother are pointing and laughing at him and he really does not want to be all Corona talks about for the next month. Red and struggling in the heels, he stumbles his way across the intersection and down the same alley Axel had gone down moments before, out of sight.

What he sees there makes him snicker.

A-ha! He should have guessed it! Axel is up to something sinister! The horse is peering into the back of a shop and entering. It’s a clothing store, if he remembers correctly. Obviously, there is no good reason for him to be going into one of those. He is a horse, after all, and horses do not wear clothes. At least, not by choice. He has to be looking to steal something. Careful to keep quiet, Max slowly makes his way down the alley.  Hoof after hoof, he gets closer. Closer. Closer. He puffs out his chest, stares down the door, and then–

BANG!

With a triumphant whinny resembling an A-HA!, Max slams open the door to the shop. He expects to see Axel there, hoof-deep in trouble. Just where he wants him. However, what he finds in reality is much less…satisfying. It actually is much less in general. The room is empty. No Axel, no clothes. Maybe a few barrels, but nothing more. No clothes, no patrons. Emptiness. Had he really been that off? Maybe Max really was losing his style…maybe Axel really was the better horse, and he was going off the deep end…

…or maybe, he is jumping to conclusions, prohibiting him from seeing that he’s in the back of the store and there are not one, but two other doors Axel could have gone into.

Max grumbles to himself and chooses the door heading upstairs to go through.

The staircase just past the door is rickety, and he really hates how cramped he feels going up it. It is creaking every two seconds, riddled with abandoned webs, and has about six different holes. Honestly, he should win a medal for just being able to climb those things and come out in one piece. Axel will be that medal, he decides. However, when he jumps out to the second floor with the same excited whinny, he once again denied such a medal. It, too, is empty.

A chorus of blank mannequins stare him down, mocking him. Max has half a mind to barge through them and ruin the shop altogether. But, if it’s the shop he thinks it is, the old seamstress who owns it is too kind to have to deal with that. That hate is better spent on Axel.

Speaking of Axel, where is he???

Thud, thud, thud.

Max freezes, cold in place. Footsteps??? That is the last thing he needs to hear! What would someone say if they see him, the Royal Guard’s most prized horse, snooping up in an old seamstress’ attic? They would probably think of him what he thinks of Axel! He would never be able to live it down! But what could he do to get out? There always is the window, but he does not like the odds of that fall. He has jumped out and off of worse, but still. Not in his heels, anyway. No, Max has to do something else, something more sneaky. Spotting the mannequins again, he gets an idea.

Posed like a war horse one would see outside of Corona’s castle, Max holds a dramatic hoof in the air, holds his breath, and does his best mannequin impression. It is hardly believable, but what other choice does he have? He sits and watches the door, almost relieved to see it is the old seamstress herself. At least her sight isn’t that good, or her movement, if her withered legs and cane have anything to say about it. He might get away with this if he holds his pose.

It is in this moment, frozen and slowly realizing his error of posing with a limb raised, that he notices the seamstress came up there for a reason. In her hands is a lavender apron, torn slightly up the middle. She is grumbling about it as she sits down very close to Max, her desk mere inches away from his rear. He would be more interested in her words, or her proximity, if it were not for the ache now beginning in his leg. Would she notice if he moved it? Or, would he be caught and plunged into regret? Max does not know. He just know it hurts, and wow, is it getting stuffy in here or is it just how tight his dress is? A small whine leaves his lips as the lady pulls out a lavender ball of thread and five sewing needles. Little does he know, a cramped hoof is about to be the least of his worries.

The very lack of sight of the lady is what brings Max to his undoing. See, she needs a cushion to put the little pins in while she works to fix the apron, and that cushion is nowhere to be found. Or, rather, too out of her sight for her to really see. So, she goes for whatever is the next best thing in her sight. What better alternative was there besides the big, white, fluffy-looking mass right nearby her hand? Nothing! Grabbing the pins, she began plucking them, one by one, into it to begin her work.

One by one, she made Max wish he had never even seen a horse named Axel.

He cannot scream, but oh does he want to. Each little pin hurts more than the next. The things he does for duty! Axel surely would not be so kind as to keep playing along with his ruse in this moment. But, he soldiers on. Calm. Cool. Semi-collected.

Minutes pass, and finally, thankfully, the seamstress gets to a point where the apron is fixed and her pins can be collected back into her box of seamstress tools from Maximus’ rear. He lets out a breath of relief when the box is safely away. Sure, he is still in pain, but at least his troubles are over. The lady is leaving. He can move soon. He will be free!

Or, so he thinks.

For, as soon as he lets go of his pose, spreading out and scooting across the floor like a dog to get ride of the sting of the needles, he puts himself into the middle of another calamity. A large can of floor polish gets whacked down by his hoof, spilling out on not just the floor, but also himself. Not even his best attempts to stand and leave the mess he is making save Max from the embarrassment and the trap he has created. He is coated, and he is slippery enough that he won’t not be for a while.

He huffs and lets his legs give out, a sad sigh escaping.

Oh, how he shouldn’t have done that.

As soon as he pushes the ground at all with his legs, he is sent flying. There is no control to how he slides across the room or where he ends up. There is only fear and regret as he goes cascading out the window, especially when he realizes where he comes down in a crash.

He would end up in a dumpster.

On his back, surrounded by gunk and everything else that could possibly reek, Max whimpers and begins the slow process and making his way out. How much more humiliated could he get? Was it not bad enough he was dressed up like he was? Now, he has to be coated in oil and sticking to trash? Does the universe hate him?

The answer is yes, because a few feet away, Maximus hears the familiar snicker of the horse he loathes above all.

Prying himself out of the dumpster, he comes face-to-face with Axel, looking smug as ever. To make matters worse, the horse is not empty-handed. He has the very same apron the seamstress had been working on in his mouth, and it has a bright Corona royal symbol on it that he had not noticed before. In that moment, it all makes sense. He remembered hearing something about Rapunzel’s apron being messed up. He remembered her saying something about needing it to get fixed but not having time to go into town.

He remembered how well-liked Axel was, and just how willing to help people and animals the seamstress was.

Axel had been doing Rapunzel a favor.

He had entered in the back way to the front to get the seamstress to fix her apron.

He had been doing a good thing for the princess.

There is a snicker in Axel, and Max glares at it with as much venom as he can as the horse trots away.

Sadly, he shakes off some of the oil and trails his path with thoughts of a long bath floating through his mind. He would have to figure out a way to get past the guards and Eugene to spare himself the annoying laughter and jeers, but that can be thought of later when he is closer to the castle. Now, he has better, more soothing things to think of to cheer himself up and get his mind off of Axel.

Things like how happy he is he will never have to wear a dress like this again.

[joannaoftarth]

Should I continue this?

Tags: Sex Worker!AU, escort!Jaime, voyeurism, loneliness, longing

 - - - -

Taking a deep breath, Brienne takes a look around, hands on her hips, her thin blue top clinging to her sweaty chest. Finally done. The last box unpacked. Brienne Tarth, daughter of a little island with same name in the Stormlands, raised by a single dad, mocked for her looks her entire life, after more of a decade of hard work, has made it to the top. CEO of the most succesful high-class security company in Westeros, she has just moved into the famous Red Keep, the high-priced apartment building for the rich and beautiful. Well, she isn't beautiful. But hella rich. If she told her young, hard studying teenage self how much money she'd have one day, she'd never have believed her. She could probably buy Tarth at this point. After all, it has been family owned once upon a time. Brienne pins the thought to her mental wall of plans and goes to take a long bath in her ridiculously big bath tub. Finally, she can actually relax in a bath. Over an hour she enjoys the hot water, the bath salts and the meditating music. Tomorrow, the stress will hit her full force. She needs to be prepared. What she isn't prepared for is the view from her bedroom on her return. She doesn't have curtains yet and the building resembles a fork, meaning the next row of apartments is right across from her. And - for whatever reason - the curtains aren't drawn either. Brienne's jaw drops. A woman, pressed against the window. Naked. A man behind her. Also naked. The first is holding on for dear life as the second's trying to pound her through the glass, apparently. From the sweat on his face and chest she can tell they've been at it for some time. A shudder runs through Brienne. Tension builds in her abdomen. Heat rises from between her legs up her body, flushing her cheeks. His tight grip on her. His puffed up chest, the drops of sweat running down his defined muscles, making them glisten in the sparse light that's coming from somewhere to the right. His jaw clenched, his full blonde hair sticking to his forehead. He's an animal rutting into that poor woman (who doesn't look in pain at all). Suddenly, as if he's heard her thought, he looks up - straight into her eyes. Brienne freezes to the spot. She can't move. She can't breathe. She can't think. Like an idiot - or a pervert - she simply stands there and watching two people have sex. Dressed in merely a royal blue bathrobe. And the guy has the audacity to smirk at her. He doesn't stop. He doesn't slow down. He just smirks at and carries on. She keeps watching him. A few minutes and then he comes, his beautiful face turning into a grimace. Brienne can feel it. She feels it like a tiny explosion that's sending wave after wave of  shameful pleasure rushing through her. Seven hells, she's coming. Coming with him. They are totally in sync. When he's done, so is she, breathless and...alone. She looks up at him, feeling cold and so fucking empty, and he is looking right back, chest heaving. The smirk is gone and for a moment she imagines she can see...understanding. Finally, she runs. Back into the bathroom, where she's going to hide for an hour, trying not to die from embarrassment. Curtains. She definitely needs curtains. Tomorrow. At first light.

~oOo~

Brienne gets the curtains. Blue and pink, the colours of her old family sigil which still hangs above the mantel in Evenfhall Hall on Tarth. While she is hanging them up, he is watching her. Wearing a jeans, bare chested, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair wet from the shower. It's 2 in the afternoon. Did he just get up? Don't engage, she thinks sternly and climbs on the foot latter, concentrating on hanging the blasted curtains. She thinks it again when he waves at her, smirking that knowing smirk. Her fingers work faster and as soon as they are on the rails, she angrily pulls them close. Keeps them drawn for a month. Works like crazy for a month. But then... But then, one night, when she's stressed, exhausted and lonely, her eyes are straying to the curtains. Wondering. It's after midnight. Too late? Not late enough? Maybe he isn't there. ...Maybe he is. Brienne withdraws her eyes, tries to focus on something else. Looks around in her giant apartment, walks the rooms for something to do. All she hears is silence. Her feet carry her back into the bedroom. To the curtains. Feeling somewhat save cloaked in darkness, her long fingers curl into the heavy cotton. Pulls it to the side, only one blue eye peeping through. He's there. Gods, he's there. And she watches. Watches him fuck this woman. A different one. Watches him thrust into her. Watches his hands grab her hips, her shoulder...her neck. Feels the ghosts of his fingers on her skin. The ghost of his cock inside of her. Like before, arousal floods her and her eyes focus on his face, this beautiful face, drinking in his sight, the power of his hips, the strong stance, the surity of his every move. When he comes, so does she. The woman is laughing and turns around, they speak and joke. They kiss. She hates it. The woman pats his cheek and slaps his ass as she walks away from the full length window. He chuckles, turns and looks after her (giving Brienne an excellent view of his absolutely perfect little hiny), runs a hand through his full blonde hair - and turns back to the window. Giving her the front view. Dear Gods in the seven heavens. And then he smiles at her. Directly at her. Brienne shrieks and jumps back, her heart pounding in her chest. How did he- ?! ~oOo~ Although she doesn't want to, she returns to the window. Night after night after night. For almost a month. She finds out his routine. And it is a routine. It's almost always the same. He brings home a woman - there are so many! -, he pours them a drink, they talk for  a while on the couch. Until he gives them that smile (it's so different from the ones he gives her, so...fake), takes their drink out of their hand, kisses their neck - and then the rest. Even from the distance she can see how fantastic he is. The women all leave satisfied. None of them stays over, never. He always showers after and, only wearing sweats, spends an hour or so in a black leather lounger, nursing a tumblr of alcohol, staring into the darkness - or at her. Sometimes, she lets him, her cheeks aflame with shame and embarrassment. It's only fair. In these moments, Brienne realizes how very alone she is. Because this, them sitting in their loungers and staring at each other gives her so much comfort. There is a calmness in his eyes that somehow soothes her to a point where she goes to bed and sleep. Sometimes, he watches her. She leaves her curtains open wide enough for him to see her as she settles in. He's always there, standing right in front of the window, giving her a sweet little smile. Watching over her until she falls asleep.   She hasn't slept that well in years. ~oOo~ If it had been up to her, it could have gone like this forever. Brienne was sleeping well, was attacking her day relaxed and energetic. It is one of these mornings, however, when this little bubble bursts. He's there. In the elevator. Her elevator. It dings, the doors slide open and. There. He. Is. Wearing shades and that damned smirk. Brienne's heart goes full stop. As does her mind and her body. He has to hold the door open for her. His arrogant chuckles shakes her out of it. She hates how this little noise rains down her back, leaving goosebumps. It turns her instinct to flee into stubborness. Straightening to her full height, she steps into the cabin. Her heart is pounding like crazy. She presses the button to the lobby and takes a step back. It's a long way down. Silently she begs him to not say a word. He does. "You smell lovely." She wants to punch him in the face. When he receives no answer, he chuckles. Adjusts his shades. He smells fantastic. He reaches into the backpocket of his very tight jeans and pulls out a card. Holds it out ot her. Brienne stares at it for a long moment. A golden lion on white paper. Then at his hand. She's spent hours watching his hand. A shiver down her front, pooling between her legs. She hates that her fingers are shaking when she finally takes the damn card. As she turns it around, her heart skips a beat. His name. His number. Jaime. It fits him perfectly. He couldn't have had a different name. Her heart is thumping in her throat. Involuntarily, her eyes rise up to his. Damn those shades. She would have loved to see those eyes. She never quite figured out if they are green or blue. His smile gets crooked and she realizes her mouth is hanging open. She snaps it shut. She doesn't know what to do. To say. How to act. At work, she has a firm personality in place. Confident, firm but fair. She can't slip into it now. This man has seen her in a towel. In her nightshirt. She has seen this man naked, having sex, climaxing and post-coital. She has seen him on his knees giving oral countless of times. Shouldn't she have the upper hand? Shouldn't she be the confident one? As if he is reading her mind, he explains all of these past weeks with one sentence: "I'm a whore." Brienne blinks. He is still smiling. "Companion. That's the fancy word the rich use. But in the end, that's what it is. They pay me, I fuck them. Sometimes accompany them to an event, a party, a charity, you name it. I clean up nice. You should see me in a tux." Another smirk. "I have time in my schedule for one more client." She's so busy trying to comprehend what is happening that she is completely missing what he is offering. "W-what?" she stumbles like an idiot. He takes a step towards her. Takes off his sunglasses. Green. His eyes are green. A deep, crystal sea green. Beautiful. His touch comes so unexpected she flinches. Once again she freezes to the spot. His fingertips slide up her bare arm. Goosebumps explode on the entirty of her skin. She doesn't like being touched. She longed to be touched by him for weeks. And now it's happening and her mind is so fuzzy she can't believe it's truly happening. Jaime... His eyes. His eyes. "I'll take good care of you", he whispers, his voice so soft, his look so tender. I'm not a ten-year-old, she wants to shout at him. Doesn't. Instead her lips part and she leans in. A flash of something in his eyes she recognizes too late. All of a sudden his hand is in her neck and he's pulling her down and - His lips are warm. Incredibly soft. When his tongue comes, she parts her lips and lets it in. A noise comes out of her she's never heard before. Immediately his arms come around her, pull her close. So close. He's so warm. So strong. So very strong. She sways. Wants to steady herself. "I've got you, sweetling", he whispers against her lips. Kisses her again. Tears fill her eyes. Before she knows what she's doing she's clinging to him like a drowning woman. He's so wonderfully tall and strong. For the first time in her life she doesn't feel like a freak in a man's arms. He's got her. She never wants to stop kissing him. Unfortunately, the elevator dings and the doors slide open. "Oh my!" Brienne jumps out of his arms. With a head red as a tomato she mumbles a hasty apology to the elderly woman waiting to get in the elevator. His hand curls around her wrist, but she pulls herself free and runs. Her driver Podrick hesitantly makes her aware that her lipstick is smeared. Brienne spends the next few minutes fixing it. Her fingers shaking. Her heart drumming. His taste lingering in her mouth.

 - - - 

What do you think? This is just a first, rough draft. But I think there should be more sex worker AUs in our ship. I’m also playing around with an escort!Brienne idea...

Oh maaaaaan, all these plot bunnies. Will they ever get written?!

[stcrr]

elle fanning. cis female. she/her.  ／  lorelei “lorrie” gunther just pulled up blasting which witch by florence + the machine  — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty-three year old musician, i’ve heard they’re really -reclusive, but that they make up for it by being so +observant. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say chipped glitter nail polish, a silver gilt mirror, losing yourself in the beat of the music. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( ally, 22, est, she/her )

me: i don’t have a type when it comes to muses! also me: unveils this new muse that is also introverted and anxious but this time with more glitter. anyways, meet lorelei, starr to her fans, and lorrie to her friends, an observant girl, gifted mimic, misfit, mirror, and musician. kind of a jem and the holograms/hannah montana/perfect blue hybrid. details under the cut, like for me to hyu to plot !! 

(also her pinterest im really proud of it you guys)

statistics.

full name. lorelei amelia gunther. nicknames. lorrie. aliases. starr. occupation. singer-songwriter. age. twenty-three. date of birth. february 1st, 1997.  nationality. american. ethnicity. white (austrian and irish).  gender | orientation. cis female | queer. hometown. boston, ma. zodiac sign. aquarius sun, scorpio moon, pisces rising career/voice claim. lorde.

height. 5′9 weight. 120lbs build. willowy.  distinguishing features. wide eyes, full lips, constant bags, probably has glitter in her hair.  health. 7/10; has no major illnesses but eats like shit, has a whack sleep schedule, is a dysfunctional adult basically. she’s also big depressed but you know how it be. 

positive traits. ambitious, intuitive, observant, imaginative, independent,  neutral traits. talkative, intense, impressionable,  negative traits. anxious, avoidant, moody, secretive, resentful, aloof, 

likes. the nighttime, storms, baggy clothes, mountains, weed, lsd, books, blanket forts, lying on the floor, singing, cryptids, cemeteries,  dislikes. being herself, deadlines, dolls/puppets, the paparazzi, social media, planning ahead, the outdoors, conflict, the beach, 

history. 

(tw suicide mention, anxiety attack) (tldr at the bottom)

her mother called her lorelei after the sirens of the rhine; she insisted her first cries were the sweetest song. and lorelei continued to have a beautiful voice; she sang more than she spoke. but only at home. 

she never responded to lorelei, though, not really; it felt too grand for her. she was a chicken-legged girl who liked overalls and goosebumps books. she was just lorrie.

she grew up in a lower-middle class region of boston, ma. her father was a salesman, and her mother was a travel agent. 

for a while, at school, she didn’t speak at all. she was diagnosed with selective mutism at age five, and it took until she was thirteen to overcome it completely. 

this was not at all helped by the fact that her parents had a nasty divorce when she was seven years old. her father used her mother’s ten-year-old suicide attempt against her in court to prove she wasn’t stable, and gained full custody of lorelei and her two older brothers. her oldest brother, matthias, sided with their father, but the middle brother, jeremias, sided with their mom, and tried to run away to his mother’s house basically every month. he ran away for good when he was fifteen, living with his girlfriend’s family. 

what helped her overcome this selective mutism, at least at first, was her middle school drama class. at home, lorelei had always been an excellent mimic. she did her favorite impressions for her drama teacher, and she encouraged her to try some monologues and scenes. as she got better at acting, she realized that she didn’t have to be herself; she could be somebody else. and that made talking all the easier. 

by high school, she was no longer selectively mute, but was still anxious and shy. she was, however, a total drama kid, and still loved to act. she could be outrageous, incredible on stage; she wasn’t being herself, after all, so if people were judging her, it was the character they were judging, not her. 

still she was def the kind of girl who had a mental breakdown every four months and dyed/cut her hair/gave herself bangs. she could never quite shake the feeling that she was an outsider looking in, separated, different. 

she still loved music, and as she grew older, she started to write songs. it was her secret dream to be a musician. one of her theater friends talked her into singing one of them when she was sixteen, and then encouraged her to try out for the talent show. she was able to get through the audition, though she was a little nervous, but she knew it would be fine. she was on stage all the time, this would be fine. 

but this time, she had to be herself in front of the entire school, and she froze up, not a sound leaving her lips. she doesn’t remember leaving the stage; only remembers that suddenly, she was in the girls bathroom, sobbing her eyes out. 

her friends comforted her that night, partying in their basement like they always did, but thats when lorrie had an idea. what if she didn’t perform as herself? 

that’s when a starr was born. 

as lorelei dressed herself up in all the holo and glitter she had, she created starr in her head; she was born beloved, charismatic, fearless, this glitz and glamor girl who had it all, but what now? even at the top, she found emptiness. she was a beautiful supernova, so breathtaking you forgot she was really a collapsing star. 

starr was lorrie’s ultimate muse; she wrote song after song for her in the next few months, until, finally, she asked some of her friends to help her record a music video. she didn’t expect this music video to get 60 million views in a matter of weeks. 

royals, of course, blew the fuck up, and she had people calling her house to get her to sign with this record company or that record company, and her eventual producer flew her out to la with her dad. and, of course, the rest is history. (her dad also blew a lot of the money she earned as a minor but she got rid of him and that’s neither here nor there.) 

however, as she got more and more into the la lifestyle, she began to rely more and more on starr as an alter ego. people liked starr, after all, and lorrie didn’t even like herself. she played the part of the dignified, wise, and eccentric former queen during interviews, when recording, at after parties and award shows. 

even her first major relationship she got while acting like starr, someone fearless and fun, basically a manic pixie dream girl. if you’ve ever listened to the album melodrama, then you know how badly that ended. 

that’s around when she realized that starr had taken over her entire life. coming home from a house party absolutely zonked, she looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize herself, didn’t see that nerdy, overall-clad chicken-legged girl from her family pictures. 

she stripped her clothes off, scraped the makeup off her face until her skin was red and dry, dragged a brush through her hair to get rid of all the product, and pulled on a hoodie and leggings she had brought with her to la a year ago. she wrote the first draft of all the songs in melodrama in the coming hours. 

however, she still wrote from starr’s perspective, knew she’d perform it as starr. it may be far more personal, but lorrie wasn’t ready to come out just yet. in fact, she’s kind of been hiding the last year or so, a full-on depression mess. 

tl;dr lower middle class nerdy girl from boston overcomes crippling social anxiety through acting, finesses this into an alter ego to be a musician, hits it big, loses herself in the alter ego, has a disastrous relationship, and tries to become herself again. 

present.

first of all, her real name is Known to the public, but not her “brand” outside of starr. it’s proven to be a boon as of late; she’s known for basically being a walking sailor moon cosplayer, not a skinny woman in baggy jeans and a big black hoodie.

since she’s trying to work on herself, she’s kind of in a creative slump. like, she still has more than enough royalties off her music to keep her going, but her agent and producer are both pushing her to clean up some of her songs and record them for a new album. she can still write as starr, but it feels... different, now. melodrama was far more personal than pure heroine, and she wants to continue to grow; writing as starr feels like reverting back to her sixteen year old self. but she’s too scared to write as herself So....

at events though she’s still in the gauze and stars people expect from starr. 

trying to reach out to her mom and brother jer again. not her dad, fuck her dad. 

loves true crime, the supernatural, and conspiracy thought. is probably watching a true crime doc rn. 

she’s just starting to leave her house for the first time in like... a year? like she’s only started to get out again in the last few months.

as for drugs, she def drinks, but she’s more likely to smoke weed. also, she’s a big fan of lsd, but holds herself off to only tripping every few months.

is considering moving to the woods and being the lonely crone everyone whispers about. or maybe switching to voice acting. 

she fuckin hates dolls. literally her worst nightmare is being trapped in some collectors’ doll rooms.  

wanted connections. 

melodrama ex (0/1) - the ex she wrote her breakup album about. can be any gender. i literally want this connection so bad kfdskjkadsfds

best friend (0/1) - someone who was with her throughout her... Transformation

squad (0/3) - bc who doesn't love a squad. this is the vibe i’m going for (sound warning)

icon (1/1) - someone lorrie looks up to and like... majorly doesn't wanna disappoint. - filled by kami!!!

musician buddies (0/?) - they bounce lyrics off of each other, you know how it is.

rival pop star (0/1) - idk i just think it would be Neat. maybe even with a plot that they had a major falling out and now they have to pretend to get along.

hookups (0/?) - or other messy shit

texting crush (0/1) - really weird concept but like... i imagine lorrie would have the number or snap or insta or whatever of this muse and they get talking after melodrama and she just... lays it all out. they don't really talk in person, but she feels really close to them and definitely develops a crush

weed buddy (0/1) - they come to her house and smoke and complain its great

friend turned enemy (0/1) - maybe someone who adored starr but doesn't like who she is now?????? idk idk

enemy turned friend (0/1) - maybe someone who thought starr was fake af but then meets lorrie being Herself and is just like "oh you're a Human" idk idk

bonus.

as a thank you for making it to the end of this fucking enormous intro, please take a moment to enjoy these tik toks reflective of lorrie’s personality (they’re also???? great on their own) 

lorrie talking/singing to herself alone in her house 

honestly she has tinkerbell vibes

drunk mouths speak sober thoughts

and thats on mental illness

[loving-jack-kelly]

So I hate to so this to you but.... Newsies RWRB au.... RWRB Newsies au.... just.... leaving these here....

Okay listen yes don’t hate to do this to me (it’s not like I’ve been thinking about this since I read the book or anything no way nuh-uh not at all)

Jack is Alex and Davey is Henry

Jack is the adopted son of Medda, who’s obviously the president

(Crutchie is June and Race is Nora)

Anyway Jack is the adopted son of President Medda and Davey is the heartthrob prince

So Sarah is Bea and there’s also little Les, but like I like both of them too much to make one of them Phillip so I guess there’s a fourth Jacobs who’s the one getting married who’s the awful one

but anyway Jack and Davey met once a while ago and Jack just didn’t like him. thought he was a jerk.

and proceeded to just kind of vague him on Twitter and avoid actually meeting with him for a long time

until he has to go to the royal wedding, where he gets a little bit tipsy and starts arguing with Davey and they end up in the cake

u know. Cakegate. It starts everything.

So their respective publicity teams are like you guys need to pretend to be best friends to make people forget about the cake incident

So Jack gets packed off back to England to spend “”””””””quality time”””””” with Davey and he’s ready to hate it

Surprisingly, it’s kind of okay

they do some public appearance stuff and it’s boring but fine

and then at the palace, Jack is mostly left as alone as one can be at Buckingham Palace and he runs into Davey late at night stealing food from his fridge

and it’s this complete discord because he’s so used to Davey being completely put together and well-groomed and prim and proper

and now he’s standing in the dark kitchenette lit only by the light from the freezer, holding a box of popsicles and looking like a deer caught in headlights. he’s in brightly colored fuzzy socks and his hair is a mess and he’s wearing thick glassed Jack didn’t even know he needed

it’s like he suddenly realizes that Davey is a person too, not just a prince, and so it’s a little bit easier to pretend to be his friend

they exchange numbers at the end of the trip “to make it easier to set this stuff up”

So there’s this list of things they have to do together. There’s a state dinner Davey has to come to, a New Year’s Eve party Davey has to come to, a charity launch Jack has to go to, a bunch of public events spread out over a year to prove they’re really friends

they start texting though and kind of without realizing it Jack starts to genuinely like Davey

he’s funny in a kind of dry way and since neither of them are ever asleep when they should be they end up being awake at the same times more often than one would think

so they talk a lot and get to know each other and the next time they have to see each other they both sort of realize that they aren’t faking it at all, they’re genuinely friends

and then comes the New Year’s Eve party

it’s a big deal

like the biggest social event held by the white house for people younger than thirty-five every year

Davey comes and brings his best friend, Katherine, but Katherine immediately latches onto Crutchie and Race, who think this weird spitfire British millionaire who’s slowly redistributing her father’s accumulated wealth to people who need it is hilarious

so Jack and Davey hang out all night

eventually, Davey disappears and Jack finds him outside, and they have a much deeper conversation about what it’s like being in the spotlight so much

and it comes around to dating and Davey tries to hint that he’s gay without saying it out loud but Jack is so oblivious with things like that that he hasn’t even realized he’s bi yet so it flies right over his head

until Davey kisses him

which is like

oh

Oh

OH SHIT

but when he’s still on the Oh, Davey runs because he’s scared. Jack kind of gets it. he kind of wants to run and hide to.

instead he puts on a happy face for the rest of the night and keeps up the cover Davey supplied for running and then stays up all night painting because that’s how he processes things

and then he talks to Race, who’s like yeah lmao you literally had a boyfriend in high school remember?

and Jack is like OH SHIT again

so he’s trying to reach out to Davey who’s completely ghosted him and then finally Davey has to come to the states for the dinner that he couldn’t get out of and Jack is like okay who’s gonna help me corner the prince of england completely alone i probably won’t kill him but nobody else can be there

and his long-suffering secret service agent is like….fine

so Jack gets Davey alone and Davey low-key is pretty sure he’s gonna get punched but instead Jack kisses him

and Davey kisses him back

and Jack is properly short-circuiting and Davey is really hot and how did he not realize how hot Davey is until Davey’s kissed him and why hasn’t he been kissing Davey this whole time

and when the secret service agent has to interrupt them before they get walked in on by Medda’s entire cabinet Jack tells Davey where his room is

and their relationship is wild after that. they’re going out of their way to be at each other’s events. sneaking away however they can to be alone. Jack’s secret service agent deserves a medal for the number of times she covers for him sneaking away to get with the prince of england

some rumors start to spread that maybe there’s something between them because they went from seeing each other in public once in a while to like three times a month

so Jack pretends to have a thing with Katherine for a little while, until somebody *cough maybe snyder should be the evil republican cough* leaks photos of Jack and Davey kissing in a car

they decide to be done lying. they went from enemies to best friends to romantically loving each other and they want to be able to go on a date with each other is that too much to ask?

but not before Davey has to fight for it. the random older brother who got married at the beginning of this and started the whole thing is against it. the queen thinks it will look bad.

Sarah points out how people are reacting literally right outside their door

and Davey finally puts his foot down. says he’ll take himself out of line for the throne if that’s what it takes for him to get to live his life as him and not as some character a publicity team designed for him

and they do

and it’s gay

and they’re in love

and medda gets reelected

and everyone should go read red white and royal blue by casey mcquinston right now because it’s amazing

it’s this plot like exactly bc i don’t want to change anything

i love this book so much

go read it

thank you

[let-it-raines]

How about a twist on neighbors for a prompt? Killian is David's neighbor, and that's how he meets Emma! You can fill in the rest! Love your stories!

He bought a house. He bought a damn house. It’s a bit of a fixer upper, which he definitely spends his weekdays and weekends and occasionally late nights (see: early mornings) fixing up, but he takes pride in watching the rotting siding replaced with fresh white panels and the small windows taken out only to be swapped with large floor to ceiling windows that allow him to look out at the neighborhood park that’s behind his house, children running and people walking their dogs always in his view but just out of grasp for his own life. Just outside the door really.

(Eventually he gets around to replacing the doors, French paneling with brass knobs that match the hanging lamps that grace the porch’s ceiling.)

He probably should have started with the interior, but something about being able to get the outside done in the spring and the summer called to him, not wanting to freeze to death building the porch railing when fall and winter come to pass.

That’s how he finds himself sitting on his mattress, which is decidedly not on a bed frame, in a room that’s covered in dust from construction with three different colors of paint sitting in gallon cans in front of him.

“Well bloody hell,” Killian says to himself, because he most definitely lives by himself, “I hate all of these. Who knew I cared so much about damn paint colors?”

Because he does care about paint colors, he rises from his mattress and throws on his black leather jacket over his plaid button up so that he can go to Home Depot to peruse their selection. He’s pretty sure the guy at the paint counter knows him by name at this point.

He’s pretty sure that he knows all of the paint colors by name now.

It’s only the slightest bit pathetic.

A slight chill catches in the air when he walks out of the door, but he doesn’t mind. October is the best time of the year to him, and just because he doesn’t want to freeze to death while working on the exterior of his house doesn’t mean he hates the briskness of the air as he walks outside or goes for runs in the morning.

Three hours later he’s returning home with a simple light gray gallon of paint, just anxious to put something down and finally be able to have a bedroom that’s more than just a mattress with some sheets. It’s unfinished, and that bothers him more than he’s willing to admit. He’s tired of things in his life being unfinished, incomplete, and unsatisfactory.

He’s Killian Jones, a currently self-employed architect who’s also a thirty-four year old British expat now living in a seaside town in Maine because he couldn’t stomach the thought of living in England anymore. That’s where his girlfriend died in a car accident and where his brother died serving in the Royal Navy three months later. It’s like the entire country went dark after that, even the brightest of lights fading into a dreary gray that he saw even when looking out at the vibrant blue of the ocean.

He’s not proud of himself for how he acted after their deaths, not proud of the drinking or the women or how he’d hole himself up in his flat and not bother to shower for days, only bothering to when the smell of rum became too much for even him.

His mourning period didn’t last for long…well, that’s a lie. He’s still in mourning, but his feeling sorry for himself didn’t last long. Milah and Liam wouldn’t want him to be some despondent shell of a man, so he decided to move on. He just had to do that by actually moving.

So after a hell of a lot of paperwork, he’s settled down in a small town in Maine with a name straight out of a children’s book. Storybrooke. It’s the oddest little place, and he’s not sure how he found it. He was looking in Portland, but then he found this place that was right over the water and small enough to be quaint but large enough that it wouldn’t be overwhelming for him.

He’s been here for a few months and eventually he has to find a job, but right now he’s living on settlement money from Liam and savings that he had been hoarding away in the hopes that he and Milah would find a home together. It didn’t happen.

They’ve left him with money and memories, but all he really does is miss them.

A job would likely help that, a steady career to get back to designing houses and focusing on the mathematics of it all, but for now, he’s fine simply focusing on his own house and making it a home.

It means that he doesn’t have to leave his house much, which means that the only people he really knows are the employees at the Home Depot right outside of town.

Sad? Yes.

Pathetic? Yes.

Does he mind? No.

Oh, that’s kind of a lie though. He knows his neighbors, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, who are basically the poster couple for what neighbors should be. They don’t make too much noise, even when they have their weekly dinners with friends that he’s discovered are on Wednesdays (but not this previous Wednesday oddly enough), and Mary Margaret brings him leftovers while David offers to help with some of his construction projects when the two of them are tending the lawn at the same time he is.

That’s where he finds them this morning as he walks back to the house, Mary Margaret with a sun hat and gloves on as she pulls weeds while David mows the grass. He gives them a nod and a smile, thinking that he can just slip away and into his house without much else, but Mary Margaret Nolan is nothing if not persistent.

“Killian,” she calls, slipping off her gloves and standing from the ground, wiping her hands on her jeans before walking over to where he’s placing his paint cans down.

“Good morning, milady,” he greets, and like clockwork the woman giggles as blush paints her pale cheeks a rosy red.

She’s rather fond of when he calls her that. David is not.

“Good morning, Killian. I know that this is last minute, and I’m sure you’ve got Saturday plans, but David and I are having friends over for David’s birthday tonight and we’d really like for you to come.”

“Oh,” he reaches to scratch behind his ear, polite smile forced on his lips, “that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“But we want you there! It’s just a dinner. I’m cooking the lasagna you said you liked so much last time, so if for nothing else, you have to come for the food.”

She’s looking at him with a smile and wide green eyes that are practically pleading for him to say yes, and he’s really got no reason to say no. He should have friends. He should branch out. There’s no harm in talking to others, he reminds himself. He’s fine living his life alone after so much loss, but he can’t. He’s experienced great love in his life, and as much as it’s cost him, he knows that something is missing without it.

It’s just dinner. He can do this. After all, he did come here to start a new life, didn’t he?

“If you insist, lass. I’d love to come.”

“Perfect,” she claps her hands, “and don’t worry about bringing a gift. Just bring yourself around six thirty, okay?”

He nods his head in agreement before lifting the paint cans and walking into his own home, so empty compared to the brightness of the Nolan’s. He’s getting there. He really is. It’s simply going slowly.

He finds himself not thinking about the party as the day progresses, getting lost in the repetitive motions of rolling paint on the walls and the sounds of the music emanating from his phone’s speakers. But then his phone is ringing to let him know that it’s now six in the evening, and he needs to shower and find something to wear that’s better than the paint covered sweatpants he has on.

Deciding on just his trusty black jeans and a t-shirt, plaid button down left open because that’s all he’s really comfortable with, he gets dressed and runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up instead of laying flat on his head. Mary Margaret said not to bring anything, but that feels wrong, so he grabs a potted plant that he was going to put in his yard tomorrow and takes it with him as he walks next door.

Their front door is open, so he walks in, hearing the noise of people chatting and laughing in what he soon discovers is the kitchen. He doesn’t know how to interrupt and make his presence known, everyone in the room obviously well acquainted with each other. He definitely shouldn’t even be here.

“They don’t bite,” a female voice says next to him, and he whips his head around to, and he’s not exaggerating here, see one of the most attractive women he’s ever seen smiling up at him. She’s got blonde hair that runs all the way down her back and green eyes that remind him of his mother’s. He’s immediately taken by her, and that hasn’t happened since…it hasn’t happened in awhile. “But I understand. It can be kind of intimidating if it’s your first time at a Nolan house party.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“There might as well be a sign that says ‘it’s my first time’ flashing on your forehead. But don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.”

He can’t help but laugh at her innuendo, his eyes lighting up for the first time in a long time, as he snakes his free hand around to offer it in greeting. “Killian Jones, neighbor.”

Her eyes seem to light in recognition, but he’s not sure why. Maybe the Nolans have talked about him before. “Emma Swan,” she takes his hand, shaking it twice before releasing it, “friend.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma Swan, friend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Killian Jones, neighbor.”

He’s not sure what else to say, his conversational skills sorely lacking as of late, but he’s saved by the metaphorical bell when Mary Margaret spots them, hugging both of their necks before taking the plant out of his hands and the gift he didn’t notice out of Emma’s and leading the two of them further into the house, Emma veering off on her own to kiss a short middle-aged man on his cheek, throwing her head back in laughter at whatever the man said. He has no right to know her relationships with the people in this house, but he finds himself watching her for the rest of the evening.

She’s vibrant, obviously full of joy and fervor, things he’s sorely lacking in his own life, and he’s fascinated by her. He’s fascinated by the way she throws her entire head back when laughing, hair cascading down her back as snorts (she snorts) pass through her lips. He’s fascinated by how she seems to be the life of the party, always telling some kind of story, her hands wildly gesturing as she speaks, captivating the room. Or maybe that’s just him. He’s not really sure because he’s so distracted by her that he has to make a pointed effort of not paying her any attention just so he doesn’t seem like some kind of creep.

The last thing he needs is to be painted as the town creep when he’s trying to branch out a little bit.

It’s a nice night, the lasagna is as good as he remembers, and he finds that he likes spending time with a large group of people after spending so much time alone. It does get to be too much for him at one point, but instead of excusing himself from the party entirely, he just slips out to sit on the Nolan’s front porch swing, fall air surrounding him as he takes a moment to breathe.

“Hey,” Emma greets, seemingly having popped up from nowhere. “Are you okay, Killian Jones, neighbor?”

“Aye, just getting some air.” He nods at the empty seat next to him before he can even consider his actions. “Would you like to sit?”

She tilts her head as a soft smile graces her face, silently accepting his invitation before she sits down, her thigh lightly brushing his. That’s not distracting at all.

“So your first time around a big crowd in awhile, huh?”

How the hell could she possibly know that? He can’t help but scratch his beard, trying to figure out how to answer that question without delving into some kind of deep, emotional territory.

“You seem to be very perceptive of my first times tonight, lass.”

“Well, you do have the look of a virgin.”

Like hell he does. He’s about to say something about it, but then he looks over to her and she’s smiling at him, a full grin that causes the dimple in her chin to be more prominent. She’s beautiful and kind and…light, and he’s out of his league just by sharing this porch swing with her.

“I understand what it’s like to be new to a crowd.” She’s staring over at his house, the porch lights flickering on with the timer, and he wonders if she knows that’s his house and what she thinks of it. Why would he even care? “Let’s just say that I was going through a horrendous break up when Marg and David came into my life, and it’s terrifying coming into their house and being surrounded by people who know each other and are disgustingly happy with their lives.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know why she’s offering up this information to him. So he doesn’t respond, just continues to stare straight ahead as the swing lightly sways, their feet pushing them at the same pace.

“So that’s your house right there?”

Apparently she does know that’s his house.

“Aye.”

“It’s nice. You’ve made fast progress on the upgrades.”

He nudges her thigh with his own, a surge of playfulness coursing through him. “So you’ve been watching me, Swan?”

She nudges his thigh back. “I’ve been watching your house. I’m an interior designer, so I’ve got an unnatural obsession with how houses look.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, laughing a bit to himself at the similarities. “I’m an architect, so I understand. The obsession with how houses look, I mean. That place is basically my baby.”

“It’s beautiful. I’d love to know the rest of your plans for it.”

The words are out of his mouth before he even has a chance to stop them. “Would you like to see?”

She tilts her head to look at him. “If you murder me in there, David and Mary Margaret will hear my screams.”

“Damn. I’ll have to think of other nefarious plans.”

“Alright Jones, take me to your humble abode.”

So by some weird happenstance or miracle he ends up in his kitchen/dining room/living room (it’s an open floor plan, okay?) with a woman he just met who’s inspecting his fireplace, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her rather delightful jeans as she stands on her tiptoes to give her enough height to look above the mantle.

“Killian, this place is fantastic. I mean, it’s still totally bare bones, but you’re doing a great job. I just can’t believe you’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor for months. My bedframe was the first thing I had moved into my apartment.”

“I just hadn’t found the right bedframe yet. I haven’t figured out what I want. This is the first time I’m designing a home that’s for me instead of someone else, and I want it to be perfect.”

“Do you want help?”

“Help?”

“Yeah, like, I decorate homes for people for a living. I can help you find the things that are right for you.”

“Lass, I don’t really want to be paying extra for anything, as great as I’m sure you are.”

“I’d do it for free.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to bump Killian Jones, neighbor, up to Killian Jones, friend. Plus, no man your age should be sleeping on the floor.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“I mean, I don’t, but I’d have to guess you’re at least my age.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty eight.”

He laughs, swaying just the slightest bit closer to her. “I wish I was twenty eight. I’m thirty four.”

“Oh damn,” she chuckles, “then you really shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. Your back could go out any minute.”

He reaches to scratch behind his ear because her laugh, even when she’s not snorting, is one of the most adorable sounds he’s ever heard. He told himself he wouldn’t fall for another woman, not after the last one, but he can already tell he’s in trouble here. But no, he won’t be charmed by one night. he won’t let himself fall. They can be acquaintances, friends maybe if what Emma says is true.

He can simply let himself talk to people again without the fear of having them ripped away from him.

“We should go back to the party. Wouldn’t want to miss the cake.”

“Oh it won’t be a cake. It’ll be this nasty pie that Marg makes.”

“If it’s so nasty,” he starts, he locking his front door behind the two of them and ghosting his hand over the small of her back as they make their way down the front porch steps, “then why does she make it?”

“Because she made it for David for his birthday the first year they were together and because Prince Charming over there can’t hurt a fly, he told her that he loved it. So now we’re all subjected to it every year.”

“Wow,” he whistles as they step around Mary Margaret’s rose bushes, “that’s either decidedly romantic or decidedly stupid.”

“I like to think you can’t be romantic without a little bit of stupidity.”

“Are you a romantic, Swan?”

They’ve now reached the Nolan’s front porch, and she stops at the step above him, making them eye level with each other.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And then she’s walking away and into the house while he’s left saying, “perhaps I would,” to the flowers in the garden.

It’s not until the next day that he realizes he never got Emma’s number. For the help decorating and designing his home, of course. Not for anything else. But despite that fact, he can’t bring himself to ask either David or Mary Margaret for it, not wanting them to get the wrong impression about him. He thinks about it, though, every day that he sees them that week, but the words never pass through his lips.

So he spends his week as he normally does, working from what’s supposed to be the guest bedroom but is instead his office and the only fully completed room of the house. In the evenings he finishes painting the rest of the walls and moves onto applying backsplash in the kitchen. He’s waiting for someone to come in with his new marble countertops. That’s one of the few things he can’t install himself, but he figures he can at least work on the backsplash.

Things are the way they are in his life, and he doesn’t expect anything about that to change and that’s exactly where he goes wrong. Friday evening he’s sitting on his couch watching television (yes, he does at least have those two things) when there’s a knock at his door. He’s not yet got curtains on the windows so he can clearly see that Emma Swan is standing outside of his front door with her bottom lip between her teeth and a box of pizza in her hands.

What in the world?

“Hi,” she squeaks when he opens the door, and it’s possible that he’s even more smitten with her than he was last week because the beanie gracing her head has a pom pom bigger than her face attached to the top.

He is not supposed to be smitten with her. He can’t be. He can’t get hurt again.

He is undoubtedly charmed by her.

But not smitten.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?”

“I’m sure you have plans or whatever, but I was just bringing David and Mary Margaret some pizza from the shop next to me while I was on my way home from work and I wanted to check in with you, see if you were still interested in my services.”

He cocks his eyebrow, and he’s not even ashamed when he says it the way he does, voice deep and low as he enunciates all the right words. “I’m most definitely interested in your services.”

She snorts, and he really likes that snort, and he’s glad he didn’t just come off as a creep because he definitely could have. “I’m not that kind of pizza delivery service, but I see where your mind is, Jones.”

“Would you like to come in and discuss your very wholesome services?”

“Well, that’s what I was aiming for.”

He doesn’t quite know how he got to the point of Emma Swan, this woman who he met not a week ago, sitting on his kitchen counter talking about crown molding and window features and if he prefers modern versus classic design, but here he is answering all of her questions and putting in more effort into decorating this house than he was ever planning on (and he was planning on a lot). It’s nice getting to go back and forth in what is obviously both of their elements, the two of them bouncing ideas off of each other while they eat the pizza she brought over and drink the water he had in his fridge. He wishes that he had something else to offer her, but he hasn’t been to the grocery store in two weeks. Sometimes things like that get away from him when he’s focusing on his projects.

Emma is just as charming as she was the first time he met her, even if he adamantly does not agree with her on her light fixture choices, something she’s sure to let him know. But it’s easy to get caught up in the simplicity and ease of it all. It’s been a long time since he was comfortable talking to someone with no awkward gaps in conversation, and he lets himself get carried away as they make all kinds of plans, some of which he knows he can’t afford until he gets a job again, but he lets Emma take notes, her sprawling handwriting littering a notebook that she leaves on the countertop before she eventually goes home that night.

And right at the top is her number with a note to meet him at Geppetto’s Furniture at ten in the morning on Monday.

-/-

“So do you like this frame?” Emma asks him while he sips on his coffee, eyes scanning over all of the bedframes in front of him.

“I like the color, but I worry about the headboard.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to knock my head on wood.”

Emma runs her tongue over her bottom lip, words very obviously on the tip of her tongue, but instead of she holds her tongue and doesn’t take the bait. He was kind of hoping she would. She’s amusing when she gets a little flustered.

“Okay, so beds where you can knock your hard head against them are a no go, so I’m thinking a fabric covered headboard.”

“Swan,” he protests as she takes off to a different part of the store, the heels of her boots clicking on the ground, “I really don’t need a frame right now.”

“You are a grown ass man. You cannot keep sleeping on the floor. You need a bed.”

For hours, Emma guides him around this store, the two of them testing out frames and dining chairs even though he doesn’t have a table yet. But they look at tables too, the ones already made and the book of customized ones that the owner of the store apparently handcrafts with his son. And as if it’s not overwhelming enough, Emma guides him to the backroom of the store where he meets Marco and his son August, the two of them more than excited to see Emma. He thinks they must work together frequently for how well they know each other, but if the look in August’s eyes is any indication, he and Emma either dated or August wants them to date. He’s always been good at reading people, and from what he can tell, August is not happy that he’s there.

But he is there, and he sits and talks to Marco about the house and his plans, letting Emma interrupt with her visions that immediately gets the two of them off on their own little tangents about things to do. Somehow by the end of it he’s bought a bedframe, ordered a customized table and chairs, and he’s getting a swing to put on his back deck so that he can spend some time in his yard even though it’s mostly the public park.

He most likely needs a fence sometime, but that would hamper with the view.

Marco will most likely end up making one for him.

All of that is after one day with Emma and as the weeks go by, he ends up accumulating more and more things, his house suddenly full of furniture even if some of the walls still need a second coat of paint from his original painting. It’s the weirdest thing to have life brought back into this home, even if it’s little by little, but it’s even more strange to feel and see the changes in himself and his openness to talking and spending time with more people.

It happens slowly, really. He knows that he’s charmed by Emma, that he thinks she’s witty and someone nice to talk to, but he keeps it mostly professional, a few little jabs every now and then. Life would be utterly boring without  jokes. But as the weeks pass, October chilling into November and November freezing into December, he realizes that he might have made a friend for the first time in a long time. He still speaks to a few of his mates back home, but he can feel the distance between them. And not just the physical one.

And in becoming friends with Emma, he learns that she likes margherita pizza and prefers whiskey over wine. She’s got an unhealthy obsession with watching HGTV, mostly so that she can point out everything that they do wrong, but when she’s not watching it, she’s usually watching documentaries about literally anything and everything. They watch one on the ocean one day. She’d been over late helping him install his bookshelves into his wall, and instead of going home afterward, she’d put on Netflix and sat with him, stretching her feet out on his coffee table and wiggling her socked feet whenever a shark swam across the screen.

She’s bloody terrified of the creatures, and if he changed her ringtone to the Jaws theme song, well, no one has to know that but him. He’s not sure if she’s heard it yet, but sometimes he’s tempted to call her while they’re in the same place simply to see the look on her face.

That night is also the night that he learns that she’s never been sailing despite the fact that she’s lived in Maine for her entire life, and he promises to take her when spring comes. It’s a simple statement, one that really doesn’t mean anything, but he realizes that he’s making plans for the future. He’s been doing it this entire time, but this one seems different.

So being friends with Emma has brought a lot of changes to his life, but the most notable is that she drags him along to Wednesday night dinners with the Nolans. Even though he went to David’s birthday dinner, it’s a bit odd to be back in this place that’s so full of life and conversation. He’s introduced to at least ten different people, all of them kind except for Leroy. Emma swears that he’s prickly but sweet, but he’s not entirely sure if that’s true. Maybe if he keeps coming around, it will be.

He realizes that he wants to keep coming around. He wants to be around people, wants to have friends, and it’s that same reasoning that has him applying for a job at the only local architecture firm in Storybrooke. He’s not sure how much business they get that’s not commercial for the local businesses that attract tourism in the summers, but they’re hiring…and they hire him.

Emma: Are you leaving your humble abode tonight or am I going to have to drag you to Marg’s to celebrate Christmas?

He laughs at the message on his phone before he looks up around the office to make sure no one is looking. He doesn’t think they really care that he uses his phone, but it’s his first week and he wants to make a good impression.

Killian: I’ll be there with my figgy pudding.

Emma: Are you actually making figgy pudding?

Emma: You’re very British.

Killian: Nah, I made a coffee cake. It’s sitting in the fridge.

Killian: That does not mean you can break in and eat it before the party.

Emma: Wasn’t planning on it, but now the seed is planted.

“Jones,” Jefferson calls out, making him look up from his cubicle, “you’ve got a client wanting to talk to you about building a secondary house for his mother-in-law.”

Oh the joys of his job.

-/-

“Hey,” Emma greets him when he opens his front door, still buttoning up his shirt. He was half dressed when she started ringing the doorbell, and she wouldn’t stop until he came down. He should have never installed the thing. “You ready to go?”

“I’m still getting dressed, love,” he sighs, finishing the button he’s working on while his eyes flicker up and down her body. She looks different tonight, and it only takes him a moment to pinpoint that it’s the black eyeliner on her lid that makes her eyes look impossibly bigger. Everything else is the same, tight skinny jeans and boots with a sweater. This one hugs her curves instead of draping over her body, and he has to keep himself from looking too long. “You were being bloody obnoxious.”

“You’re old, so sometimes you’re hard of hearing.”

“So funny.” He rolls his eyes at her, but he lets her in the house anyways. It’s mostly put together, colors coating all of the walls and furniture filling the place. He knows that mostly he’s lacking the personal touch, and Emma has encouraged him to put up photographs, but he’s not sure that he can quite yet. “If you’ll get the cake out of the fridge, I’ll go get my shoes and we can make our long journey over.”

“I was only here for the cake, not for you.”

“I would have expected nothing less.”

They’re out of the house in five minutes, and when they walk into the Nolans’, it’s a complete contrast. They have Christmas decorations everywhere, almost to the point of tackiness, but with how much Mary Margaret seems to love the season, he knew to expect this. It’s nice in a way. These are people who welcome what he’s come to realize are misfits and stragglers into their home, and if they want to have a stuffed Santa that hangs from the ceiling, they can.

“How’s your first week at work?” David asks him once everyone has settled down into the living room, plates of food on their laps as he can hear nothing but the dull roar of conversation and music in the background.

“It’s good, a bit slow paced, but it’s nice to have something to focus on besides the house.”

“Are you going home to see your family for Christmas next week?”

In all of his busyness, in getting caught up with work and his house and living a life that was more than moping, he somehow didn’t think about this. He didn’t think about the questions that would be asked of him now that the holidays are here. It’s weird to have friends, to have people who know him without actually knowing him, and his stomach churns and twists as he tries to keep the tears from stinging behind his eyes. It’s only been two years since Liam and Milah died, and he’s avoided people around the holidays. This is the first time he’s ever really been asked.

“I decided to stay here,” he tells David as his eyes glance across the room to see Emma talking to Graham, their bodies close to each other as Emma laughs at whatever it is he’s saying. His stomach twists again, flames flickering across his skin, and he needs to get out of here before he vomits. “I’m going to go get some fresh air,” he tells David, ignoring the look of confusion on his face. It’s probably because it’s far too cold for anyone to be out there, but he can’t be inside anymore.

It’s too suffocating.

He doesn’t know where to go, though. He could stay here, could simply take a minute to calm himself down, but the swing on his back deck is calling his name. It’s close enough that he could still come back to the party without anyone noticing, but it’s far enough away that he can be by himself for a few moments.

He needs to be by himself.

His brother was the most important person in his life. He was there when their dad left, when their mum died, and through every good and bad situation in between. Liam went into the Navy to support him, to make sure that he had a place to sleep and food to eat, and even when Killian turned eighteen, Liam stayed so that Killian could go to university. Liam stayed for him, always, and the niggling voice that always tells him that Liam died for him starts to make its way past the layers of doors and windows that he’s locked to keep those thoughts away.

And Milah…God, he’d loved her.

He still can’t believe they’re gone.

“You’re going to lose your elf ears, Jones.”

He looks up from his lap to see Emma walking toward him with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her beanie with the tufts on her head. She’s bundled up like a burrito, and it warms him a bit, especially when he sees that she’s holding two plates of cake.

“I’m tougher than you when it comes to the cold.”

“That’s because you’re crazy.” She quickly walks up the steps and sits down next to him, making the swing sway a bit more as she hands him the plates so that she can spread the blanket out over their legs. It doesn’t quite reach his toes, but he doesn’t have to point that out to Emma. “So you want to talk about what’s got you all broody?”

“I am not.”

“You are,” she promises, nudging his shoulder and taking her cake back from him. He notices that she takes the bigger piece. “I saw you stalk off after talking to David. Did he say something dumb?”

“No, Swan, he didn’t. I, um, I – the holidays are hard for me, and I guess I didn’t really think about it until now.”

She hums next to him while she pops her fork in her mouth. “I kind of figured.”

“How?”

“You’re almost thirty-five years old, you live alone, and you never talk about friends or family. You’re obviously not from here, which makes me think that maybe you were running away from something.”“Perceptive, aren’t we?”

“I am.” She twists a bit, the swing moving with her, and then he’s looking into wide, beautiful green eyes that brim with understanding. “Look, I like to think we’re friends. I’ve seen your bedsheets and your underwear drawer.”

“Does that make us friends?”

“It does. It’s on the list of how to make friends or whatever.” She flashes him a bright smile, and the tightness in his stomach lessens while he returns it. “I think we’re friends, but I also know that you hide things from me. I don’t know what because I don’t believe in making people talk when they’re not ready to, but I also know what it’s like to be alone. I’m an orphan, and it’s not a dirty word. I don’t have parents or siblings, and if I do, I don’t care about them anymore. I’ve spent more holidays alone than with people, so I know how much it sucks, how hard it is. So I don’t know exactly what your story is, but if you don’t want to be alone on Christmas, you don’t have to be.”

He should have known that Emma doesn’t have any family. She never talks about her family either, never talks about her past except for when they first met, and it clicks with him that maybe they’re more similar than he thought. Maybe she understands him in a way that’s more than simply how to decorate his house.

“Thank you, love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arm around her shoulder without thinking about it. “I don’t – my brother was my best friend, and he died two years ago in an accident on his ship at sea. Three months before that my girlfriend died in a car accident that she was only in because we’d gotten into an argument and she’d decided to go home. It’s crazy because I don’t even remember what the argument was about. It was that small. But I had this full life, one marked by a shitty childhood, but I had a full life. And then I didn’t.”

It’s not saying a lot, just the bare minimum, but he’s not sure that he can say more without completely losing himself.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Killian,” Emma whispers, scooting her body a little closer as they continue to sway. “You’re – I’m…”

“- I know. I am too. So, yeah, holidays are hard for me, and you’re – you’re the first friend I’ve had since then. I’m sorry that I’m not always great company.”

“Nah, you’re wonderful company. Who else tells me their deepest darkest secrets with the plan to let me die of frostbite when there’s a fun party going on thirty feet away?”

“Well, I do strive to always provide a unique experience.”

“That you do.”

Something changes after that night, and like most things in his life recently, he doesn’t really notice until the changes have established themselves into his daily routines. Emma makes an effort to talk to him far more often, even though his house is mostly done, and they’re more open and honest with each other, even when it’s hard. It’s still mostly lighthearted teasing and jokes, but there are nights when Emma comes over or when he goes to her place where they have conversations more like the one out on his back deck.

She tells him that she got into interior design because it’s important to her for people to have a home that they feel comfortable in. She could have gone into something like social work, but it was just too hard for her, too many bad memories tainting it. She likes the brightness of homes, of watching people get excited over the smallest things. She likes giving people the homes that she never had, even if it’s in the most roundabout way.

Emma is light when she should be dark, and even though he can see the hardened edges in her occasional defensiveness, he wonders just how she’s managed to drag him into her light as well.

He wonders about it even more when she tells him about Neal one night when they’ve had a little too much to drink. They’d been together when she was a teenager and all throughout university, and when she had a pregnancy scare, he bolted in the middle of the night never to be heard of again. It breaks his heart a little more for her, but it also endears him to her even more. Emma’s been left by everyone who should love her. They’ve all left on their own, and while his father did leave on his own, everyone else was taken from him far too soon.

They’ve both been left, no matter the circumstances, but Emma makes him feel hope that maybe scars don’t always have to stay fresh. He can keep them, wear them proudly, but they don’t have to define every decision he makes for the rest of his life.

And six months into knowing Emma Swan while she’s helping him plant some shrubs in his front yard, he realized that he is absolutely falling in love with her. The initial attraction was always there. He’s never denied that he was charmed by her. He’d simply avoided the fact that it could ever evolve into something more.

It has, and he’s got no bloody clue what to do with that information. If anything that David says is correct, she’s been dating Graham for the past two months. She’s never said anything, and he realizes now as he watches her try to get dirt out of her hair, that he didn’t ask because he was terrified to know the answer.

It makes his flesh heat and his stomach twist into knots that will never come untied. He’s jealous. Logically he knows this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, especially because Emma is his friend. She doesn’t owe him anything. She should be happy.

He wants to rip the curls off of Graham’s head.

He should probably go running or something to work out his frustration.

A marathon or two sounds good.

Maybe three.

Maybe he’ll take up boxing.

Maybe he’ll try to be a grown man and deal with it.

“Can we eat lunch soon?” Emma whines, standing up from the ground and taking her gloves off before she wipes her hands on her leggings. “As fun as this is and all, I’m dying to eat something.”

“Why don’t you go order something while I finish up here?”

“What do you want.”

He winks. “Surprise me.”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma orders them pizza, the delivery guy showing up while he’s finishing up planting some lilies. He pays the man and takes the box inside, plopping it down on the coffee table in the living room where Emma is watching a documentary on what he believes is music in the seventies.

“Did you pay John?”

“I did. Do you know the name of every pizza delivery man in town?”

“You bet I do,” she laughs, leaning forward and opening up the box before she grabs a slice. “I find that making friends with the people who deliver you food is the best way to make sure they give you good pizza.”

“You are the most brilliant woman I’ve ever known.”

“Don’t appreciate the sarcasm there, Jones.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he chuckles as he takes the few steps over into his kitchen and washes his hands, letting the sound of the water fill the room. His house is so full of life when it was once nothing, and that still surprises him sometimes. “Do you need a plate?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t mess up my furniture.”“I would never.”

He and Emma never make it back out to his front yard, getting lost in lounging around in front of the television and flipping through the channels, not really caring what’s on the screen. It’s a lazy day, even when it started out as productive, and by the time ten at night rolls around and Emma’s still there, the question that’s been on his mind for weeks now practically rolls off of his tongue.

“Why are you here?”

He regrets it immediately, but he regrets it even more when Emma mutes the television and turns to him with her eyebrows practically in her hairline and her mouth gaping open.

“Because this is what we do on Saturdays?” she questions, the confusion obvious in her voice as the lines on her forehead increase. “Do you want me to leave? Because, I mean, I can, but that’s kind of a jackass move.”

“No, no, no,” he protests, raising his hands in the air before clicking his tongue. Hell, he might as well just ask. He’ll rip of the band-aid and then need about ten new ones after the answer. “I just, ah, did you not have plans with Graham tonight?”

“Graham? Why would I have plans with – oh my God,” she groans, throwing her head back before sitting up, her bun bouncing the slightest big. “You’ve been talking to David, haven’t you? I’m going to kill him.”

“Why?”

“I went on three dates with Graham,” she mumbles, continuously readjusting on the couch while his stomach continues to flip, “and he’s a super nice guy. Like, there’s nothing wrong with him and we’ll probably always be friends, but I don’t like him in a way that makes me want to date him. But Mary Margaret has been pushing us together for years, so she and David were likely already planning the wedding.”He shouldn’t be relieved, but he is. Most definitely.

Maybe he’s a bit of an asshole.

He should punish himself a little by running that marathon.

“That makes sense. They’re great, but they can be a bit intense when it comes to romance.”

“True love and all that.”

“Aye.”

“Wait,” Emma starts, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile, “are you jealous?”

“I’m too old to get jealous,” he huffs, trying to control the clench in his jaw. “That is so not true. Killian Jones, do you have a crush on me?”

She’s teasing him. He knows that she is. No part of her is being serious. If she thought he was actually jealous, thought that he actually may like her in some kind of school boy type of way, she wouldn’t be teasing like this. Logically he knows this, knows that he could simply tease her back and this would go down as nothing more than a conversation, but now that he has the opportunity, he realizes that he doesn’t want to mess around. He’s old enough to be over these types of games.

“Aye.”

He doesn’t feel any kind of relief saying the word out loud, but it’s mostly likely because all of his focus is on the way that Emma’s lips part and press together, a repetitive motion that he can tell she’s trying to control. He’s most likely shocked her, and he knows that moment she collects her thoughts because her eyes bulge the slightest bit before her face goes back to normal, shoulders only shaking the slightest bit.

“I’m sorry – what? Did you just say that you have a crush on me?”

“I wouldn’t use the word crush. I’d say I have feelings for you, but yeah, crush can work.”

“You don’t…I don’t – I…do you…oh damn. I was not expecting that tonight.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, love,” he promises, flashing her a feeble smile while his heart finally begins to pound against his ribcage, contrasting feelings of hopefulness and despair making everything the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s just that I, uh,” he stutters as he scratches behind is ear, “don’t see any point in lying to you when I do have feelings for you, when I’m fond of you whether you’re yelling at me for my choice of light fixture or not.”

Her lips press together in a genuine smile then, and before he can gather himself, Emma is scooting closer on the couch, inching as close to him as possible without actually touching him. He can feel the heat of her breath on his skin, and gooseflesh breaks out across his arms. It only gets worse when Emma’s hand reaches up to caress his face, soft fingertips tracing just under his eyes.

“I’m not going to write it on my notebook or anything, but I have a crush on you too.”

She captures his laugh with her lips, their smiles pressing together, and even though it’s only the briefest of slides of their lips, it is everything that he’s secretly wanted for months now. It’s comfort and pent up feelings and a sense of belonging when he hasn’t belonged anywhere in so damn long.

He belongs.

“You taste like pizza,” Emma says when she pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together and all of her usual eloquence on full display.

“Is that why you kissed me?”

“Yeah, and I think I’ll only keep kissing you when you taste like pizza.”

“I best sell this house and go live in a gym so that I can eat pizza for every meal.”

“That’s cheesy.”

“Literally.”

He doesn’t sell the house or live in a gym or eat pizza for every meal, but Emma does spend more time in his house after they go out to dinner and the movies and ballgames and any type of date he can think of. It’s exactly like it was before, but it’s different, more intimate, and as weeks and months go by, he falls a little more in love with Emma than he ever thought possible. It’s not easy, especially because the more time they spend together, the more he learns of the darkness that Emma tries to stay away from. He’s always known it was there, but she trusts him enough to let him see more of it now.

He does the same to her.

Emma knows all about his dark days with the anniversaries of the deaths of his loved ones, but for the first time, he has someone to help him through both days. And he realizes on the second go round, when Emma listens to him tell stories of Milah and how she used to love to sing in the car even if she didn’t know the words to the songs, he realizes that he wants her by his side for the rest of his life.

And as pictures finally get put in the frames of his home, ones of Liam and Milah, of David and Mary Margaret, of Rob and Roland and all of his friends at work, he realizes that there was no reason to be scared of life when it feels this good to live.

His favorite picture, though, is the one of he, Emma, and their son that sits on his bedside table.

He bought a house, and it became a home.

[goldstonegolem64]

Side story This takes place during  the three years that Voltron went missing. This is also a way for me to put some ideas I had out into the world

“It has been about twenty months since the castle of loins disappeared along with Voltron, some of it’s paladin and princess Allure of Altea. In their Absence they left behind the Coalition and the new Galra empire on the verge of another massive galaxy war. But thank to the efforts of Empire Lotor, Commander Matt Holt and the remaining Paladins of Voltron peace was maintained” Jay stopped reading the news articles and tossed the table onto his desk . He then removed his Glasses, rubbed the bridge of his noise and placed his glasses down on his desk. “ God I need  to get going home ” Jay said as he grabbed his glasses and was ready to  leave his office. 

In the passed year and a half. Jay was put in charge of a coalition and imperial sponsored Mercenary company despite his protest   called the Volt troop.The troop was made up of two fleets of Coalition fighter pilot, Two warship that housed a crew of three hundred each with a near infinite supple of old mode Galra sentries , Fifteen Valkyrie type and five gladiator type robeasts.The troops main job were to protect shipping vessels, clearing planets of Pirates or Maverick Galra fleet commanders that had left the empire after Lotor’s rise to power and  the rare red queen hive world  that was found. It was a pain in the ass. But after two year of fighting a nearly endless battle and countless deaths an near crippling fear that he would not return from a mission . It was nice to finally to not have that fear nagging at the back of his mind 

As he made it to the door it opened suddenly to Reveal a tall purple skinned man with white hair. Jay was caught off guard by this sudden appearance of his friend and the emperor of the Galra empire. Lotor 

“ OH Joseph have I caught you at a bad time” Lotor asked as  

“ No No I was just on my way out. But what brings you here Sir “  Jay asked as he straighten his clothes and looked more dignified. 

“ Please don’t call me sir. Joseph were friends and I’m here to personally hand you this “  Lotor said as he handed Jay a table 

Jay grabbed the table “ First I’m at work so were not friend were  employee and in employer “  Jay watched Lotor rolled his eyes as he heard that “ And second what am I looking at here “Jay said as he looked at the data pad that showed him cargo Ship routes along with picture of what looked like an Altean ships that looked like the Castle of lions. Jay felt his heart skip a beat but something in the back of his told him that it wasn’t them “ I’m guessing that we’re either looking at we’ve professional photo shopped image or we’ve found are selves another Arc”. Jay said as he handed the table back to Lotor

“ Yes it seems like it” Lotor said 

“ Does The Coalition know About this?” Jay asked 

“ Yes Mr. Holt was the one that informed me about it they already sent a team to recover it and they would like some added protection ”  Lotor said 

“ Alright then I will send the twins to handle it ?’  Jay said

 “ Now that we have that out of the way How are the boy’s doing ?’ Lotor said as the two start walking down the hallway 

“Well their still kind of mad at me for being away from home for long periods of time. But they are enjoying school and having friends their own ages. Fitz is finally getting a hang on math and science. Bastion is getting into some trouble do to his habit of hiding and setting up trip wires during recess which as caused a domino effect where other kids are following suit and several teacher have called me to find him Which is getting annoying because Bastion is getting better at hiding when he doesn’t like the class. Usamu is getting better with his powers we’ve lost a few plates but hey he’s getting better he’s also getting better at painting which is nice the girls are loving school and learning about everything “ Jay’s cheek marks started to glow a little “ As well as Ezra’s as moved” 

“ That’s good to hear “ Lotor said smiling 

“ Now how are you holding up mister emperor of half of the know universe  and how are my favorite generals doing I haven’t had time to call them seeing as I’ve been jumping planet to planet ever other week “ Jay said 

“ Well Acxa has spent most of her free time looking for missing paladins on her off time. Ezor and Zethrid are stomping out any warlord or pirates that dare come in to are territory they have also started dating “ 

“ Weren’t they already dating ?” Jay asked confused

“ I don’t know to be honest. Maybe they were and I’m just noticing it now . But never mind that . As for Narti she’s still recovering from being released from my mother control the druids and doctors say she will be cleared to return to active duty in the next few months”  Lotor said smiling 

“ That’s good to hear I” 

“ As for me. I’m board out of my mind. I don’t know how my Father did it. All I do is still there on the throne reading and listening to people reports. I beardly every get to go out and pilot my pieces of the Ragnarok without being followed by three warships. I missed the old day where I could go where I wanted with out everyone freaking out that I might go missing”  Lotor said 

“ well your the last of the royal blood line so if you go missing there will be a power vacuum that will case a massive civil war that will have either never end or Sendek will show up and wage a one side war against the coalition and one wants that” Jay said 

“ Your not wrong but still I hate it” Lotor said 

“ I know but still you have to do it for the better meant for the universe. “  

“ I know “

“ Now have you gotten back into the dating gaming?” Jay asked 

Lotor froze up and looked towards Jay “ No I haven’t but I have had a fair share of suiters. But none of them have meet my standers” lotor said

“ What are your standers again “ Jay asked knowing something was up 

“ Well they need to be head strong, fun to be round , have to have the same interests as me. Acutely like me for who I am and not what I am” 

“ Allura your still after Allura aren’t you “ Jay said as he opened the building front door letting the Emperor out first “Ever after what she said and did to you” 

“ Ok she called me a  tyrant like my father  and slammed me into the ground. Not the worst thing I’ve been through”

“ That’s true also do you want to come by for dinner seeing as your here and the kids would love to see you again”  Jay said as the hanger door opened to revel the Valkyrie sitting there waiting 

“ Sadly I have to return home I have a meeting in the next two hour “ Lotor said annoyed 

“ That suck” Jay said 

“ It dose but like you said. If I’m not the one doing it some one might get it wrong. Did I say that right ?”  Lotor asked 

“ Yes you did bud “  Jay said laughing a little  

“  Is it time to go my Pilot “  VAl said as she walked toward jay.” Oh hello Emperor Lotor It is nice to see you “  

“ it is good to see you too Val. “ Lotor said 

“ It’s Good to see you as well Is Ragna with you I wish to speak to him about something important?” Val asked 

“Sadly no he is currently Help Acxe in looking for the missing paladins But when I see him again I will tell him that you wish to spoke with him.”  Lotor said as he started walking back towards the ship he came in 

“Thank you and have fun at your meeting “  Val said as jay disappear into her mouth 

“ I’ll try” Lotor said as the Valkyrie started to talk off

The flight home was always a beauty to watch as the twin suns of Hades-4 started to set behind the massive mountain range that surrounded the city of Persephone. It was nice to look at the city below him as they passed by the mountain range  . As they flow out of the city the sight of a massive forest came into view an as they flow over it the sky turned from a dark green to a dark blue starry sky. it was a beautiful sight to and was one  reason he choose this planet as his new home. But the main reason he choose this world was the fact that it was close to the milky way so just in case someone tried to invade it and the school system here was good  for the kid so it was a win/win.

A smile creeped across jays face as the sight of a familiar mountain with a small town in the make at the foot of it. The town didn’t look like much but it was a nice place to start fresh and raise a family. It really helped Jay coup when the others when missing. As the Valkyrie got closer to the town he saw people walking down the street. Some stopped to look up and wave to him. he continued to fly over the town until he go a two story house that was next to a small pond as well as a hanger as they landed near the hanger jay got off Val as she opened the door to her hanger. As Jay was walking back to his house hands in his pockets. He notices that some one was sitting on the front step of the porch. As he got closer to the house he saw Fitz Sitting there talking to someone on his phone 

“ Yeah next week it will be fun just you and me at the festival” Fitz had a smile on his face unaware that his Dad was standing there watching him just out side of the porch light’s reach  .” Yeah I just need to ask my dad “ 

“ Ask me what Fitzy “ Jay said as his cheek marks started to glow  along with his eyes as he stepped into the light 

Fitz screamed at the sudden appearance of his dad “   Hi Dad “

“ Hi Fitz how was your day at school and who are you talking too”  JAy asked as he sat down next to his son

“ It was alright I mean it’s school what is going to happen and i’m taking to Axton “ Fitz put his phone on speaker “ Say hi Axton “

{ Hello Mr. Sorin } a female voice said over the phone 

“ Hello Ms.Mercer exactly what are you and my son plan on doing at this on coming school festival ?” Jay asked looking at His son as their face started to turn a bright shade of green 

{ UUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH nothing we were just going to hang out and play some games right Fitz “  Axton said trying but failing to hide her  embarrassment 

“ Yeah we just going to play some games and ride some rides” Fitz said still blush

“ Alright if that’s all then yes Fitz you can go just be home before midnight “ Jay said as he got up from the stair he was sitting on  and walked to the front door and before opening it jay turned back to look at his son “ And no funny business “ Jay then opened the front door and walked into the house followed by jay yelling “ I’m home” Jay walked into the living room 

“ Hello father” Bastion 

“ Hi dad” Usamu said  

Jay turned to see his other two son both sitting on the couch  Bastion was watching something on the tv while Usamu was drawing in his sketch book

“ Hey kiddos how was school.?” Jay said 

“ Same old same old  “ Usamu  said not looking away from sketch book

“ I punched a guy in the throat because he was picking on some kid in a whee chair “ 

“ First off that not good don’t punch people second of did you get caught punching this guy “ Jay asked 

“ No I punched then ran into the car and then Ezra drove off before anyone could see me “

“ Good to know and good on you for punching him and standing up for that kid. Now don’t do that again . Because I don’t want to hear Mrs. Henbit yelling at the next pta meeting about how her precious baby watched two kids beating the shit out of each other or some other stupid shit she’ll bitch about.”  Jay said annoyed as in the back of his mind he could hear the screech of henbit “ Now what do you guys want for dinner tonight?” Jay asked 

“ Ezra order pizza and took Molly and Clay with them to get it” Bastion said 

“Alright then” Jay walked over to the couch “ what we watching today”  Jay said then he sat down between his two sons and final started to relax from along days work.

[omgrachwrites]

May Queen (Loki Laufeyson)

Pairing: OC x Loki

Summary: Astrid, the princess of Vanaheimr relocates to Asgard to seal a betrothal to the youngest prince. She soon finds happiness and a multitude of new friends. Unfortunately treachery and deceit lie in the court of Asgard in unlikely places, and she learns that true love never dies.

Warnings: little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, mentions of death, slowburn

Words: 2188

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this one guys but I hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged, I love you all very much! xxx

Part Two -  The tourney

Astrid had awoken that morning – the morning that some may say her life began and ended all at once – to see with delight that the frost on the windowpane had all but melted away. Happily and with much joy in her stride she hurried to look outside, over the expansive lands of the palace grounds and the princess saw that the frost had also melted on the emerald green grass. Even from the top of the tower in her chambers she could see the moisture sparkling like precious gems beneath the watery late winter sunlight.

Astrid took the sunlight – no matter how weak it was – and the melted frost as a sign that winter was finally all but over and spring was finally on its way after what felt like an age. Truly, she couldn’t wait to bask in the warm sun again and smell the sweet perfumes of the spring flowers, animals would soon be coming out of their long hibernation and baby animals would be born. The castle would soon be alive with music and the sweet voices of the bards singing of valiant heroes as they came to the palace to pledge their allegiance and loyalty to Queen Eira and her daughter. Winter was a lonely and quiet season with so few bards and performers making the long trip to the palace.

Astrid despised the winter more than any other season, of course the snow was always quite pretty at first but it soon grew rather tiresome, not to mention dangerous. Astrid had been born in the warmest and prettiest spring, her father always used to jest and say that fire lived in his daughter’s veins in place of blood. A couple of winters ago Astrid had gotten so sick from the cold that she’s almost withered and died in her bed, though she didn’t remember much of anything during that time. She hated the cold most of all – and cold people to boot. She hated the way that the cold seemed to creep inside of her and squeeze her heart.

The air that morning was fresh and crisp, it smelled like wet grass and forgotten dreams, she was having breakfast on the balcony of her chambers with Mara. Astrid was licking the honey and crumbs from the delicate pads of her fingers and she was reaching over the table to take another delicious morsel of honey cake when the Queen’s squire interrupted them with a message.

“The Queen requests your presence in her chambers my lady,” he paused with a look of disdain as Mata rose along with her mistress, “alone. There is no need for your maid,” he scowled, his upper lip twitched with disgust. The Queen’s squire had been a boy that Astrid had played with as a child and he’d always been incredibly sweet. Unfortunately, once he was given just a little bit of power it changed him for the worst.

“Do me a kindness,” Astrid hissed, “and never insult my handmaiden again or it may be the last thing you ever do,” she gave Mara a smile and in return she got a beaming grin back. Astrid narrowed her eyes at the squire before she departed from her chambers and she made to see her mother.

When Eira bade Astrid entry into her chambers a small bubble of worry and fear inflated within Astrid’s chest. The Queen looked extremely stressed; her normally elaborate raven hair was wild and askew around her pale face as she paced the length of the long room.

“Mother?” Eira’s head shot up when she heard the sound of her daughter’s sweet voice, “whatever is the matter?” Astrid asked.

Eira smiled serenely – or at least she tried to – as she combed her fingers through Astrid’s long soft hair and she motioned for the princess to sit down. She pressed a goblet of warm milk into Astrid’s hands; it had been sweetened with honey and cinnamon.

“I should have told you this years ago but it wasn’t always set in stone,” Eira muttered more to herself, Astrid raised an eyebrow and gestured for her mother to continue, “do you remember when you were fifteen and you fell in love with Erik? Do you remember what your father said when we both found out?”

Astrid frowned at her mother, that had happened over six years ago, she couldn’t think why her mother was bringing it up now, “yes, I remember. He said that if it was possible for me to marry for love then I could,” the King had always been very kind like that.

The Queen nodded and it looked like she was composing herself for what she had to say next, “about two months before your father died he had been conversing with Odin, the King of Asgard. He proposed a match between you and one of his sons; he thought that a marriage would be a good idea. If we were allied with the Asgardians it would more than likely send a powerful message to our enemies. Your father died before he and Odin could finalise the betrothal and we needed time to grieve for your father.”

Astrid sat there for a moment, gaping at her mother, she knew that her father had meant well but she just couldn’t help but feel horrendously betrayed, her father had lied to her. It took her a couple more moments before she could answer mother, “okay. So if the betrothal wasn’t finalised why tell me at all?” she whispered but she both knew and feared the answer.

Eira chewed her lip and placed a letter on the little table that separated them, “I received a letter from Odin yesterday morning, he wants the betrothal to be made final and he offers his youngest son Loki.”

Astrid knew why it was only now that Odin was so eager for her to be married into his household; his enemies had presumably lifted their gaze to Asgard. A sort of manic fear washed over Astrid, she didn’t want to marry this prince, and she didn’t want to be sold off like a common mule. She’d heard stories about women who married men they didn’t know and they were never seen again. Asgard and Vanaheimr were formidable fortresses but on their own they couldn’t hope to defeat all their enemies.

“I don’t want to,” she said simply, “I don’t want to marry someone that I do not know, I want to marry Erik. But I’m sure you’ve already accepted Odin’s offer, telling me was just so I don’t make a fuss.

Eira’s eyes that were normally so soft and kind hardened for just a second but in that second Astrid hated her.

“Sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do. Do you think that I wanted to marry your father? Thankfully I fell in love with him and you may be lucky enough to fall in love with Loki. You will both have a chance to get to know each other before you marry. He and his family will be joining us for the tourney in a months’ time so I don’t want to hear another word about it. Also, your Erik is promised to another.”

“Yes mother,” Astrid muttered like a dutiful daughter, trying not to feel it when her heart split into two and she quickly departed from the room and her mother’s presence.

When Astrid arrived back at her own chambers and she couldn’t stop herself from cursing her mother, her father and the youngest Prince of Asgard along with them. Mara dutifully listened and Astrid was so angry that she didn’t see the saddened longing expression on her handmaiden’s face. In the end Mara suggested that they sit outside under the trees and it seemed to calm down the princess considerably.

“Do you think that Loki of Asgard is going to be handsome?” Astrid asked as Mara combed her hair until it shone a couple of days before the tourney. Mara ceased in her movement for just a second.

“If he was would that make you forgive your mother?” Mara grinned at her through the golden gilded looking glass.

“No,” when Erik had heard about the betrothal he caused such a fuss and he hadn’t spoken a word to her since – even though he was engaged to another – there would be no forgiveness for that.

----------------------------------------------------------

Loki glanced at Thor to see an identical glum expression on his brother’s face and Loki knew why. Their father had forbidden Thor to ride out in front of the carriage; the older Asgardian would draw too much attention with his inability to stay quiet. At least Thor doesn’t have to marry someone he doesn’t know Loki thought bitterly. He had been so angry when his father told him that a betrothal had been arranged for him. He’d gotten so angry that he’d smashed his mirror and in the shattered fragments he thought that he’d seen his eyes turn red. Later on, when he’d calmed down he had decided that it was just a trick of the light.

The younger prince sighed and rested his chin on his hand as his icy blue eyes followed the world that was streaming past the carriage window. The land was beautiful; they travelled through lands of trickling streams, expansive lush forests and even a farm that had a little windmill.

“Oh cheer up brother!” Thor boomed, his voice even louder than usual in the small space of the carriage. Loki winced as Thor slapped his shoulder, “she may be a beautiful maiden.”

Loki rolled his eyes, Thor would never understand, he had always been the favourite, “I always have the worst luck so she probably looks like a toothless crone. Now leave me alone and let me sleep,” Loki hissed, leaning against the side of the carriage as he closed his eyes.

Loki could not say how long he’d slept for, maybe it had been for a couple of hours or maybe it had been a couple of days but he was awoken by Thor as they were crossing a little stone bridge. Loki’s first view of Vanaheimr was a magnificent beautiful white castle that was nestled deep into the mountains; it was a thing of fairy-tale.

As the Odinsons stepped out of their carriage Loki spotted the royal family standing in front of the castle, waiting to greet them. Loki’s eyes should have been fixed on the princess who looked very fine in silks of periwinkle blue and a crown of winter roses to match in her hair. However, he looked straight past her to the young woman with long golden hair. As he walked closer and vaguely heard his father and mother introduce themselves to the Queen, the similarities grew unnerving, the woman with the golden hair looked a lot like the fairy he’d met in the forest all those years ago.

“Prince Loki, it is an honour,” Loki quickly drew his attention to his future bride and saw with shock that she was really very beautiful – after all her name translated to ‘divine beauty.’ She had a lovely heart shaped face and big doe eyes with rosebud lips.

“Princess Astrid,” he muttered, kissing the top of her hand like he’d been taught to, “the honour is mine, I have not seen a sight more lovely than you. Truly.”  The princess had the grace to blush.

Loki was still feeling slightly unnerved when he sat by Astrid’s side in the stands to watch the tourney, her handmaiden was called Mara but it couldn’t possibly be his Mara. That was just completely impossible, though he longed to have just a moment with her. He scolded himself whenever that thought entered his head.  Loki was less than impressed with the tourney, with all that singing of the bards and the clanging of steel on steel as the knights fought for honour.

The tourney was much more what Thor loved, Loki would have loved nothing more than to seek out the library and seal himself inside with a good book until his wedding day. He really did have little interest in getting to know Astrid and he was sure that his mother knew that. Though, he had to admit that she was very lovely as she told him all about the knights from their noble houses.

On the second day of the tourney Queen Eira honoured and delighted Thor by asking him if he wanted to compete in the tourney. Loki was given the same offer but he politely declined. Loki allowed himself to clap and cheer as his brother rode to meet his opponent, a young boy not much older than Loki with flames in his hair.

Loki noticed the misty eyed looks that his future wife was giving Thor’s opponent. He also noticed the way Astrid’s face fell when the boy rode up and asked a lady with silver blonde hair to tie her favour onto his lance. It seemed like Loki wasn’t the only one with a secret and secrets never seemed to last too long at his father’s court.

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@theonelittleone @void-imaginations

[callunavulgari]

YEAR-IN-BOOKS | 2019

So. Last year I read 89 books. The year before that I read 39. The year before that I read 23. This year I have (thus far) read 110 books out of my goal of 100 and will likely finish both The Secret Commonwealth and The Library of the Unwritten before the end of the year. I may even finish another depending on which audiobook I go for next. So I’m gonna talk a lot. Again.

1. a book you loved?

Again, I read a lot of books this year. It was a great year for books. I discovered Brandon Sanderson, which has been amazing. I reread at least two different favorite series, some graphic novels, a few books that would ordinarily be outside of my typical genre. But I’m going to pick Red, White, & Royal Blue, which was probably the one I loved the most. Casey McQuiston, for those of you who weren’t in The Social Network fandom, wrote a really fantastic RPF in like 2011 or so. It was gorgeous and while I’m sad that it was never finished, I can still appreciate the crap out of it. RWARB is a story about the son of America’s first female president falling for the Prince of Wales. It is everything I loved about fics like The Student Prince and Drastically Redefining Protocol and more. It’s best universe 100% and I will probably be rereading it within the next few months because I loved it to pieces. Also, it won both best romance and best debut novel on goodreads by a pretty large margin, which is amazing! 

2. a book you hated?

I think the only book that I absolutely hated this year was The Gunslinger. Which sucks because a lot of people recommended that one pretty highly, but I either reluctantly enjoy Stephen King’s books or I outright loathe them. My review, directly from goodreads, with a rare one star rating:  

“Thing number 1: same guy who did the audiobook recording for The Stand did this one as well. Bad enough. Thing number 2: I forgot how badly Stephen King writes women. I got to listen to this narrator read a scene where a woman has an orgasm because the main character is exorcising a lust demon out of her by shoving a gun into her unmentionables, and then I got to hear someone described as "falling whorishly." DNF at 75%. Sorry. I just could not do it. Falling whorishly was the straw that broke the camel's back.”

3. a book that made you cry?

I definitely cried when I finished The Hero of Ages, which is the third of the original Mistborn trilogy by Sanderson. Without spoiling things... I was definitely crying by the end of it. Might have been crying at the end of the first in the series too. The only other ones I can think of that may have made me sniffle are Everything I Never Told You and To Be Taught, If Fortunate. 

The first because it’s a wonderfully crafted little tale about a family getting torn apart when their daughter dies tragically. The whole thing is pulled wonderfully taut with tension, and each of the character’s snippets into Lydia’s life before her death leads you to more and more discoveries until finally everything comes together seamlessly in the end.

The second because it is a little, little book about a big, big universe and is just so achingly beautiful and big inside that it hurts.

4. a book that made you happy?

I mean, I’m tempted to Red, White, and Royal Blue again because it is 100% the one that made me happiest. I was grinning like an idiot half the time I was reading it. But, because answering the same book for two questions seems cheap when I’ve read over 100, so I’m gonna go with King of Scars, which is the sequel to the sequel of the original Grisha trilogy by Leigh Bardugo. It took the best things about the original series and combined it with the best parts of Six of Crows and left me with a super riveting, fun read.

5. the best sequel?

Gah, I read so many series this year, so this is kind of hard. I have two answers!

The Well of Ascension, which was the second of the Mistborn novels and probably my favorite and The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy, which in my humble opinion was leagues better than The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue. Not that it was bad, I’m just starved for stories about smart sexy ladies who become pirates and flirt with other pretty pirate ladies.

6. most anticipated release for the new year?

Return of the Thief by Megan Whalen Turner is still my answer to this one. The release date got pushed back to August of next year instead of March of this one, so provided it doesn’t get pushed back again - that is 100% my answer. Some others I’m excited about: The Nobleman’s Guide to Scandal and Shipwrecks, which I found out about two minutes ago, the as yet untitled Stormlight Archive #4 which is apparently coming out in November next year, and like six books that don’t have release dates yet so probably won’t come out until 2021. Oh, oh, oh, and The King of Crows, the fourth in The Diviners series, which I forgot was coming out in February!

7. favorite new author?

Easily Brandon Sanderson. Most of my other favorites that I really loved were all authors I’ve read before. Sanderson was my Rothfuss of 2019. Discovering his books changed my whole damn year.

8. favorite book to film adaptation?

I didn’t reread the series this year, but HBO put out their adaptation of His Dark Materials and it has been absolutely amazing so far! I’m blown away by every single episode and can only hope that the second and third seasons will be this good.

9. the most surprising book?

Okay, so there’s this book that I picked up randomly at the library because I liked its cover. It’s called The Hundred-Foot Journey by Richard Morais and it’s about an Indian boy who grows up to become a world famous chef. It’s so, so rich. The detail is wonderful. You can taste the food, feel the sun, be a stranger in a market somewhere in France. It was a true delight of a book and definitely one of my favorites. 

10. the most interesting villain?

I read Codename Villanelle shortly after I got into the TV show, and it was actually a surprisingly good book. She’s a great villain. However, I also read Forest of a Thousand Lanterns, which you don’t even realize is about the evil queen until you’re like halfway through the book. That one was really, really well done and I need to get around to reading its sequel.

11. the best makeouts?

I’m tempted to say Chilling Effect because there’s just something about a sassy space pirate making out with her alien crew member whose skin can make her go into anaphylactic  shock that really appeals to the part of me that shipped Sheppard/Garrus from Mass Effect, but there were two really steamy ones in The Hating Game (elevators) and Ninth House (slightly dubcon-y bit because one character is drugged, but super searing anyway?). 

Also the bit in Red, White and Royal Blue where they make out against a painting of Hamilton in the White House will probably get me every time.

12. a book that was super frustrating?

Again, But Better was a pretty decent book over all. But there were slightly too many pop culture references and listening to an audiobook where the characters are signing along to Blink 182 along with several other songs was a little cringey because the narrator did not actually sing, just kind of singsongy shouted. It was weird.

The Alchemist was also really slow going for such a short book but was over all pretty good.

13. a book you texted about, and the text was IN CAPSLOCK?

I have no real life friends who really read and it is fucking tragic, so the closest I got was recommending a bunch of books to my mom and going off on tangents about how good they were. I think I might have ranted to Nick about a couple of them too.

14. a book for the small children in your life?

I reread The Bartimaeus trilogy again this year and it’s a kid’s book series that I would recommend to literally anybody because it might be my favorite series ever? I also read Lockwood & Co, a kid’s series by the same author who did Bartimaeus, which was fantastic because I didn’t even know he’d written anything since Bartimaeus? It didn’t quite compare, mostly because I adore Bartimaeus way too much, but was still highly entertaining. Spooky kid detectives hunt ghosts! 

15. a book you learned from?

While I did not read a single non-fiction book this year (again, whoops), a lot of books are informative even if they’re fiction. Hell, I learned more about cooking from The Hundred Foot Journey than I have in any cookbook out there.

16. a book you wouldn’t normally try?

Maybe Challenger Deep? I’ve been branching out more, so it’s getting harder and harder to tell which books I wouldn’t normally try. I did read like three exclusively romance novels this year, which was a bit odd for me.

17. a book with something magical in it?

I still say all books are magical. And definitely a lot of the books I read were magical, but probably the one with the most magic was The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern, which was a meticulously crafted love letter to all stories and fairy tales. It was really magical and definitely lived up to The Night Circus. If she keeps up like this, I won’t even mind the decade between publications, because she has a hell of a way with words.

18. the best clothes?

Maybe either The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (the descriptions of her gorgeous silky green dresses made me deeply envious) or Three Dark Crowns (which had neat food and clothes from what I remember)

19. the most well-rounded characters?

All of Sanderson’s stuff has great characters, but Everything I Never Told You is still probably the one with the best. Celeste Ng is really, really good at making you feel each of her characters down to their marrow.

20. the best world-building?

To Be Taught, If Fortunate was very much wow when it comes to the world building. But so was Ninth Gate and The Alloy Era of the Mistborn novels (sequel series to the original series that takes place hundreds of years after the first series). I also read Saga this year, a graphic novel series about a man and his wife on the run from their governments with their baby daughter because their species are in a long standing war and nobody wants anybody to know that they can procreate. That has some fantastic world building.

21. the worst world-building?

Maybe What If It’s Us? I found that one largely boring.

22. a book with a good sidekick?

Definitely any of the Alloy of Law books. Wayne is a wonderful sidekick and all of the other “side characters” in that series are fantastic.

23. the most insufferable narrator?

Ugh, the Gunslinger. Both the character in the book and the person who narrated the audiobook.

24. a book you were excited to read for months beforehand?

I think the only ones I was really excited for head of time were the two Folk of Air sequels by Holly Black and The Starless Sea. I still need to read Call Down the Hawk, and I’m currently reading The Secret Commonwealth, the sequel to His Dark Materials which I’ve been excited about since I learned that it would be a thing.

25. a book you picked up on a whim?

You already know about The Hundred Foot Journey. We Are Where the Nightmares Go and The Monster of Elendhaven were also both randoms that I picked up during the Halloween season that I really enjoyed.

26. a book that should be read in a foreign country?

The Hundred Foot Journey. 100%

27. a book cassian andor would like?

I still don’t know what to make of this question.

28. a book gina linetti would like?

Probably any of the steamy ones? I honestly don’t know.

29. your favorite cover art?

Probably The Ten Thousand Doors of January. It’s very pretty and flowery and the book itself is fantastic. I also really like the cover of David Mogo, Godhunter.

30. a book you read in translation?

I think The Alchemist was the only book I read that was translated from another language.

31. a book from another century?

Ha! North and South was first published in 1854. Other than that the oldest ones I’ve got were written in the 80s (Shards of Honor, Ender’s Game, and The Alchemist) or the 50s (The Two Towers).

32. a book you reread?

This year I reread the Bartimaeus Trilogy, the Temeraire novels (and then finished the last two I hadn’t read yet), Sabriel, and The King of Attolia.

33. a book you’re dying to talk about, and why?

I have clearly talked enough at this point. I think the only one that I loved that I didn’t get a chance to talk about already was Horrorstor, which is a book about haunted Ikea (basically). It’s fantastic and hilarious and spooky and now that I think about it Gina Linetti would probably like it. Oh, and The Bear and the Nightingale trilogy, which was a retelling of an old Russian tale. It was great. 

TLDR; Read Sanderson’s books, Leigh Bardugo’s books, and whatever Casey McQuiston writes for the next 30 years.