#and even then i have a super nice wool coat my mother got me for christmas a few years back

[advancedscurvy]

if i am paying more than $30 for any article of clothing it had better be fucking natural fibers and not plastic

[pinehutch]

(Thoughts about living in a body, some things are tagged but also, content warning for like, extreme self-indulgence and a whole lot of words.)

Pull up a chair (god knows I have), and let me tell you about living in my body. 

Something always hurts. You are 38 years old;  of course something always hurts, but sometimes what hurts is the reassuring prick and hot-cold lance of the Sunday evening injection site. Prick of the upper thigh, show some leg, know that your fingers will unfurl in the morning in a way that’s pulled along by your intent. 

You look younger than you are, if you are not too tired, if you have dyed your hair to hide the silver that started coming in at 22, if you’re performing the right kind of agelessness. The skin on your face has faint freckles and very rarely any blemishes, faint lines on your forehead since your mid-teens. One slightly dark spot that you’re keeping an eye on, that you remember to keep an eye on only for 2 minutes every day, while you’re brushing your teeth. You resolve to keep an eye on it. You forget by morning. 

It is a good face. It has nice eyes, and a rosy mouth, and a pleasant structure. You’re not exactly proud of it, or your hair, but you’re on decent, civil terms with the above-the-bust zones. You know that not wearing makeup is a privilege you have, that other people spend money and time and energy on makeup to appear to have it as good as you do. People will say kind things, and strangers may smile when they see you. 

You still wish you knew what to do with makeup. You still wish you could signal, here I am, look at me, I am trying to tell you something with this face. You are not in control of what your face is saying to people. The consequences of this lack of control are presenting an appearance unrelenting openness. Strangers may talk to you when they see you. 

Strangers! They have so many opinions! They will see you walking to and fro, and they will say to themselves, I believe that is a woman, and they will say to themselves, I have an opinion about this womanish person, this body, and they will say to you you gorgeous and you fat slut and you stuckup and you freak and you tits, you red hair, you hips. They will offer you a ride in their van (oh my god, their van), and will follow you for three blocks to ask if you have a husband, and they will shyly approach you in the produce section, and they tell you about their friend who is A Big Girl, Too, and they will throw pornographic comments at you on your second meeting, they will insist you do not need that size jean, and they will spit in front of you as you try to keep your head down, to keep moving. 

They have watched you at the gym, and they have laughed at you. (They don’t matter, and they are few and far between.)

(Every now and then they will give you thoughtful compliments sometimes, on the things that you’ve chosen. You should always give thoughtful and appropriate compliments to people, when you can.) 

Your body does not feel like it is yours alone. It is you, but it is not yours alone. It is a public and a private, personal nuisance. A man on the subway bumps against your ass four times in two stops. A woman on an airplane looks grim when that ass means you wrap an extender around your hips, pushed up up out of the seat. (Ha, seat.) Your shoulders are broad and you go to a show in a lovely old theatre and the whole time, you are curling, curling, curling inwards. You are muscle and bone, and you are trying to be a flower, folding petal-soft and unobtrusive. 

You cannot be unobtrusive. You simply do not fit. You have clothing in a range of 8 different sizes and you could wear all of it on the same day. Every dress is too short. 

Your body can be useful. Yes, it hurts, and it’s tired, and sometimes even the gentle push of your hands through the water for thirty minutes means your fingers will ache for a day and a half. You can’t always open a jar without a knife, but you can lift a heavy object onto a high shelf. Can anybody reach that? You can. You can walk for miles in the city dragging fifty pounds of luggage and you will even recover.  You can, on a good day, manage a seven-k trail, or ramble in the woods for some hours. You can carry the potting soil up to the third floor deck and fill the planters. You cannot climb out of the pool without a ladder, or you will limp for the rest of the week, and wear wrist braces. 

You can manage. You can live in your too-tall, too-broad, too-strong, too-fragile body, and you can live well in it, when it is only one part of you. 

You live in the world. You live in the world and so much of it is spurred by hatred and money and the money you spend to stop hating yourself. When you are 20-something, you start looking for alternatives. (You think you are looking for cute clothes; you find new ways of thinking, about your body, about all bodies, about bodies which are people. You find some cute clothes, too. Seeing the forest doesn’t take you out of it.) You learn that there are people who have functionally stopped hating themselves. You stop, functionally, hating yourself for being the body that you are. 

It gets easier, for a while. It never goes away, but it does get easier, and you learn so much about how you can be a person, a person who is and who has and who lives in a body, and never only any one thing. You practice telling yourself that every body is a good body, even while you read deeper and wider and realize that not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Even if all of those systems and people and rules that say this body is good but this body is not good were not in place, not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Some bodies aren’t even very successful at their primary function (i.e. being alive). Some bodies hurt all of the time. 

Ten years later, and your body becomes one of the kinds of bodies with above-average premature mortality rates. It becomes one of the kinds of bodies where something hurts, all of the time. For a time, you cannot manage very well at all. You cry a lot, because you are in pain, and you are frightened, and nothing works, and you lose a year of your life to hands locked in fists and panic attacks and vomiting up different combinations of meds. The (terrible) social worker will tell you that heels are not a part of anyone’s identity, and ask if you’ve tried eating kale. Your mother will say that you should lose weight; you do not walk on your hands, though. Your father will tell you that the same disease is in his wife’s lungs. Your boss will tell you, with kind eyes, about the long-term disability accommodations available to you (it’s only a forty per cent salary cut). The pamphlet will tell you that statistically, you will not be able to work for more than 10 years from this point. People who love you will kindly remind you that you had been working too much, volunteering too much, and that stress is probably a triggering cause. 

You will leave that year behind. You will leave it, walking and swimming and carrying on. You will dance in the shower again. You will learn to speak up when you are in crisis. You will never wholly stop feeling betrayed, and it is impossible to tell where the betrayal came from: did your body betray the you-of-your-mind, by detonating the sleeping danger in your genetics? Or did your mind betray that you-of-your-body, by pressing too hard on the seal holding back that self-immolating flame? It’s a never-ending, tedious dialogue. (Is it my fault? It is my fault. Is it my fault it is my fault is it my fault it is.) 

You will learn to smile at your reflection again. People will say, you are beautiful, and you will know it is true for them, and that if you are beautiful like a whale, like an iceberg, like a thornbush, like a moonroad, like a forest, like anything lovely and grand and untouchable and inhuman - at least you can take comfort in good company. You try to turn that misty gaze upon yourself. 

You would like to look at yourself in the mirror and see only a person. You would like to look in the mirror and see only a you-who-is-whole. You will, you resolve. One day you will. 

*** 

So, I’ve been tired beyond tired this week. I’m sleep-deprived and not clear-headed, and this was terrifying to write, but it comes from a place that is as honest as I can make it. In frank terms, I’m 178 cm tall, and right now my every piece of clothing I’m wearing is a ‘straight size’ XXL and made of super soft jersey, because I’m in my pyjamas. My wardrobe ranges from a regular XL to “I got this wool coat made-to-measure because nothing else would cover my hips without falling off my shoulders.” 

The thing is: I started consciously and deliberately seeking out information on body positivity and on fat acceptance in, I dunno, 2002? 2003? I learned so much from intersectional feminists on the internet who were having complicated and often very personal conversations about bodies in general, and about ‘fat’ bodies in particular (what’s a fat body, anyway? what’s a tall one?), and then about the ways fatness intersects with race, gender, class, and ability besides. By the time I got to thirty, I was genuinely relieved to not be wasting energy hating myself on a daily basis. 

And I mostly don’t, still, most of the time. I’ve never quite ‘gotten over’ the sense of bruised identity that comes with a chronic illness, and the way that having a body that is physically more vulnerable has made me feel more mentally and emotionally vulnerable to the kind of social weapons that we/they use against our/each other’s bodies. I continue to do the work of trying to be neutral-to-positive about my body (it’s just me! it has no more or less moral weight than any other body! neat!), but when I feel generally worn-down and otherwise a bit hyper-aware of bodies, it’s really, really hard. 

At least once a day for the last several weeks I have had to stop whatever I’ve been doing when, unprompted, a thought like “it is impossible for someone to want you” or “you are, objectively, disgusting” crosses my mind. (I don’t know why my inner critic is so formal! Just a super-big jerk, really.) I think in words, so it comes just like that, in clear and precise words, and I have to stop and interrupt myself. Usually this is just a pause, and a shake of my head, and a breath, and I throw myself back into whatever has been otherwise occupying me. 

It’s fine - it’s mostly fine. Maybe this is normal, maybe this is how everyone experiences their physicality and their subjectivity. And it will be better in the morning, so now I’ll stretch my hands and fingers, and rest. 

[lalainajanes]

The Kindness of Strangers

It takes a good half hour for Caroline to realize that she’s been ditched.

In her defense, she’s not exactly at her best.

She can’t stop coughing, her chest hurts. She’s freezing, still wearing her coat and scarf even though she’s been indoors, waiting for her turn to see a doctor, for three hours. Caroline will admit that she’s never been an ideal patient. She hates every single part of being sick – gross fluids leaking from her body, disruptions to her carefully plotted schedule. She loathes weakness, isn’t used to having to count on other people. She’s lived in Chicago for just under a year, doesn’t have many people to rely on.

She’d been self medicating for days, guzzling DayQuil and NyQuil in turn, googling home remedies and forcing down cup after cup of chamomile tea with honey.

The medicine hadn’t helped, nor had the tea and the best medical advice Pinterest had to offer.

Hence why she’s sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, in a packed waiting room, braving screaming children, bloody wounds, and even more airborne germs.

She’s staring dumbly down at her phone, at the picture that’s just popped up on her Instagram feed. Posted just a few seconds ago it features her boyfriend at the gym, his face strained as he lifts a kettlebell. She hadn’t bothered to read the caption, knows it’s some nonsense about reps or mile times that she’s only ever feigned interest in for the sake of politeness.

He’d been yammering on about his workout plans since he’d picked her up. Caroline had been humming in acknowledgement at regular intervals but she’d figured it didn’t need to be explicitly stated that leaving her in a hospital waiting room was so not cool.

Apparently she’d been mistaken.

“Please tell me he’s some sort of useless relation. A cousin you’re only nice to because your mum insists.”

Caroline’s head swivels to the speaker, a touch surprised by the accent. The guy next to her is looking down at her phone, his expression disbelieving.  She’d nodded tiredly at him when she’d sat down, some part of her brain cataloguing a general impression of an attractive man in her age range. She hadn’t been in the mood for conversation and he hadn’t attempted one either. She’d felt him shifting next to her, restless, and probably in pain judging by the impressive rainbow of purple-black bruises covering his bare left foot.

She should probably snap at him, demand he mind his own business but, if her own freaking boyfriend can’t be bothered to skip a workout when she’s in the emergency room, it’s probably a good idea to expand her social circle.

“My mom has even less time for useless relations than I do.”

“She sounds like a smart woman. Does she like your boyfriend?”

Her mother had yet to be introduced. Caroline had planned a trip to Mystic Falls for a long weekend but Stefan’s brother had called last minute with one of his bimonthly crisis’s so Caroline had made the trip solo. In hindsight, maybe she should have read more into the lack of effort. “Very smart. And handy with all manner of firearms.”

A warning, just in case he happens to be a serial killer.

His brows rise, a hint of amusement beginning to curl his lips. Caroline’s forced turn away and bury her face in the crook of her elbow as she’s wracked with coughs. She slumps back when she’s done, needs a moment to catch her breath.

When she peels her eye open her neighbor’s expression has softened with concern. “I’m Klaus,” he offers.

“Caroline.”

His arm nudges hers on the armrest between their chairs, a weird approximation of a handshake that Caroline returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

She’s naturally nosy, and he’s given her an opening, “What happened to your foot?”

“Stupid accident. I was helping my brother move, he got distracted. A rather heavy sofa came down on my foot.”

Caroline winces in sympathy, leans forward to peer around Klaus. She hadn’t noticed him talking to another guy but, as she hadn’t really noticed Stefan taking his leave while in her fog of misery, that doesn’t mean much. “Is he here?”

Klaus makes a low noise of denial, “God, no. Kol can only sit still as long as the average five year old. I’ll be storing this incident away for later, when I need a bigger favor than a ride to the hospital.”

Caroline doesn’t know much about healthy sibling relationships but she can admire a strategic mind.

“How long have you been waiting for?”

“I got here about an hour before you did.”

“Ugh,” Caroline grumbles, crossing her arms and yanking her sleeves down over her hands, “maybe I should have just made another pharmacy run and gone back to bed.”

Klaus leans forward, pulls a jacket and a scarf out from under his seat. He shakes them out, offering them to her. “Here. I find it quite warm in here but you’re obviously suffering.”

She shakes her head, “No, I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have.”

“Did you just fall ill?”

“It’s been a few days.”

Kat, her boss, had bullied her out of the office when Caroline had nearly passed out after standing up after a meeting. Caroline had tried to protest but Katherine Pierce was excellent at getting her own way. Caroline had been in the back of a town car, under a blanket, with a driver who’d had strict instructions to only stop at a restaurant for the giant takeaway container of chicken noodle soup Kat had ordered.

She’d texted Stefan when she’d gotten home, had gotten sympathy followed by an apology. He’d told her to rest, that he hoped she’d feel better soon, but he’d claimed that he couldn’t rick catching anything, not when he’s training for a marathon.

Alone on her couch, trying to muster the energy to get herself to her bedroom so she could change out of her pencil skirt and blouse, Caroline had told herself that she shouldn’t be resentful. That ambition was sexy, goals were admirable, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

That it wasn’t at all annoying that, just a month ago, she’d spent a whole weekend refilling a hot water bottle for Stefan every half hour after he’d pulled a muscle. He hadn’t asked her, she’d offered, and relationships shouldn’t have scorecards.

Maybe they had different love languages. That didn’t mean they were incompatible.

Reciting the bullet points from Cosmo relationship articles hadn’t stopped Caroline from feeling resentful.

Klaus shakes his jacket gently, drawing her attention back to him, “I doubt you’re contagious at this point.”

The jacket looks to be wool, heavy and lined and probably super cozy. She only hesitates for another second before taking it, draping it over herself like a blanket and looping the scarf around her neck.

She manages to avoid obviously tucking her nose into the fabric, to better appreciate the light touch of the very nice cologne Klaus must use.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “You can tell your significant other that you’ve earned a pile of gentleman points.”

It’s not the most subtle fishing Caroline’s ever done but she’ll just have to blame that on the large doses of over the counter meds still swimming through her system.

Klaus doesn’t seem to mind, his smile widening as he leans back in his seat. He rests his head back against the wall and sprawls a bit, closer to her than he’d been before. “There’s no significant other.”

She probably shouldn’t consider that good news but she totally does.

“And you?” Klaus asks, “how long have you and the… fitness afficianado been an item?”

Caroline suspects the moniker he’s settled on is far more polite than he’d like to be.

“About six months. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Let me guess, you were high school sweethearts who reunited years later.”

His distaste is obvious and Caroline laughs softly. “Um, no. Not even close. I had a ginormous crush on him but he was really into my best friend.”

Who’d waffled between being into Stefan right back and being into Stefan’s older brother.

Klaus sighs, “So he’s got an appalling lack of taste in addition to his other less than stellar qualities.”

It’s instinct to jump to Stefan’s defense. “He’s really a great guy.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s training for a marathon. It’s a lot of work.”

“Is this marathon tomorrow?” Klaus asks pointedly. “Because otherwise I don’t understand why he couldn’t take a day off when you’re so ill you can barely walk.”

Caroline deflates, presses her lips together as she swallows the argument she’d been about to make. She’s had plenty of practice lately. When she’d first moved, and Stefan had shot her a message offering to take her out for a drink to celebrate her new job, it had been easy to fall back in with her old friends. He’d been familiar, Elena and Damon too, and she’d been busy with her new job and settling into a new apartment. It had been easier to relearn how to be around them than to meet new people.

She’s a people person though, has started getting closer to a few coworkers, and Enzo, Rebekah and Kat all have certain opinions about Stefan that Klaus is mirroring.

“Perhaps this is none of my business,” Klaus says, after her silence has stretched on. He’s watching her carefully, like he’s wondering if he’s pushed too far.

“It’s really not.”

“Lost those gentleman points, did I?” he jokes.

Caroline laughs, willing to roll with his attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe not all of them.” Because she is warmer now, with his layers piled on top of hers. “Where are you from, anyway?”

He’d given her the perfect opening to pry and Caroline’s not going to waste the opportunity.

All in the interest of broadening her social circle of course.

A month later, after a breakup, rearranging her entire apartment (three times), she’s decided to make more of an effort to turn her coworkers into real friends.

Rebekah’s throwing herself a birthday party. There’s even a dress code. Enzo informs Caroline that all of Rebekah’s brothers are ridiculously hot, so clearly she needs a great new dress. And heels. And some lingerie and a new lipstick because, why not?

She sees Klaus before he sees her. He’s planted on a loveseat in the living room, his casted foot resting on an ottoman. He’s flitted through her thoughts more than once since they’d met and Caroline had regretted not getting his contact info. Or at least a last name.

Klaus might be a unique name but her attempts at social media stalking had all failed.

Caroline grabs a flute of champagne (seriously, Rebekah knew how to throw a party) and hugs the perimeter of the room. She approaches Klaus from behind, sitting down on the arm next to him and chirping, “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

His eyes snap up, widening when he recognizes her. “Caroline,” he says, something like wonder coloring the tone.

It’s enough to confirm that she’d not the only one who’s spent way too much time thinking about those few hours they’d spent together.

“Glad you remember me,” she teases. “How do you know Rebekah?”

“She’s my sister.” He shifts over, threading his finger through hers to pull her down next to him. Caroline has no objections, not even when he’s pressed along her side, leaving enough room for another person beside him. “And you?”

“We work together.”

“Small world,” Klaus murmurs, very pleased about it.

Caroline can relate.

She nods down to his foot, “What was the verdict?”

He groans, “At least six weeks in the cast. I’m right sick of it. I’ve barely left my place since it happened because I can’t drive and the simplest things are infinitely more annoying.”

“I’m glad you made it out tonight.”

He’s still got her hand clasped in his but his free arm comes up, resting loosely around her shoulders. He speaks more softly and Caroline leans closer to make sure she can hear. “Likewise, love. I’ll never complain about Rebekah being a shameless nag again.”

Somehow, Caroline doubts that.

She spends the duration of the party at Klaus’ side but she meets a whole pile of new people. There’s Kol, the brother whose couch had maimed Klaus’ foot, Elijah, who is a little scary, with his appraising eyes and aggressively perfect manners. She gets some tips about thrifting vintage clothes from Gia, a classical violinist, and when she chats with Marcel he says he hopes he sees her around, promises that he knows plenty of embarrassing stories about Klaus.

She’s kind of kicking herself for falling back into old habits when she’d first moved to Chicago. Clearly, she’s pretty kickass at making friends.

She leaves with Klaus’ number in her phone and plans for dinner the next night.

Sunday brunch plans follow, with Rebekah, where there are bottomless mimosas and vague threats.

It’s easily the best weekend she’s had since moving.

Though not for long.

[aleapoffaithfiction]

VII.

"You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control." ― Megan Chance

“See, Jesus was crucified, just for me.”

While leaning over to the side, I slyly slid another piece of my usual Mentos Pure Fresh “Fresh Mint” flavored gum into my mouth and sighed in relief at the immediate jolt of energy I felt as my teeth broke its round shape apart and the flavoring hit my taste buds. I had to sneak it, because like the child she often thinks that I am, but mother would have held out her gloved hand and viciously eyed me until I defeatedly spit it. According to her, it’s not ladylike to chew gum and especially in church, but I’m going to chew it regardless and I doubt God is concerned with that minuscule vice in my life.

“Give me a piece.” Celeste leaned over and whispered in my ear as she held her hand out and I dropped the bottle into her lap. She didn’t have as much of a chance of being caught as I did because I was sitting in the middle of both she and mommy.

We’re members of Emmanuel Baptist Church over on Lafayette Avenue. It’s right on the corner of St. James Place in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn and is under the leadership of Reverend Anthony L. Trufant and his wife Muriel. We’ve been fellows of this church for as long as I can remember and my mother is a good friend of the family; as was my father when he was living. There was even a point in time when I had somewhat of a friendship with their daughters but it was short lived because in my younger years I had far less of a tolerance for people who I cannot relate to. Celeste and I were baptized in this church, daddy’s memorial was here, and Celeste wed her now husband Preston here two years ago. Though I dreaded it, we used to come here every Sunday bright and early so that I wouldn’t miss Sunday school. I was in the youth group for a while but eventually bailed out on having to attend it because I heavily got into sports.

Every holiday season, I was forced to participate in the Christmas Nativity play, where I would play Mary no matter how much I wanted to be one of the Three Wise Men. I met the first guy I would have a crush on here, though it lasted all of a week. I was even apart of the choir for a short run and I’m not even sure why, because I’m no vocal powerhouse. I’m not even a vocal power shed if you let me tell it. Despite my lessening attendance over these last couple of years, I still consider this place to be my church home and it is where I will come back to until further notice.

“Sing it.” I glanced over at my mother as she raised a hand in response to Lucinda Moore’s voice. After days of calling and convincing me to come to Saturday night’s service simply for this concert, I finally agreed for the sake of appeasing her and I can’t say that I’m mad at it. Lucinda can sing from the depths of her gut and never fails to take a praise moment to its highest peak. She’s been in between singing and preaching for about an hour now with a sermon that calls for us all to “meet God all the way” because half-way isn’t going to cut it for anything that we do in life.

“Look at Mr. Weston.” As Lucinda continued to belt her way through “The Old Rugged Cross”, my eyes followed the direction of Celeste’s head and I instantly snickered at the sight of the older man ogling over my mother and her glimmering chocolate skin. Mr. Weston’s been trying his hardest to take my mother’s hand in marriage and yet she won’t even give him enough attention for him to take her out on a Saturday night date. I don’t think it’s her internal yearning for daddy that causes it.

Mr. Weston doesn’t even have finesse within his aging bones to woo her into sitting next to him during Sunday service. Then again, it might be the trifling aspects of who he is. When he received the phone call that his wife had been rushed to the hospital after having a sudden heart attack, he’d been out with his mistress and had the audacity to drive over to the hospital with the mistress still in the car with him. Mrs. Weston passed away that day, but every damn body sat up in here side eying the hell out of him as he wailed over her during the funeral. If it’s up to me, he’ll never date my mother because of all of that nonsense.

Mrs. Williams is the one who wants him. Or is it Mrs. Davis? Maybe Mrs. Wright? I lost count after the third husband. And then there’s her sister Denise who is about the most judgmental person I know. The woman has something to say about everyone’s kids except her own, especially her daughter Tiffany, who has made it her business and life’s mission to snag a baller. She may have secured a couple of hotel stays for some middle of the night fun, but a ring? Not even a Ring Pop. Church is where you’ll find the most hypocrisy but I suppose it makes perfect sense why that is.

“We should grab a bite to eat at The Food Sermon after this.” I’m all for healthy eating but there are just certain dishes that I’m not having in a healthy manner and Caribbean food is that. I’ll be damned if I eat pan seared jerked tofu as a jerk chicken substitute. Celeste and Preston are suddenly super obsessive with their newly started vegan lifestyle and I’m not joining them. It’ll probably be temporary anyway. He’s only doing it because she wants him to.

“Or we can go to Glady’s. Mommy won’t agree with you about that one, because she prefers Glady’s too.”

“Fine, brat.”

“I’ll be that.” I could have chosen somewhere that wouldn’t be in consideration of her new diet if I really wanted to be a brat, but I didn’t. Glady’s has vegetable dishes that should work out for the both of them.

“Shhh.”

I knew it was coming. If her hands weren’t covered with gloves, she might have pinched my arm. I’m always sat in the middle just so she can keep an eye on me because I’m known to find ways to distract myself in church if my mind isn’t completely focused on the sermon or choir. The Lord knows me well. I doubt he have as much of an issue with it as my mother does.

While buttoning the front of my Alexander Wang loose fitting blazer, I couldn’t help but to regret opting out of putting on the wool trench coat that I had laying across the backseat of the car. The nearly end of October air is a lot chillier than I thought it would be. Despite not being someone who enjoys extremely warm or cold weather, I always look forward to the fall because it’s when fashion is at its peak. There’s nothing like a sickening jacket with nice pop of autumn coloring in it, all entirely black look that is sleek, or heavy denim. Oh, and a thigh high heeled boot? Don’t even get me started. Tonight’s dress is a long-sleeved calf length Lowe piece with deep tan, red-orange, and white stripes cascading down it’s form. What really sold me on it is the black lace accents. It’s church friendly and yet if I were going on a lunch outing with Taylor, I’d be just as fine in it.

“Sarai.” Quinton’s hand immediately grazed my shoulder as our eyes met and though I smiled, it was in no way as big as the one gracing his caramel face. Quinton and I went to school together and yet never had any interactions until his father died in the same war that mine did, nearly a year apart. I suppose us dealing with the same level of grief is what served as the foundation of the friendship that we formed. We simply didn’t harbor it as life went on. We barely speak nowadays but I’m sure he’ll say that it’s my doing.

“Quinton. How are you?” We shared an appropriate hug and the fume of his strong cologne instantly made me draw back. It’s not pleasant.

“I’m well. How are you? I see you doing big things.”

“I’m the same. And I’m doing big things? Is that so Mr. Councilman?” He was elected a year ago and is over the Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Crown Heights, Prospect Heights, and Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhoods. I definitely consider him to be a man of the people, because he could have run for a position within areas like Williamsburg, Dumbo, and Fulton Ferry and won. He’s that well celebrated within these streets.

“I’m not on ESPN though.”

“That’s nothing in comparison to the news coverage about you, the mentoring that I’m hearing you’re receiving from President Obama so that you can run for the Senate, and maybe even the Presidency later on down the line? I think you just want me to brag on you a bit.”

“I won’t stand here and pretend like I’m not flattered.” We shared a laugh that attracted the attention of a few others. I could see my mother eyes lighting up from the corners of my eyes. She’s barely paying attention to what Denise is saying to her.

“You know we’re all proud of you.”

“But you’ve yet to be proud of enough of me to allow me to take you out to dinner. You know we have history.”

That history he speaks of is not our friendship. The summer before we went off to college, we pity fucked one another after having had a conversation about our daddies that left the both of us emotionally drained. Though he wasn’t a virgin, he might as well had been because it was far more of an awkward encounter than it was anything else.

I won’t hold anything about that hot summer evening against him though. No seventeen-year-old boy has the stamina of a stallion and the skills of a veteran porn star within the bedroom. Quinton barely knew who he was personally, so how could he have known who he was as a pleaser? The same could be said for myself.

It was me who decided that we should go on as if it never happened. Hell, it still feels like it never happened. While Quinton is a nice-looking man, I’ve yet to have even the slightest interest in him beyond our occasional run ins.

“Here you go. It’s a timing issue more than anything.” See? I’m a hypocrite too. First, premarital sex. Second? I’m lying right here in the house of God. No matter what the circumstances are, a person will make time for who or whatever it is that they want.

“It can’t always be timing right? We should plan it out so that we won’t run into scheduling issues. I know you’re up there in Bristol a lot and your schedule can be just as crazy when you’re not and you know I’m quite busy myself but I’m willing to make the time for you Sarai.”

Whenever he asks me out, I find myself pondering if we share anything in common beyond what we already know or what we’ll speak about while sitting across from one another at some upscale restaurant of his choosing and I always draw a blank. From there, I snicker at the thought of whispered words about Brooklyn’s fiscal year preliminary budget or development with the deeper urban areas being his dirty talk or pillow talk within the bedroom. That aside, I’m not interested in being his First Lady. I don’t want to play that role, because that’s exactly what it is. Politics is full of actors with empty promises. I’m not saying that Quinton cannot be genuine, but even those type of politicians are just as good of liars as the crooked ones.

“You have my number. Call me. We’ll figure it out.”

“I will. Just make sure you pick up.” That was a cheap jab, but I’ll take it. Out of all of the women within this church who are vying for a chance to be Mrs. Quinton Jeremy Marshall, he constantly comes my way. Maybe that’s something? I don’t know. Only time will tell, but right now, it’s not saying much because I don’t feel anything.

“I will.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to convince you that we’re a good match before some NBA guy does.” And there it is; the assumptions about what goes on in my life pertaining to athletes beyond work obligations.

“I don’t date athletes.”

“I’m not saying that you do, but there’s no denying that they’re interested in dating you. Unfortunately, I don’t catch the show often, but sometimes I do catch a couple of those one on one interviews you conduct on YouTube and they usually feel like one big lust fest. Doesn’t that make you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t notice it. Also, I feel like people overexaggerate things. These days, you can’t sit a male or female of no relation in the same room without people creating sexual scenarios. That just shows you how screwed up people’s mentalities are.” And that includes you Quinton. I’m not sure if it’s jealousy or indifferent written all over his face, but it’s something. And this is yet another reason why we cannot date. He’s the worst version of an alpha male because there are plenty of sexist undertones within the way he thinks and what he says. He’d expect me to diminish enough of myself in order for him to feel like the man when he’s parading me around some fundraiser or while I’m standing in his shadow as if he gives some speech.

“Or maybe you’re downplaying things. I watched Odell Beckham Jr. stare at you like you’re some type of rare species. I know what those type of looks are about. I am a man after all.” Are you?

“Maybe I am a rare species. We’re not all cut from the same cloth, right Quinton?”

“Maybe so.”

“I’ll see you around though. My stomach is growling and my folks are waiting for me.”

“Don’t forget what I said”

“About timing? I won’t. As I said, give me a call. We’ll figure something out.” And with that, I left him to stare at me as I walked towards the back of the church.

I didn’t feel compelled to hug him again because it would have been lingering on his end and easily would have attracted more attention than I would’ve liked. Despite there being a number of women around here who would love to be claimed by him, oddly, there are people who advocate for us. Even Reverend Trufant snuck in a joke about being willing to officiate our nuptials when the time is right. I’d rather not give Quinton or anyone else any false hope tonight or any other.

Rather than taking three cars, I drove everyone from mommy’s house over to the church. While it may have sounded pointless to them, I insisted that we go back and get Preston’s car so that I’ll be able to drive back to Edgewater right after dinner. I’m tired, cold, and I’m not staying out here tonight. She may have convinced me to come to service but spending the night at either one of their houses can quickly turn into a night of aggravation. I’m so used to living on my own that personality clashes happen as soon as my element is interrupted.

“That Quinton sure is fine.” I knew it was coming. It’d been on the tip of her tongue the entire time she sat in the passenger seat of my car, but I purposefully drowned her out with a couple of classics from Richard Smallwood. I knew she’d quickly began to sing along and forget about hounding me about him, but I should have known she’d only briefly put the thought aside. I can’t even enjoy this peppered shrimp and side of plantains now. Within a couple of minutes, the know it all will add in her warped opinion.

“Isn’t he?” How can she agree with her husband sitting right there alongside her?

“Is he still running for the Senate?” Preston directed that question to me as if I should know. I’ve only heard the rumors and it makes sense. I’m sure councilmen is only a stepping stone for a long running career in politics.

“I’m sure he will at some point.”

“And he’s looking for this one here to be his Michelle Obama and yet she’s running from it.”

“I’m not running from anything. I’m simply not interested. Michelle Obama is amazing and I admire the hell out of her, but not to the point of wanting to mirror her life. I doubt she’d want that for me either. This is a woman who has advocated for women to work hard to be exactly who it is that they want to be.” Michelle was never caught up into the dated traditionalisms of a woman needing a husband in order to look proper in society. She was already a lawyer when she met her now husband.

“And yet here she is, pushing away the one man who actually wants her enough to continue pursuing her.” If I were some tacky reality show chick, I would have made a scene in this restaurant but I won’t for the sake of my reputation.

“The one man who wants me?” I had to made sure I heard her correctly.

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. You barely put yourself into situations to find someone.”

“I’m not looking.”

“And that’s the problem right there.” As soon as my mother interjected, I dropped my fork into the plate and rested against the back of the seat.

“For who? You?”

“She lives in a house about three times the size of mine and yet she’s in it alone.”

“I live in a house three times the size of yours because it’s what I worked for. I didn’t have to find a man to give it to me. I wanted it and went and got it. It’s not my fault that you can’t relate.”

Initially, I didn’t want to take any shots at her because I respect her lifestyle. She has a career, but it’s no secret that Preston is the breadwinner in their marriage and it works for them. They’re settled, happy, and are beginning to work on trying to have a baby. I rarely if ever label myself with the feminist title, but if I did, I wouldn’t be the type to frown down on women who want to be in the boardroom closing deals or at home raising their children and keeping the house put together. For as long as it is a choice, there is no judgement from me. But Celeste? She takes me there.

“Well lucky for me, I have a man who loves me enough to want to give me amazing things and the best part of it is we enjoy it together. I don’t live in a house three times smaller than yours alone. I don’t go to bed alone. I don’t travel alone. I don’t celebrate my birthdays alone. I don’t have to do everything for myself, whether I’m tired or not, because I live my life without anyone else in it. I have a life partner here with me. Where’s yours? Or did you have hopes that dad would always be the man in your life?”

And this is why whenever people ask me if we’re close, I laugh it off and shrug. I don’t know what we are. After the tragedy within our lives, we continued to grow further apart from the once closeness that we used to have. Even with her gravitating towards mom, we didn’t clash as much then as we do now. Our clashes are typically started by her. It’s the manner in which she seems to pick apart who I am that instantly rubs me the wrong way. It’s not even constructive criticism. It’s simply her being a bitch.

“Your dependency on men has always been at the forefront of your life. If it wasn’t Preston, it would have been someone else. And if it wasn’t that someone else, it would have been another person. I don’t ever remember any point in my life when you were single. So, I’m not impressed. Ya’ll can have this shit, honestly.” I dropped my napkin into the barely halfway eaten plate and immediately stood to my feet. I’d already paid for everyone’s meal as a treat, so I didn’t have to wait for some server to come over with the checkbook.

“Sarai, sit down.”

“I’d rather go and I am. Enjoy yourselves.”

“And this is why I call you a brat. Whenever someone says something that you don’t like or calls you out on your shit, you run.”

“Goodnight.”

“Sarai!” Not even my mother’s stern summoning could influence me to turn around as I walked out in the night. My car served as my solace and the sounds of a Musiq Soulchild Essentials playlist from Apple Music was my soundtrack for my drive home. A blessing of no traffic at any point allowed my arrival time to be just a couple of minutes under an hour.

Let me ask you something. You really think I can come back from this injury? It’s not even a matter of getting back on my feet again because I’m sure that’s possible, but will I be the same player I once was? I’ve been thinking about it and the more I do, the more I really don’t know.

I hadn’t even gotten out of the car when his message came through and as I sat in my seat reading it, I immediately scoffed because I know that is nothing more than his own sulking with a couple of droplets of Scott’s ridiculously biased and purposefully controversial take about some players never being who they once were within their respective sports after surgeries that don’t exactly fix what may be permanent damage.

You’re going to be even better than you were before. We all know that everyone gets a thrill out of a good comeback story but this is more than that for you. You have something to prove to yourself more than anyone or anything else. Your determined spirit will carry you through this and next year, we’re all going to celebrate what you worked so hard for more than we’ve ever celebrated you before. You got this and you know you do. It’s what we’re all a fan of when we speak of Odell Beckham Jr; your keen awareness of who you are and what you’re capable of.

And just like that, I was starting the car. I hadn’t even gone inside to get out of the pumps that are now starting to cause my toes to ache.

Have someone open the door for me. I should be there in about twenty.

It took five minutes over the twenty I estimated because I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for a hot chocolate. I wasn’t cold anymore because the heat in the car had already warmed me up, but I had a taste for it. I even grabbed Beckham a cup.

“Why are you the one answering the door?” I rang the doorbell about two minutes ago. No wonder it took so long for anyone to come and get it. As he leaned against the crutches, Khan and Blackjack were standing alongside him in a protective stance as Mowgli lingered around in the background.

“Nobody’s here but me.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re never home alone.”

“You’ll be surprised how much I actually am home alone.” As he crutched himself backwards, the dogs moved alongside him in unison to allow me entry into the home. I think they’re starting to get used to me and I’m not sure if it’s a bad or a good thing. I’ve found myself bonding with Eris, who is technically the lady of the house.

“I got you a hot chocolate from Dunkin.”

“Thank you.”

“Uhm.” I noticed we weren’t going downstairs as I trailed behind him. Instead, he made his way into the living room and flopped down on the couch. He’d been playing video games before I arrived.

“Why are you so dressed up?”

“I’m coming from Saturday service.”

“Church?” His eyes widened and he couldn’t mask the few chuckles that followed. What’s so hard to believe about that?

“Why is that so shocking to you?”

“It’s not shocking, but I just can’t picture you going to church on a Saturday night. Maybe Sunday service, but Saturday night? No one under forty is going to a Saturday night service.” Alright. He got me there.

“I went with my mother, sister, and brother-in-law.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Celeste.” I tossed my jacket on the arm of the couch right after placing the Styrofoam cup filled with hot chocolate on the glass coffee table.

“Lace? You sure you just went to church? Lace is more date night.” The lace is in places that most wouldn’t consider sexy. There is no cleavage on display; not even a bit of thigh. I would have been scolded endlessly had I done that.

“Why does lace have to be for a date night? Lace is universal. I used to wear white lace gloves to church when I was about five.”

“You’re certainly not five now.” Our eyes met and I took yet another sip of the warm sweetened drink. Suddenly, I wish it was a frozen hot chocolate.

“Someone did try to take me on a date though.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, but we’ve developed enough of a connection to the point where we share a lot of random and sometimes private information with one another.

“Who?” He hadn’t taken the game off of pause yet; didn’t reach for the hot chocolate either.

“Remember the friend who I mentioned to you? The one whose father died in the same war that mine did? Him. His name is Quinton.”

“I figured he was more than a friend when you mentioned him.”

“Why?” We were kids at the time. I didn’t emphasize much more than that.

“I don’t know. I just felt it.”

“Well, believe me when I tell you that we’re just friends. I’m not interested. There was a point in time when we crossed a boundary but nothing more came out of it.”

“Okay.” I was surprised that he didn’t question me about the boundary but then again, he’s just as intuitive as I am most times. He knows what boundary that was.

“He’s a councilman in Brooklyn now. He’s going to run for a seat in the Senate soon enough. Politics are his thing. He’s been trying to take me out for a while. For whatever reason, he thinks we’re a good fit for one another.”

“And you don’t?” As he stretched out his lengthy fingers, I could hear the sounds of a few of them cracking.

“No. I don’t think we relate much. We gel well as distant friends more than anything else. He’s looking for a wife. I don’t want to be that.”

“His wife or anyone’s wife?”

“I don’t know. Marriage isn’t something that I’ve made a part of my plans when I mapped them out. It’s not something that I’ve ruled out, but I’m not necessarily yearning for it either. It’s more of an it is what it is situation for me. You?”

“Initially, it was a big ass no. I wasn’t pressed for it. I watched my pop marry someone and I knew he didn’t want to get married. Ultimately, it didn’t work out for him. Now, I’m not against it. Whenever that day comes, it’ll come. I just want to do it one time when it does come. When I get down on one knee, I have to absolutely know that this is it and this person is going to be the one I’m growing towards wrinkles and diapers with. That shit has to work out.”

I’m sure everyone who stands at an alter and vows their life to someone feels exactly the same way he does. It’s supposed to be final; that moment to seal the deal between your soul and someone else’s. It’s tricky though. That honeymoon bliss eventually turns into tests of tolerance and plenty of trials and tribulations. In being around my parents, I was exposed to many of their friends’ marriages. Sure, they were in love, but I’m not sure if a few of them were genuinely happy.

“That’s fair.”

“So, this Quinton guy, he’s never getting a chance to prove himself? Not even one date?”

“Probably not.”

“What about me?” I didn’t expect it to go that route, but I know it’s been lingering on his mind since we began to bond with one another.

“Everything about us will never make sense and we both know this. Even what we’re doing right now wouldn’t go without question. I’m not supposed to be here or anywhere near you.” He sighed, not in defeat, but in disappointment at the words that I’d chosen as a response.

“How is that?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest. Did you think that I was speaking in jest when I said that the night, we all hung out after your game? Having a personal relationship with you will easily have me viewed as someone who has a bias towards you and all that you do. I already catch hell for what I said about you, so can you imagine what would happen if TMZ happened to catch up the two us leaving some restaurant or nightclub together? Do you understand what would happen if you were to post or say anything about me on social media beyond whatever it is that I say about you in a professional setting? I would not only be ripped to shreds, but I’d be fired. Why do you think I kept stressing you and the guys about not post anything whenever I was visiting you at the hospital? Why do you think I was sneaking in, so bundled up?” The pictures and videos that are on his phone and everyone else’s are for personal memories. I don’t mind that. I figured they’d be something to put a smile on his face whenever he needs one, just as they do for me.

“Does it say in your contact that you will be fired for any of this?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t against the ethical code and conduct of the company? I would be forced to resign. Not only that, but do you realize how hard it is to be taken seriously as a female sports journalist? If you let the public tell it, I’m screwing every single athlete that I’m standing within five feet of. I’m not supposed to know about sports. You know how many ‘get in the kitchen’ comments I get? Hell, the NFL fans are the harshest. They tell me that I don’t know shit and I belong on my back for a living.”

“Because they’re fucking ignorant.”

“And yet it’s my reality. I’m not trying to nag you about this because I know what I signed up for and I can handle it, but how do I handle standing in front of the president of ESPN and him telling me to write my resignation letter before they’re forced to publicly embarrass me by firing me?”

“Within all that you said, you know you’re also saying that we can’t be friends and yet here you are, sitting here with me. I didn’t tell you to come here tonight. You came on your own.”

“Because I figured you were a bit upset. It’s the vibe I’d gotten in the text messages.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going with? You could have kept texting me. You came because you care and because you wanted to.”

“I do care about you. I just have to wonder how much do you care about me if you’re okay with me jeopardizing everything that I have and everything that I am for you and only you.” Instantly, he turned his head in my direction and narrowed his eyes.

“Me and only me? So, I’m in this alone?”

“In what?” I had to stand up. Not only had the tension in the room thickened, but my legs refused to remain settled. I kept bouncing them in an anxiousness that I couldn’t comprehend.

“Sarai. Seriously? And I’m not asking you to jeopardize your career.”

“Then what are you asking me to do?”

“I don’t…” His ran his hands threw his blonde curls and tightly closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was only dropping by to check on you. I’m going to go.”

“Sarai.”

He frowned as I grabbed my jacket from the arm the chair and threw it over my shoulders. The quicker I leave, the better off we’ll both be in terms of riding ourselves of the steam. I’m tired anyway.

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a call to see how you’re doing soon.”

“You don’t have to go. That’s not what any of that was supposed to cause.”

“But I do. I need to go.”

Once my clutch bag was secured under my arm, I grabbed my keys off of the table.

“Sarai.”

“Be safe in here. Stay off of your foot.”

I was out of his door before we could exchange another set of words with one another and quite frankly, I’m not sure when I’ll ever walk through it again. I don’t have much, despite whatever people may see or believe. There are plenty of question marks next to a lot of the emotional aspects of life’s necessities but I do have my sanity and everything that I worked damn hard for. If that’s suddenly snatched away from me, then what’s left? A mother who doesn’t know much about me beyond what she assumes or wishes I were and an older sister who doesn’t take me seriously? Much like Beckham, I’m chasing a legacy and I have a lot more to do to make it eternally standing.

One date. We’ll do it somewhere around our old stomping grounds; it’ll feel nostalgic. Next week. I’ll get back to you with the day. Here’s your time.

If I have to choose right now, that’s the choice that makes the most sense.

[let-it-raines]

Another Bad Christmas Movie (1/2)

Summary: Emma Swan’s life is not a Christmas movie. Sure, there are some aspects of it that are similar, but that’s true for everyone who has a pulse and has ever heard All I Want For Christmas is You (don’t lie, you probably sing along to it). So maybe she’s a little frustrated and annoyed with some holiday traditions, especially the cheesy ones in the movies, but Killian Jones is going to help change all of that. 

Rating: Mature-ish to err on the safe side but mostly just holiday fun. 

Also found on ao3 | here |

Part Two will be posted tomorrow or on the 26th since this was too long to just be a one-shot. But it’s a gift and Christmas, and I’m not leaving everyone hanging as much as usual. 

Surprise @searchingwardrobes I’m your @cssecretsanta2k18! 🎅🏻 I got my little message with your name and immediately thought, huh, I got another Southern girl! I have no idea how much you knew about me to begin with, and it was so, so hard trying to be anonymous without giving too much away but still letting you know me a little. I’m sure you figured it out anyways. Getting to know you has been an absolute joy, Melanie, and I hope you have the merriest of Christmases! I also hope that you enjoy this story! You were pretty broad with what you like, but I may have done some stalking on you during this last month to help guide parts of this story! I think you’ll find some little Easter eggs (or more appropriately Christmas ornaments) just for you.  ♥️🎄🎁

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic  @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma 

“I think Christmas magic can heal everything,” Annabeth swoons to William, her body wrapped up in a festive red and green coat with a white dress underneath. She takes a step closer to William, her hand tentatively and appropriately placed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing the slightest bit. “I think it can even heal someone like you who doesn’t believe in Christmas.”

“You know, Beth,” William smiles, his own festive hat on top of his head shielding him from the snow falling down, “I think you’re right. But it’s not just the magic of Christmas.”

“No?”

“No,” he shakes his head, the smile on his face growing brighter, “it’s the magic of your love.”

“I love you, too,” Annabeth grins before pressing up on her toes and chastely pressing a kiss against Willian’s lips before the camera zooms out to show all of the townspeople milling around town square, white Christmas lights strung between the buildings with William and Annabeth somehow standing alone right next to the oversized Christmas tree. Right before the screen fades to black, the star on the top of the tree flickers before the credits roll.

“That’s a load of crap,” Emma groans, throwing a piece of her popcorn at the television screen like she’s Reese Witherspoon in that one scene in Legally Blonde where she calls Brad Pitt a liar. Emma’s always related to that scene more than most of that movie, and if anyone were to ask her, she’s only seen the movie once or twice and not dozens of times.

“You only say that because you’re the Grinch of Storybrooke, Emma,” her mom chastises, and isn’t she too old to be chastised by her mother?

“That’s not true,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and sinking further into the couch, wondering if she can just disappear and somehow get out of this conversation she’s very clearly just walked herself into it. Maybe she’s a bit of a Grinch. For tonight at least.

“Yes, it is, sweetheart. This movie is romantic, and yes, it’s a little bit cheesy but that’s part of the appeal.”

“First of all, it’s November, so why the hell is Hallmark even showing Christmas movies? Shouldn’t they be showing Thanksgiving movies or something like that?”

“What’s a Thanksgiving movie?”

“A movie where they romanticize the Thanksgiving holiday.”

She’d like to see a movie where they fall in love over preparing a turkey. They pull all of the innards out together and then that little tag thing at the end. It’s disgusting, and not nearly as aesthetically appealing as baking perfectly done Christmas cookies or making pies that are family recipes that date back centuries. Excuse her if she doesn’t believe that Annabeth’s great great grandmother was making a blueberry pie with snowflake shaped pie crust and Bluebell ice cream one hundred years ago.

“Thanksgiving just doesn’t have quite the appeal of Christmas. I mean, look at this. There’s snow covering the ground as the two of them fall in love again over hot chocolate and baking together. Isn’t that the dream?”

“Oh, yes. I’d love to fall in love with my high school boyfriend again, Mom. He was a gem.”

Mary Margaret smiles at her, and Emma already knows the words that are going to come out of her mother’s mouth. Yeah, she definitely walked right into this one. She has no excuses other than the inability to not shut her mouth.

“I’d like you to fall back in love with him, too. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be with your first love? It’s like your father and me. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“Mom, I get that you romanticize everything, but you have to stop romanticizing my relationship with Neal. He was, still is, an asshole. Just because your first love worked out, doesn’t mean mine has to. I don’t know why you can’t understand that first loves aren’t who you have to end up with. I swear it’s like we have this conversation every time you see him in town.”

“Emma, I’m – ”

“Save it.” She gets up from her seat on the couch and goes to wrap herself in her jacket, fluffing out the hair that gets stuck under the collar. “I’m going to the Rabbit Hole. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the next movie.”

As soon as the front door slams behind her and she feels the first gust of cold wind hitting the bare skin of her face, her ears reddening already as her entire body shivers, she knows that she’s messed up when it comes to her mom. She’s just too stubborn to open up the door and go back in to talk about it like the adult she is, instead wandering down the street from her parents’ house to get something to drink and then go home to the quiet paradise that is her apartment. She loves her mom. She really does, but some things she just can’t stomach anymore. Her high school boyfriend, Neal, was a cheater and a liar and an all around horrible human being, and her mom constantly thinks they should get back together because “they were so cute together.” It’s sickening sometimes to see someone so idealistic about the world, and while Emma knows that all Mary Margaret wants is for her to be happy, she’s got to stop pushing her together with people who she doesn’t want to be with. If she wants to find love…well, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. But it’s not going to come from her mother’s naïve pushing.

It’s freezing tonight, and she wishes she had something other than her red leather jacket to keep her warm. She needs something made of wool along with her gloves and her beanie, but she wasn’t exactly planning on walking through the late night air to go to a bar by herself. She doesn’t usually go into the Rabbit Hole. It’s…seedy at its best, and if she goes, she never goes alone no matter how crime free Storybrooke usually is.

All thanks to Sheriff David Nolan, of course.

When she opens the beaten down wooden door, a rush of warm air hits her that allows her entire body to practically sigh in relief as her boots cause the hardwood floors to squeak and one or two men at the pool table to look over at her. A different kind of shiver runs through her body at their stares, and even if she can handle herself, she hurries to one of the many empty seats at the bar. It’s quiet in here tonight, more bare than she’s ever seen it before, but she’s also never been in here on a Tuesday this early.

“What can I get you, lass?”

“A whiskey sour and an explanation as to why the Deputy Sheriff is serving me a drink tonight.”

Killian laughs before turning around and quickly fixing her drink, sliding it over to her before propping his arms on the bar counter and scratching behind his ear as his lips quirk up to one side.

“It seems that my brother has come down with a cold, and,” he motions to the practically empty bar, “he couldn’t give up all of the potential business that he guaranteed would come from tonight.”

“Yeah, it’s super crowded in here. Really a booming business. Everyone must be out committing crimes because the Deputy Sheriff is otherwise occupied with all of these bar goers.”

“Ah, ah, love,” he chuckles, inching a bit closer to her before flashing her with one of his grins that she knows so well, “your father is on parole tonight, and no one pulls the wool over his eyes. So our lovely little town should be crime free, especially since two of my five customers are Will and Leroy.”

“That’s a very good point.”

“So tell me about all of your woes, darling.”

“I’ve never told a bartender about my woes before. I think you watched too many movies before coming in here to fill in.”

“Aye, but you look like something is bothering you. I’ve known you long enough that you’re a bit of an open book.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Also, not to take away from Ruby, but we both know I’m your best mate. You’re going to tell me your woes sooner or later. Might as well do it now.”

He makes a good point. She was going to call him after she got something to drink. She probably should have called and asked him to come get something to drink with her, but all she wanted was to be alone for a little while. Then she saw his face behind the bar and was thankful for this little stroke of luck at already having him here. They might as well do the whole cliché bartender thing where she fills her body with alcohol and spills her guts to him. Yet here, in this situation, the bartender already knows most of her woes. He’s been there for pretty much all of them, and she can’t lie to him if she tries. She might have her superpower with lying when it comes to, well, everyone, but Killian Jones has one when it comes to her, something that happens when you’ve known someone since you were five and he was seven.

That’s…twenty-three years of personal information.

“My mother and I got into a fight because she thinks that my life should be a Hallmark movie like hers.”

Killian leans forward again, propping his chin on his fist and changing his soft smile into a cheeky grin before shrugging his shoulders. “Is your life not a Hallmark movie? A beautiful woman living in an idyllic seaside town working as a freelance artist and living down the street from your Sheriff of a father and elementary school teacher of a mother who are the perfect examples of good and kind people. That sounds a bit like one of those movies to me.”

“You forgot the biggest part.”

He raises his eyebrows, waggling them like he’s done ever since she can remember. How does he even do that? She can move hers ups and down but not like that. It’s some kind of weird facial thing, and he’s always used it to his advantage to make her laugh or tease her.

“I didn’t forget. I just think there’s more to your life than having a man love you. It’d be nice, and that’d be the luckiest bastard in the world, but it doesn’t define you, love.”

“Yeah, well, my mom doesn’t see it that way. She’s got this fixation that I should get back together with Neal.”

Killian raises an eyebrow (there he goes again) in shock or confusion or something. “Why the bloody hell would she suggest you get back together with the man who slept his way through town while he was still dating you?”

“Because my mother is an idealist who thinks that your only love can be your first love.”

“No offense to your darling mother, but that’s rubbish. I wouldn’t get back together with my first love for all of the money in the world.”

“I’m glad someone in this town is sensible. Even Neal tries to ask me out sometimes, and I just don’t understand that. He betrayed my trust, and he thinks that just because ten years have passed, I’m going to jump back into bed with him? Like, what the hell?”

She ends up staying to talk to Killian for the rest of his shift, keeping him company into the late-night hours. She doesn’t drink any more than her one glass, and by the time it’s two in the morning, she’s completely forgotten about her fight with her mother and her distaste for Hallmark movies. She hadn’t seen Killian for a week, something unusual considering how he lives in her building and works for her father, so they used the time to catch up, telling tales of the adventures of his work at the station as well as the weird things people ask her to paint (she is not going to do a nude portrait of Granny no matter how much the woman offers her…maybe a lifetime of free grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings…maybe). Of course, as they always do, they fall into reminiscing on their childhood, tonight getting caught up how much trouble they got in when they were in elementary school and prank called residents from her dad’s phone at the station. She’d been eight and Killian ten, and it was the first time either of them had gotten grounded.

Now, though, she’s twenty-eight to Killian’s thirty, and they don’t get grounded for any of their shenanigans, mostly because the most they do is each eat their own box of pizza while drinking rum in one of their apartments.

But also because they’re adults.

After locking up the bar and making sure that Will and Leroy get home safely (a police officer is never off duty, love), Killian walks her to her apartment – okay, so hers is two floors up and a fire escape away from his so he was going that way anyways – his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his beanie on top of her head to keep her warm. His little elf ears are tipped in red from the cold, his new shorter hair cut showing them off, and she has to stifle her giggle so as not to laugh at them. She thinks a lot of the cheesiness of Christmas is crap, but if every elf was like her best friend, maybe it wouldn’t all be bad.

“G’night, love,” he whispers after getting her inside her apartment door, the coolness of it after a day of nonuse almost as bad as the chill outside. “You bringing your dad lunch tomorrow?”

“I am before I have to go buy new paints.”

“Good,” he takes a step back, snatching the knit hat off of her head, “I think I’d like a toasted sandwich with some of that tomato soup from Granny’s, if you’d be so kind.”

She doesn’t get a chance to say that he can buy his own damn lunch before he’s jogging down the staircase at the end of the hall and heading to his own apartment. She hears a few muffled curses before she closes her front door, and the goofball most definitely just tripped on the stairs.

Her week passes quickly, a surprising amount of people asking her to take last minute Christmas card photos or commissioning her to edit the photos they’ve already taken and making them into themed cards. She mostly deals with painting because that’s what she loves, but she’d go broke if that was the only thing she did. Storybrooke isn’t exactly an expensive town to live in, but a girl’s got to live in some place other than the shady apartments down past the docks or with her parents. So she takes photos to live. She’s done everything from weddings to Christmas cards to family portraits to portraits of pets. That last one is her favorite. If her apartment allowed dogs, she’d get one, no question. She had a border collie growing up, sweet Wilby, and she’d love to have another precious companion like that.

Maybe someday.

She’s just finishing the edits of Anna and Kristoff’s Christmas cards, the two of them wanting a bright, colorful card while Anna’s sister Elsa wants a card of whites and icy blues, when she hears muffled curses and a loud bang out on her fire escape.

It’s either a burglar or…

Killian.

Sighing, she rolls back in her desk chair and goes to her living room window, unlocking it and lifting up the glass pane to see Killian’s head pop up through the gap for the ladder, his black hair covered in a red and white Santa hat, and when he pulls himself up on the metal platform, she sees that he’s got several brown paper grocery bags.

“What are you doing, Killian? You know I have a front door? And you have a key to it, by the way.”

“Aye,” he grunts, scrambling to his feet and through the window, handing her the grocery bags so that he can more easily get inside, “but Ms. Roberts is sitting on the staircase, and I’d rather not get roped into her trying to set me up with her daughter again.”

“Why don’t you want to date her again?”

“Well, she’s seventeen for one, and I find myself liking adults.”

“You make a valid point.” She takes the bags and walks them the few feet to her kitchen counter. Her apartment is basically one room with a bedroom and bathroom down the hall in the back, and she can get to anything she needs in just a few steps. Shuffling through the bags she sees sugar, eggs, milk, icing, sprinkles, everything one would need to make…cookies.

“Killian, did you get a sudden urge to make cookies? You don’t even like cookies that much.”

“Eh,” he protests, reaching up to scratch at his ear before moving down to rub at his scruff, “I like them on occasion,” he pats his stomach, “but I do like to keep in shape by avoiding a lot of sweets.”

“So why the sudden penchant for baking?”

“Because, darling, I was thinking – ”

“That’s never a good idea.”

Killian rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “You’re being awfully cheeky, Nolan, when I’m about to change your entire world.”

“With your baked goods?”

“Is that an innuendo?”

“How could that possibly be an – ” she slaps his chest when the realization hits her, and he simply waggles his eyebrows and gets and cheeky grin plastered across his face as well, “ – you’re so gross. So how are you going to rock my entire world?”

His left eyebrow raises even higher, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize where she’s messed up. “I mean change my world. How are you going to change my world?”

“I’m going to make you believe in the wonders of Christmas!” She peers into the bag again, her skepticism rising with every moment that passes. She gets frustrated baking with the cookie dough that comes pre-cut. She can’t imagine how annoyed she’ll get having to make them from scratch. How the hell does Killian even know how to make cookies from scratch? And how is it going to make her believe in the wonders of Christmas? She already believes in the wonders of Christmas. She just doesn’t believe in some of the overly cringe-worthy Christmas activities they do in Hallmark movies where the people somehow fall in love in a month. It’s unrealistic.

“Through cookies?”

“Cookies, among other things, aye. I was thinking about our conversation at the bar the other day, and while, no, life isn’t a Hallmark movie, there are some things I think we could learn from them. So you and I are going to partake in as many cheesy Christmas traditions as we can.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“Because I was thinking that you deserve to love Christmas, Emma. I know you don’t hate it or anything, but not every tradition is bad. And I don’t want you to be so bitter about your relationships in the past that you can’t have fun.”

“Aren’t most of these activities romantic? I mean, that’s what those movies are about. I’m not bitter by the way. I was just pissed at my mom.”

“Aye, but they don’t have to be romantic.” Okay, so he’s just ignoring her protests then, unpacking all of the ingredients and placing them on her countertops. “Come on, love. It’ll be fun. I’ll make it fun, and it’ll be so much better than us slopping around in our apartments doing nothing.”

Killian has apparently never once made cookies from scratch, so it takes three hours and five batches before they finally get a cookie sheet full of oddly shaped (he brought Christmas shaped cookie cutters to really round out the fun, and they do not work in the slightest) sugar cookies. Her entire apartment is going to smell like sugar for days, and she’s pretty sure that their super is going to yell at them for how much trash they put down the shoot. Killian also yelled at her for trying to sneak a cookie fresh out of the oven, so it’s really just par for the course at this point.

“They have to cool, darling. We’re decorating them.”

“Do you know how to decorate cookies?”

“No, but you’re a painter. You can figure it out, can’t you?”

It takes a trip to the grocery store (and a detour for Granny’s grilled cheese) to get piping bags and more decorating tools, and another three hours later, her kitchen countertops are all filled with highly festive Christmas cookies. She may have gone a little overboard and made hers look like something you see in stores while her rejects and Killian’s look more akin to something a child would make, smeared icing and mixed colors that make what’s supposed to be a white angel look more like a greenish-gray blob.

If she puts a side by side comparison of their decorating skills on Instagram, no one has to know.

Okay, so all of her followers have to know. She’s pretty dang proud of her cookies.

And a little bit proud of Killian’s, too.

“You know,” Killian muses as he takes a bite of that very same greenish-gray blob of a cookie, the two of them sitting on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets with her jeans completely covered in flour, “just because something is ugly on the outside, doesn’t mean it tastes bad on the inside.”

“Is that supposed to be philosophical?”

“It’s supposed to a point about how my cookies taste just as good as yours.”

“That’s what she said,” Emma mumbles under her breath before reaching up on the counter only to pull down one of Killian’s cookies. This one is definitely very green and very much a Christmas tree. The ornaments on it, however, are a different story. At least she thinks they’re ornaments.

“Darling, you know I love a good innuendo,” he purrs, his voice lowering so that she has no choice but to look over at him only to see his dark brows dancing across his face while his lips twitch, “but you and I both know that we would not have the same type of cookies. You’d likely be a ginger cookie, sweet but a little snappy, while I’d be more like a yule log.”

“A yule…” she slaps his chest again as laughter bubbles inside of her own. He’s an idiot, but he’s a damn good friend. “You’re such a weirdo. An inappropriate weirdo.”

“Aye, that I am. I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the cookie-baking team.”

“Why would that upset me?”

“Well, maybe because you enjoyed your time partaking in a cheesy Christmas tradition.”

She did, but she’s not going to admit that to Killian. At least not yet. He’d be far too smug for his own good if she told him that, so she simply shrugs. “Keep thinking that, Jones.”

He helps her package all of the cookies up, and she doesn’t fail to notice when he puts some of the more neatly decorated ones in his Tupperware container instead of simply taking the ones he decorated himself, the thief.

It’s not How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

It’s How Killian Stole the Christmas Cookies.

Okay, okay, so maybe she’s as bad at naming movies as the people in charge of the Hallmark channel are as well.

Eventually Killian has to leave, citing her dad making him work the night shift tonight, and she sends him off with his travel mug of coffee (one sugar with the tiniestbit of milk) and his container full of cookies. He’s still teasing and taunting her, telling her to just admit that she had a good time this afternoon, but she won’t simply because Killian wants her to. Then, right as he’s about to step out the door – and not the fire escape – he reaches forward and swipes his pointer finger over her lips, the sensation causing her cheeks to tingle.

“You’ve a bit of icing on the corner of your lips, love,” he explains, and when the man licks the finger with the offending icing, his tongue flickering out as he hums, her stomach starts to flutter, the pinpricks matching the ones in her cheeks.

She doesn’t know what’s happening, what this unfamiliar sensation is, but she doesn’t like it.

“You and icing, Nolan, a batch made in heaven.”

And then Killian walks out of her front door, leaving her, but those pinpricks still remain.

Emma thinks that the cookie incident is going to be a one-time thing, that she and Killian are going to go back to normal and just drink beer and eat pizza while binging Netflix shows far into the early hours of the morning when Killian doesn’t have to work the next day. But no, he sticks to this whole little scheme of making her enjoy the very things she complained about at the bar.

That’ll be last time she ever spills her guts to Killian Jones…okay, so she knows that’s not true.

During the first week of December, they go shopping for decorations for her apartment, Killian loading up the shopping cart with red, white, green, and patterned ornaments as well as several boxes of colored lights.

“I don’t have enough space for all of these lights.”

“Trust me, love. You’re going to have space.”

“I don’t have a tree for any of this either.”

He winks. “We’re getting there.”

After her apartment looks like some kind of winter wonderland – well, one that’s still packaged up – with various Christmas scented candles, including her personal favorite Mountain Lodge. She doesn’t know what it is about it, but when it’s lit, the wick gently flickering and the scent permeating throughout her apartment, it makes her feel like she’s wrapped up in something comforting, like her father’s hug or one of Killian’s sweatshirts from the police academy, the frayed edges falling across her thighs. It’s ridiculous, but her life is nothing but ridiculous at this point.

Killian drags her to a Christmas tree farm, one filled with evergreen Douglas Firs and Blue Spruces. There’s apparently a few other kinds, but she can’t remember the names of them now. She didn’t even know the first two until Killian told her. She just kind of thought they were all Christmas trees, not really realizing there were so many different…breeds. Is breeds the right words for Christmas trees? Is it the same as dogs? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Okay, so it apparently matters to Killian.

Snow hasn’t quite hit Storybrooke yet, surprisingly enough. The white powder is usually coating the town at this point of December, usually even during November if the stars align, but there’s only the slightest dusting of snow, more like ice than anything else, causing the air to be brisk enough for the need to be wrapped up in warm clothes to go outside. So she and Killian trudge through the rows of trees, passing families all bundled up in their puffy jackets and knit hats, little pom poms bouncing of their heads that likely match the one on Emma’s beanie. Emma may be the so-called Grinch of Christmas (which, so not true, Mom), but at least she dresses festively (and practically). They’re picking out a Christmas tree, and Killian is in his normal head to toe black, the only concession he’s making to his red and gray plaid shirt, unbuttoned of course, because God forbid Killian cover up his chest hair.

“Aren’t you cold?” she ponders as the trees start to get taller, almost to the point of what she knows is her ceiling’s capacity.

“I’m from London, darling,” he concedes, running his hands along the green limbs, little bristles falling with each of his touches, “this Maine weather is nothing.”

“First of all, you haven’t lived in London for twenty-three years. Second of all, you’re a liar. The tips of your ears are red.” She stands on her toes to grab at his ears, wiggling them, and they’re like ice underneath her touch. “Where’s your beanie?”

“In my coat pocket.”

She presses down on her feet, the dried grass crunching underneath the heels of her boots before she reaches into his pocket and pulls the gray knit hat out, the material soft against her fingertips. It only takes her a moment to press up onto her toes again and pull the beanie over Killian’s hair, making sure that his ears are covered before pulling back and patting him on the shoulders.

“There. Now you won’t lose your ears to the cold.”

He smiles at her, a small little closed lipped thing that causes his eyes to crinkle and her breath to unexpectedly catch, the white puffs not passing through her lips for a moment. “I’m made of tougher material than that, Emma Nolan. Not all of us have to be bundled like we’re in the arctic.” He reaches over to pull at the fuzzy ball at the top of her hat, tugging it before patting her head like she’s some kind of child, and all of the pent-up breath releases in an exasperated sigh. “Let’s go get you a tree.”

It takes several hours, a shocking amount of cursing passing through Killian’s lips, help from Leroy, who apparently works at the tree farm and Belle – the poor woman passing them as they tried to get the tree into the entrance to the apartment – but they do eventually get the tree inside, positioning it in the small space next to her bay window. They’d had to move her furniture around, making everything cramped, and cut off a little of the tree, but now she’s got a fully decorated Christmas tree lighting up her apartment, making everything glow in the reflection of the multi-colored lights.

Sighing, she flops down onto the couch, propping her feet up in Killian’s lap while his are propped up on the coffee table.

“So, Jones, why didn’t we get one of those for you too since you’re the great holiday elf?”

He’s messing with her socked toes, the mismatched polka dots and stripes bright against Killian’s dark jeans. “Figured I didn’t need one.”

“Why the hell not? I thought we were experiencing all of the magic of Christmas.”

“Aye, love,” he squeezes her foot before resting his head on the back of the couch and smirking, “but I’m over here more often than I’m downstairs. Figured there wasn’t a need for two. Plus, what fun would it be getting the tree into my flat when we had to walk it up four floors for you?”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re trying to torture me with all of these activities?”

“Exactly.”

The next week Killian is busy at the station while she seeks out last minute commissions for Christmas gifts, walking around town and asking everyone she knows if they’d like Christmas cards, personalized stationary, any paintings for gifts. Storybrooke is a small town, one of those places where you know almost everyone, and it’s likely the only reason she doesn’t have to pick up a regular job, though she will occasionally fill in for Ruby at the diner. By the end of her first day seeking out extra jobs, she had enough to keep her busy for the week – or the entire month though she doesn’t have that long to work on them – and for her rent to be paid with enough left over for Christmas gifts.

The week isn’t filled with as many Christmas activities, and Emma wonders if maybe Killian will calm down on his quest and realize that he doesn’t need to be doing all of this just because she was frustrated with her mom and the Hallmark channel on one night.

On Thursday night she’s just snuggling under her comforter, the fluffy white blanket keeping her warm as the temperature continually drops to almost unbearable levels. As soon as she boots up her laptop, scrolling through emails to look for discounts to buy her mom some new sweaters, she hears her front door slam. Her body tenses, self-defense mechanisms kicking in, and just as she starts to throw the covers off of her legs, Killian comes barging into her bedroom, his cheeks red and his chest heaving.

“What the hell?” She tosses her pillow at him, her own chest heaving as she tries to regulate her breathing. “Why are you barging in like that?”

“It’s snowing.”

“And?”

He doesn’t answer, instead rifling through her closet and throwing sweaters at her along with some of her sweatpants, before moving through her drawers, only hesitating when he gets to her underwear drawer and turns to look at her.

“Nolan, you have a hell of a lot of red lace in here.”

“Shut up. Why are you even looking in there?”

“I’m looking for the socks that go with your wellies.”

“Bottom drawer.”

He closes away her underwear drawer (her face is now undoubtedly as red as that lace) before rifling through the bottom drawer to find her socks and tossing those at her as well.

“Get dressed, love. We’re going on an adventure.”

“Are you bringing snacks?”

He rolls his eyes before putting his hands on his hips and tiling his head to the side while he stares at her. “I’m not an idiot. I dare not force you out into the cold without providing you with food.”

“Good.”

She and Killian make their way to the docks, passing all of the boats (“some are ships, love”) only to climb the stairs of the lighthouse, her legs burning and her breath heavy by the time they reach the top. When Killian nudges open the door, having to push his shoulder against it while she pushes to get the rusty hinges open, she’s suddenly hit by a rush of chilled air and a view that she’s never seen before.

Storybrooke looks enchanting, the roofs covered in white with red and green lights reflecting off the streets, the snow only making it brighter. She can see a few people milling around the Rabbit Hole, the neon lights reflecting off the snow from it glaringly obvious compared to the Christmas lights adorning the roofs of the neighbors. She wonders if Liam is working tonight. She’s sure that he is, and that Graham will most definitely get a call for drunk and disorderly conduct. She might not work at the police station, but between her dad and Killian, plus days working there as a teenager, she may as well be a deputy. Everything else is closed down, Storybrooke not a place to stay up past midnight, and she thinks that she’ll have to come back to look at it all when some lights from the houses are turned on so that parts of the town don’t seem blacked out.

Twisting her body, she looks out at the ocean, the waves crashing against the snow-covered sand that matches the crests of waves that are slowly rolling in. There’s not a soul to be seen walking along the shore, a place riddled with more memories than she can count – some she’d care to remember while others she wishes would wash away and sink into the depths of the ocean – so the snow and sand remain untouched, like a perfect white blanket next to the deep blue of the water. There’s one ship near the horizon, the lights from it making it visible to her eyes, and her heart constricts looking at the sheer beauty of Storybrooke from above. She’s lived here for the entirety of her life, minus the one year she moved to New York because she needed to get away until Killian brought her home, but she’s never seen her home look quite like this.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Killian agrees before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in closer so that his warmth envelops her, but an unexpected shiver still runs through her, her entire body lightly convulsing so that Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder and his chin rubs against the top of her head.

“How did you know to look up here?”

“Simple. It’s the highest point in town, and I knew that you’d like the landscape view.”

She hums before pulling herself further into Killian and resting her head against his shoulder. He’s warm, and it’s freezing out. She loves the snow, loves the way it looks, but it’s cold and wet, often turning into mud and causing more issues than it causes beauty.

“So you said something about snacks?”

He rustles around in his coat pocket with his free hand until a foil package is placed in her eyeline, what’s obviously grilled cheese now obstructing her view of the town.

Or possibly making it better.

“God,” she groans, just thinking about how good that’s going to be even without being hot, “you’re the best.”

“So I’ve been told.”

They stay up at the lighthouse for a few more minutes before a chill wracks her body and she can’t be outside for much longer before she freezes to death. Killian’s body heat helps, but it’s not exactly enough, so she has to beg him to go home. Walking down the lighthouse steps is a hell of a lot easier than walking up, but by the time they’re at the apartment and she sees the staircase leading up to her apartment, she doesn’t think her legs can carry her any longer.

“I’m not doing it,” she whines, sitting down on the bottom set of stairs while Killian takes two at a time and is already at the first landing.

“You’re being pathetic.”

“I’m tired. I went running this morning, and then you made me climb so many stairs. It was so manystairs, Killian.”

Killian bounds down the stairs, his footsteps heavy until he’s squatting down in front of her, this stupid annoying look on his face while his eyebrows dance across his forehead. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“Would you really do that?”

She normally wouldn’t do this, but her legs feel like they’re on fire and about to turn into very heavy weights. Plus, she doesn’t think Killian will actually do it.

“Up to my apartment, but that’s it.”

Oh, so he will do it. She’s so distracted by that fact that Killian’s about to carry her up the stairs so that her next words slip out without her thinking. “Fine then. I’m sleeping with you tonight.”

“Well, love,” Killian grunts, pulling her up off the stairs before hooking his hands under thighs and picking her up like she weighs nothing, “I’ve been waiting for that for years.”

“Shut up, you goofball. I meant I’m just going to crash at your place.”

“I know, I know.” He takes the first few steps before loosening his grip around her so that she almost falls, her shriek so loud that she probably woke the neighbors, before wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing so hard that she’s probably choking him. He deserves it for making her think she was going to fall.

“What the hell was that?”

“You have to lay off the cookies. Couldn’t hold you up.”

“Yeah, well, when we get in trouble for waking up the neighbors for being too loud, I’m blaming it on you.”

“I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

He’s absolutely impossible, and she’s absolutely not going to dignify that with a response. He’s being cheeky, and all she wants to do is go to bed. So he continues to carry her upstairs, this whole charade ridiculous, and after unlocking his door, he walks her inside and drops her onto his mattress, the springs moving underneath her. She doesn’t bother getting up, shucking her boots and socks while Killian ruffles through his drawers and throws her a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt while he heads into his bathroom to change clothes.

This is a routine they’ve done one too many times for her apartment to be upstairs, and after she’s changed her clothes and brushes her teeth with her toothbrush, she settles underneath Killian’s comforter, pulling the blankets around her body and keeping them to herself even as Killian slides onto the other side of the mattress, only tugging over the slightest bit his comforter.

She knows he’s not asleep by the way that his breathing is irregular, so she turns on her side, rolling a bit closer to the middle and throwing some more of the comforter this way.

“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”

“Me too, darling. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry that I’ve made your legs useless.”

She chuckles into her pillow before stretching out of leg and running her foot against Killian’s calves, making him yelp before rolling away from her and off the bed.

“What was that for? Why are you an icicle? You just made me scream at bloody two in the morning.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always wanted to wake up the neighbors because you and I were being too loud.”

[staticsandstationery]

Today was the first snow of the school year in Oklahoma (yes, we’re as surprised as you are) and I’ve noticed SO. MANY students who have no idea whatsoever how to dress or how to be prepared for winter.

I realize Oklahoma has relatively mild winters compared to some of my northern counterparts, but we need to bundle up just as much a everyone else.

First thing’s first, you don’t have to spend a ton of money. College is already hella expensive, so don’t make a bigger deal out of it than you need to.

Let’s start with the basics. LAYERING. This can usually be accomplished with stuff you already own, and if you don’t already own it, you can get it for cheap at places like Target, Old Navy, or even on Amazon. So let’s dive on in.

Here are the essentials (with each item explained in detail if you keep reading):

Base: cotton is fine

Mid: think sweaters or sweatshirts

Outerwear: don’t skimp too much

Footwear: go for waterproof

Socks: warm and tall

Headwear: something that at least covers your ears

Scarves/glove: consider something other than basic knit gloves

Other words of wisdom:

Test your heater at least three days before it’s supposed to get super cold. My roommate and I made that mistake and my house is currently 48F because our heater is broken.

Stock up on blankets. A good fleece blanket goes a longggg way when it comes to keeping you warm.

Get some good slippers and some flannel jammies. You won’t always have to go outside when it’s cold and on a snow day you’ll want to stay in bed. Might as well be nice and cozy while you do!

ALWAYS do your homework anyway, even if it looks like class might get cancelled. You can’t read mother nature’s brain, so just do it and prepare for class. Then you have less to do on your snow day!

Make some good memories. Get some friends together and have a snowball fight, maybe make some snow angels. Drink hot cocoa and watch the snow fall. Whatever you do, try to do it with friends.

Sam’s Guide to Layering

1. Base

For the most part, you shouldn’t need much more than your standard undergarments, and you generally won’t need anything more than cotton. So go for a cotton undershirt and some of your usual undies (still a funny word, even at 23) (disclaimer: if you’re a big outdoorsy person, you might want to step up your game, but if you’re a big outdoorsy person you probably already own the right gear for winter outdoorsy adventures). 

I will say this: I don’t own very warm pants. I own a lot of leggings and a lot of jeggings and that’s about it. So when it’s snowing (like today) I throw a pair of leggings on under my jeggings. This can also be accomplished with thermal leggings or long underwear, but I own neither so I went with some basic athletic leggings I got at Old Navy.

2. Mid

Time for some outer layers. This is where I have fun with sweaters because I own too many (though sweaters don’t block wind so wear a long sleeve shirt if you’re opting to go without a coat) or crewneck sweatshirts because those are my favorite. If you don’t own any of these things, check out the stores in your college town for sales on university sweatshirts or places like Old Navy and Target for deals on sweaters. You can dish out some extra cash for some nice merino wool bought on sale, but you don’t really need to.

3. Outer layer

This is where most people go wrong. If it’s snowing, you need a coat. Let’s say that together, if it’s snowing, you need a coat. I don’t care how tough you think you are, you’re going to want a coat when you’re walking across campus in the wind and snow and sleet and whatever else the weather has going on. This doesn’t have to be a major investment (though you’ll thank yourself if it is). You can go for a wool outer layer from Old Navy for like $40 or you can buy a $120 pea coat from a department store (I own both, and I wear both, often). If you’re the aforementioned outdoorsy type, go for something more waterproof and “functional”.

4. Footwear

Okay, so here’s the deal, whatever you get, you want it to be waterproof. Rainboots can be made warm with the right socks, and hiking boots are amazing alternative to snowboots. You just want to make sure that water doesn’t get in your shoes because then your socks will be soaked and your toes will be cold ALL DAY.

5. Socks

While we’re on the subject of your feet, make sure you have some cozy socks happening. Preferably tall ones. I saw so many girls on campus today wearing leggings and sneakers with exposed ankles and...just please learn from their mistake. Wool ones are preferred, but you can work with what you’ve got.

6. Headwear

I love a good pom pom beanie, but I know that isn’t practical for everyone. Ideally, find something that covers at least your ears but preferably your whole head. If you ride a bike to class, a beanie may not fit under your helmet so you can opt for something more like a headband. Just find something that keeps your ears warm, okay?

7. Scarves/gloves

Okay so not everyone likes scarves, but I love scarves. They’re warm and fuzzy and make me happy. Oh, and I can use them to cover my face when it’s too ridiculously cold outside. Whether you go for more of a blanket scarf situation, knit, or fleece, having a scarf is a better idea than you know. As for gloves: if you’re like me, you’ve spent your life being handed knit gloves that don’t actually do much to keep your hands warm. As far as my favorite gloves, I love C.C.’s anti-slip touchscreen gloves. Wow are those amazing.

Please stay warm, and happy winter!

[elizaxspears]

A Ronilliam fic for the holidays! Is it super cheesy? You bet it is.

He knows William doesn’t expect it, knows he didn’t really need to get him anything, but it’s something Ronald feels William deserves. It hadn’t been long since they started seeing each other; a month at most but even so, it was still their first holiday together. Ronald never asked if William had his own little celebrations, knowing William would have told him if he did, Ronald decided to buy him a gift anyway. Honestly, it’s not even that special of a gift, at least, he’s sure what other couples buy each other. He’d gone through many shops, poking his head in and leaving empty handed until he came across what lay in the box on his lap as he waited for William to come home. Holidays or not, William was not excused from overtime.

He’s got tea already made, a fire going, even some fitting music Ronald’s found buried in the back of William’s closet. He knows maybe he shouldn’t have gone digging though William’s things, but he’s still young (he also wonders how much longer he can actually use that excuse).

He sets his gift aside to greet William at the door, being sure to wear the biggest smile he can. “Hey.” he greets, already assisting William in removing his jacket. The man skims him over before willing letting his arms go lax so Ronald can pull the thick coat off. “Busy?”

“As it tends to be.” William replies, “and thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” the coats hung up and Ronald takes William’s bicep, gently urging the older man to follow him to the couch. “Made tea.”

“Wonderful.” comes William’s reply and Ronald’s sure he’s probably more eager for the beverage then the gift he hasn’t noticed on the couch. But as he picks up the cup waiting for him, he stills, listening intently. “This song…”

“Ah, yeah. Um, found it in your closet.” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry if—”

“My mother loved playing this record when my father wasn’t home. She told me it made her feel closer to him no matter where he may be.” Ronald notes the look of fondness on William’s face, his lips tilted upward in a soft smile. “I haven’t heard any of these songs in years. I forgot I even had them.”

“So, y’ don’t mind?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

Ronald smiles brightly up at him. “Then, maybe you won’t mind that I bought y’ somethin’?”

William looks curiously at Ronald then to the rectangular shaped box Ronald picks up. “Knox, you didn’t need to.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted too. Besides I…I think you’ll like it.”

William sets down his tea and takes the box. The curiosity is something knew on William’s face and Ronald treasures that look. He almost looks just that little bit younger when he’s holding a present someone’s gifted him. Carefully, William opens he cardboard lid and stares down at what’s inside. Ronald bites the corner of his lip when William’s curiosity fades to confusion. “You, ah, I noticed y’ don’t have many ‘off day’ clothes, so I was thinking, maybe this would be nice to wear when you’d get home from work every now and then.” Inside the box is a cream collared wool jumper. William needs to set the box down to remove his gloves and once he does, he feels the fabric between his fingers, his face going soft again. He removes his suit jacket and tie, draping them gently over the back of the couch before pulling out the sweater.

Ronald doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until William pulls the jumper over his head, tugging down the bottom to erase the wrinkles. He’s picked the right size and the colour and fit is very flattering on William. There are two buttons of the collar that are left undone and his hair is out of its normal style after William pulled the sweater down. For once William doesn’t seem to mind. “So…like it?”

William places his hands on his chest, looking down at himself. He hasn’t realized how nice it felt to wear something so casual until he’s thrown this on. “I very much do.” he replies. “Thank you Ronald, truly. I…it’s such a simple gift, but one I am immensely fond of.”

“Really?”

“Quite, yes.” although now he looks a little unnerved, sad even. “I, apologize that I have nothing for you, Ronald. I never expected to even get anything myself. In hindsight, I should have thought of something and I apologize I have nothing to give you.”

Ronald scoffs, walking up to William and wrapping his arms tightly around William’s waist. He presses his head to William’s chest, feels William’s fingers curling into his thick hair, his other arm wrapping equally around Ronald’s own waist. “Nah, you already got me the best present of all Will,” He takes a deep breath then looks up, boosting himself onto his tiptoes for a warm, sweet kiss, and he feels William hold him even closer, unwilling to break the kiss. Even when Ronald does, he doesn’t pull that far away, just enough so he can lock eyes and say, “it’s you.”

[lonelypond]

Jingle Bell Jazz, Chapter 6

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3.5K, 6/?

Christmas At The Yazawas

Maki woke slowly, disturbed by the sense that someone was watching her. She opened her eyes, tensed, and saw not someone, but two someones, two completely unfamiliar crimson stares. Maki blinked and hastily sat up, trying not to frown. One set of eyes belonged to a teenager as tall as Nico’s mom, and a near copy of Nico in coloring. The second set belonged to a young boy, also a Nico copy but slightly shorter, sitting at the coffee table, using a set of Tinkertoys to build a network of platforms for a toy spaceship.

“Launching.” The boy stated.

At the same time the other turned to announce, “Your friend’s awake, Sis.”

“Oh good,” Maki heard Nico’s voice from the kitchen but then the Nico sized body that bulleted into the room had brown hair, not black. Nico followed directly on her third sibling’s heels, “Slow down, Cocoa.”

Oh, the future Olympic runner. Maki pulled the blanket around her shoulders and smiled at the boy. The older of the girls was starting to remind Maki of Nico’s mother, with the way the slightest hint of a scowl started when she glanced at Maki’s hair. Maki raised a hand to it, of course, it was standing straight up over most of the top, now, when she had an audience.

“Introduce us,” The junior Mrs. Yazawa demanded. Nico rolled her eyes.

“Maki Nishikino meet Cocoro, Cocoa, and Cotaro Yazawa.” Cocoro nodded, Cocoa jumped up and down as best she could with Nico having both hands on the younger girl’s shoulders, and Cotaro waved a Tinkertoy in Maki’s direction, “Cocoro, Cocoa, Cotaro, this is Maki. She’s playing piano for Nico’s Super Duper New Year’s Eve Extravaganza.” Nico bowed, “Thank you, Maki.”

That was friendly, Maki was surprised, “Nice to meet all of you.”

“Are you any good?” Cocoro blurted.

“Huh?”

“Are you any good at playing the piano.” Cocoro repeated slowly, “Nico needs someone who can help her continue to get the recognition she deserves.”

“Maki is fine.” Nico let Cocoa go and pulled Cocoro into a hug, “You know Nico only works with the best.”

“But Sis, she doesn’t even look…”

“Now, hush, Cocoro, you know not everybody wakes up as pretty as Nico.” Nico was leading Cocoro back to the kitchen.

“True.”

“Hey!” Maki stood, but her glance was drawn downward as Cotaro shook his head.

Nico glanced over her shoulder, “Nico is making you pancakes. Go wash your face and call your parents.”

Maki watched Cotaro nod knowingly and found herself agreeing with Nico, before she could think about it. “Okay.”  Cotaro nodded and offered her a handful of wooden rods and spools. Maki crouched down to make a quick platform, not aware that Nico had stopped to watch from the kitchen doorway.

                                                                                                 ###

Maki could hear how serious her father was, “We talked to the State Police. Some roads are still impassable. Your mother and I will probably be up here for at least a few extra days. The staff will be back though.”

Maki tried not to whine. Nico could probably hear from where she was in the kitchen, “But Papa.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll bring Santa’s gifts back with us, Maki.” Her father sighed, “You’ve already had one dangerous drive.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Just enjoy your time with your friend, Maki.”

“She’s n…” was Maki really going to say Nico wasn’t her friend...Maki glanced into the kitchen, watching as Nico flipped a pancake, Cocoa watching her excitedly as the younger girl haphazardly set the small table. “She’s making pancakes for her brother and sisters.”

“Sounds cozy. Your mother’s been perfecting her bacon curls. They roll around the plate when I tilt it.”

Maki giggled, her parents for all their seriousness, had an occasional goofy streak. Which is why she was so sad to be missing Christmas with them, it was the one time she was almost guaranteed to see it. But as she watched Nico, pancake batter on her nose, Cocoa and Cocoro clustering as she demonstrated the perfect flipping technique, Maki knew she’d made the right decision.

“I just miss you, Papa. It’s my first Christmas away.”

“And we’re so proud of you for helping Nico. You’re a good friend, Maki.” Her father sounded pleased.

Maki hummed, not sure what to say so her father continued, “Your concert’s on New Year’s Eve right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be back before then. We have that symphony fundraiser on the 30th. You’re still playing right?”

“Of course, Papa.”

“Call us when you get back home.”

“I will.”

“Bring Nico to the event. We’d like to meet her.”

“PAPA!” Maki saw Nico’s attention snap to her and turned her back on the breakfast chef, lowering her voice. “She’s probably busy. I’ll be lucky if she let’s me skip rehearsal.”

“Maki…” Now her father sounded amused.

Maki knew there was no reason not to agree but...Nico would probably refuse and Maki didn't want to hear any further commentary from Nico about Maki's hoity toity and la di da social circles if they got to talking about the event and what Nico should wear. Nothing Maki had seen on her would be appropriate and Maki had no idea how to say that kindly. Her mother would be able to. Maki sighed and realized she was still on the phone and nudged the table with her foot, “I’ll ask her Papa.”

“Good. Merry Christmas. We love you, Maki.”

“Merry Christmas, Papa. I love you too.” Maki hung up the phone, considering what she was going to say to Nico.

As soon as the phone clicked into its cradle, Nico cheerfully called out, “Come get your pancakes, Maki. I can’t cook properly if I’m saving them from hungry teenagers.” Nico snorted, “But I guess you’re a hungry teenager too.”

Maki hurried into the kitchen, took the plate Nico offered her, sat, sniffed, smiled at the warm cinnamon blueberry rush and splashed syrup over the top of her pancakes, “I am a full grown adult with…” Maki took a bite, forgot anything and everything she was planning to say, groaning with pleasure instead, “ecstatic tastebuds. These are amazing Nico. I want them all.” Maki playfully reached over to Cocoa’s plate, fork poised to steal to a pancake as the younger Yazawa batted her away with a giggle.

“Yep, all grown up,” Nico laughed as she took the chair next to Maki.

“Where’s your mother?” Maki asked, mouth full of deliciousness.

“Mama’s taking some gifts to the neighbors,” Cocoro took a break from neatly slicing all of her pancakes into equal bites to answer Maki’s question, “They watch us when she has to stay late at work.”

“Speaking of gifts, there’s something under the tree for you, Maki. Santa must have left it.” Nico smirked as Maki looked curious, lavender eyes bright.

“We already opened ours, but Nico made us do it quietly.” Cocoa pouted.

“It was good practice for being a spy.” Nico announced. “You have to make sure no one steals the rocket blueprints.”

Cocoa giggled. Cotaro made a whooshing noise from the living room. Maki watched as he launched the rocket off the top platform, holding it as high as he could and running around the living room.

“Cotaro” Cocoro snapped, surprising Maki with her stridency, “Put that down and come eat.”

Definitely the next mother in training, Maki thought, wondering vaguely about Nico and children. She seemed to enjoy being surrounded by her siblings. Nico noticed Maki staring and raised an eyebrow. Maki blushed and glanced away. Maybe she could get Nico to cook some more. Cotaro looked hungry too.

“Need another batch?” Nico asked teasingly, but Maki nodded. Nico laughed, “Just give Nico a minute. When are you leaving for Maine?”

“Um…” Maki wasn’t sure what to say.

“Maki?”

“Papa says the roads are closed and I should just head back to the city. They’re going to be snowed in at the camp for a few more days.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Nico smiled at Maki, gentle sympathy in her molten candy eyes, “But then you can stay here and go back with Nico tomorrow.”

“Ummm…” Maki glanced apprehensively at the door,  “Your mother…”

“Mama has no say over Ni…”

Cocoro broke into the conversation, “You know that’s not true, Sis. Mama always says her roof, her ru…”

Nico glared at her sister, “Nico can’t let her friend drive back alone, Mama knows that. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Maki knew it would be perfectly safe but she was relishing her last few bites of pancakes and disinclined to argue.

“Snowball.” Cotaro curved a perfectly round scoop of butter to top his pancakes,

Cocoa squealed, rushing her dish to the sink, “Can we Sis, please, can we? I’ll clean everything up.”

Nico quirked an eyebrow at Maki, “Can you skip a second round of pancakes for a snowball fight and then an amazing Nico-riffic lunch, Maki?”

Cocoa had her hands together, pleading, Cotaro was looking hopeful, Cocoro still frowning at Nico.

Maki tried not to sound too eager. “What kind of lunch…”

Nico snorted, “Stacks of grilled cheese. And tomato soup. Homemade, with Nico’s special spicing.”

Maki grinned, “Okay.”

Excited, Cocoa bounced her hands on Maki’s shoulders, soaking Maki’s nightshirt with arms fresh from the dishpan, “Thank you thank you thank you.”

“Don’t get more popular than Nico.” Nico tapped her knife on Maki’s plate as a warning. Maki shrugged as Cocoa’s playful mood took over the apartment and the youngest sister hopped back to the sink, Maki’s plate and tableware in hand.

                                                                          ####

The younger Yazawas had gotten into their winter gear too fast for Maki to keep up. Maki came out of the bathroom, face washed, changed into wool trousers and a navy, purple, and white Fair Isle sweater for the day. As Nico made sure Cotaro had his mittens, Maki put on her coat, and grabbed her hat off the peg,

“Wait.” Nico said, grabbing Maki’s hat and putting it on her own head, twirling to grab something from under the Christmas tree, “Take this.” She handed the redhead a wrapped bundle.

“What is this?” Maki stared.

“Do we ask questions on Christmas, Cotaro?” Nico asked.

Cotaro shook his head very seriously.

“But…I wasn’t...how…”

“Just open it, silly.” Nico bumped Maki with her shoulder and Maki did as ordered, revealing a soft knit dark gray cap with a white bobble and her name haphazardly stitched into the brim. She stared at Nico for so long that Nico finally just took the cap out of her hands, raised it, pulled it over Maki’s head, brim all the way down to her nose.

“HEY!” Maki grumbled as four Yazawas giggled and bumped past her, the sound of the door opening and a rush of cold air making her think she was being left behind. She pushed the brim up and ran out the open door, closing it behind her, “Wait for me!”

                                                                                ###

Driving gloves were not the best for creating aerodynamic projectiles but at least the snow leaned more fluffy than wet. Cocoro had excellent aim, as did Nico, and Maki found herself ducking behind the wall for protection more than she would care to admit. Cocoa had caught her on the cheek once from short range and the sting had brought tears to her eyes, But now, she and Cocoa were on the same side, ducked behind the wall, looking over the expanse of sparkling snow, a few scattered trees too far for any useful cover for their targets, lining up shots on Nico and Cocoro. Cotaro had distracted himself with building a series of snow people.  Maki pointed at Cocoa, then Cocoro and at herself, then Nico, and Cocoa nodded.

“On 3” Maki whispered, “1...2...3”

WIth a a yell, she threw her first snowball at Nico, then vaulted over the wall holding the second, Cocoa shadowing her motions. Maki’s snowball hit Nico mid torso, Cocoa took off Cocoro’s hat, making the middle sister lose enough control to start chasing the Yazawa family speedster toward the trees. Nico was watching her sisters, not paying much attention at all to Maki, who weighed the snowball and the clear shot, but discreetly let it fall to the ground, thinking the mood was right for getting to know more about Nico.

“You’ll really miss this when you go to Eu…” Maki started but was silenced when Nico’s full weight rammed into her, forcing them both into the snow. Not the closer Maki meant, but not a completely unpleasant experience, after the initial shock. Except proximity to Nico’s simmering glare, that was the bad kind of closer. It burned.

“Don’t talk.” Nico hissed and Maki closed her mouth, staring into Nico’s bright winterberry eyes and feeling every breath. “What is it with you and Europe?”

Nico’s breath smelled like cinnamon and Maki could feel the warmth from the smaller woman sink into her. “But..”

Nico put a mitten over Maki’s mouth, “Not here, genius. Knock it off. Nico doesn’t need a play by play announcer.”

Maki was starting to feel uncomfortable and fidgety so she put her hands on Nico’s...hips to push the smaller woman away, but when Nico’s eyes widened at the contact, Maki suddenly forgot what she had intended to do. Nico, mitten still over Maki’s mouth, Maki’s eyes wide and worried behind her hand, put her other hand behind her as Cocoro approached.

“Sis?”

Nico rolled back into a crouch and stood, her movements fast and graceful, like some modern dancers Maki had seen recently, then offered Maki a hand, pulling the redhead up, “Maki was trying a sneak attack, Nico had to stop her.”

Speaking of sneak attacks, Maki’s head knocked forward and she reached a hand behind to brush away clinging cold. Direct hit. She glanced over her shoulder. Cotaro. That was why she didn’t have a concussion.

Nico immediately intervened, “Hey, we don’t hit people in the head, front or back. You could have hurt Maki.” Nico picked Cotaro up, shaking him playfully and tossing him in front of his snow sculptures. Then she scooped up a snowball and took aim at a snow person, “Want a demonstration why?”

“NO!” Cotaro grabbed Nico’s arm and dragged it back down to her side..

“Are you all right?” Nico asked as Maki continued to brush snow off her hat and coat.

“Yeah…”  But Maki knew she’d lost any sense of cheerfulness, the air chilly against her too warm cheeks, her heart racing, her expression probably a blank as she kept looping the memory of Nico staring down at her, close enough that Maki could have counted every long, delicate eyelash.

“Maki?” Nico tugged at her sleeve. Maki nodded to acknowledge the outreach, “Why don’t you go inside and warm up. Start the coffee. Nico will round up these three and be in soon.”

Maki started to go off, then remembered last night, alone with Nico’s mother and decided this was a good time to dig out her car more thoroughly. She’d seen the Yazawa’s shovel on the porch. That would be a good way to warm up and avoid prowling Yazawas before lunch.

                                                              ###

Lunch and dinner had happened, really before Maki even had a lull in activity to realize that the day was winging by. When the Yazawas had returned from the park, they had swept Maki away from her car and into the house with them, sitting her down at the table to watch while a complicated grilled cheese sandwich assembly line happened, one sibling cutting cheese slices, one sibling buttering bread, the third assembling sandwiches on a cookie sheet, then pushing it under the broiler while Nico did some kind of magic spicing trick with the tomato soup that made the kitchen smell smell like spring greens. It was adorable, Nico was so cute directing her siblings around the kitchen....and there, Maki paused, disconcerted, wondering how to get back to the irked about the silly pin up girl mood. But then Nico grinned at her, and Maki would have sworn there was extra sunlight coming in the window and the soup tingled on her tongue while the rich sweetness of summery tomatoes exploded like a bite into one from a South Jersey farmstand. Then Maki might have dozed briefly on the couch, but there was carol singing, and being pulled into a pinocle tournament while Nico and her mom prepped dinner. Cocoro and Cotaro won, Cocoa kept flipping her cards the wrong way and Maki thought she caught a brief not frown from Nico’s mom in her direction.

Then, after dinner, and To Tell The Truth -- Cocoro guessed right every time, Nico sent the younger Yazawas off to bed. Her mother yawned through Pete and Gladys, then said goodnight.

“Don’t stay up too late, Nico. I’m sure you want to leave early in the morning.”

“Nico knows, Mama.” Nico whined from her position on the end of the couch, behind a pillow nearly her size.

“I hope you had a good Christmas, Maki. Thank you for sharing it with us.” Mrs. Yazawa waved and turned.

Maki sat up, “Thank you for having me. It was fun.” The pillow collided with her, forcing Maki back to her corner of the couch.

“Of course, it was fun.” Nico snorted, “Nico knows how to treat a guest.”

Maki wrapped her arms around the pillow, watching the lights on the tree, ignoring Nico’s reaching for its return,. Nico hopped up to turn out the room lights, and they sat, on opposite ends of the couch, watching the tree in silence, some detective series based on a houseboat flashing through scenes on the television.

“Why do you want to go to Europe?” Maki asked softly, not looking at Nico.

“Oh my God.” Nico wailed, arms thrown up to the ceiling, “Why are you so fixated about Europe? Everyone, including YOU, wants to go to Europe. What Nico wants is none of your business anyway.”

Maki ignored Nico’s last sentence, as true as it was, and skipped right to the conclusion she’d drawn over the last 24 hours, which she’d been meaning to throw in Nico’s face for a reaction. Quarter turning, pillow held closely, Maki said it flat out, “If you really want to go, why haven’t you told your family? It doesn’t make sense.”

Nico crawled down the couch, leaning over the pillow, finger tapping Maki’s nose lightly on each slow word, “It...doesn’t....have...to...make...sense...to...you.”

Maki narrowed her eyes. She wanted an answer. “Why?”

Nico could see the stubborn. It was carved deep in the quartz edges of those amethyst eyes. Answer one question and maybe Maki would drop the subject. Nico’s non verbal response was classic exasperation in action, as she threw herself back down the couch, ripping the pillow away from Maki. But the expectant silence continued.

Nico, on her side, head on the pillow and away from Maki, focused on the tree, “If it doesn’t work out, I don’t want to disappoint them.”

Maki was surprised by the sudden melancholy coming off Nico. It was the opposite of the brash, annoying pushiness that Nico emanated every other minute Maki had known her. “Your family adores you. They were so excited you were here. I’m sure whatever happened it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Nico always keeps things upbeat.” Nico drew her knees up.

“Is this about your dad?” Maki asked, her voice gentle.

Nico was silent. The detective discovered the blackmail and thwarted the trap. Maki wondered what was on next. “We can use my house to rehearse…”

“That’s okay, school’s more convenient...Nico’s got the bus schedule memorized…”

“I can dri…”

Nico yawned, sitting up and tossing the pillow back at Maki. “Just work on not playing over Nico. Nico does just fine without your fancy car.”

Maki stifled a crack about Nico walking to campus from Troy tomorrow. Why wouldn’t Nico let her hel…

“Hey." Nico’s voice snapped.

“What?” Maki snapped back, startled.

“Cute. Just don’t leave without Nico in the morning.”

How unreasonable, Maki thought, to use her car and skills when it was convenient for Nico without letting Maki have any real effect on the decision.

“I’ll be running the meter starting at 8:30.” Maki settled the pillow behind her.

“Nico will be expecting a credit for cooking breakfast.”

Maki grumbled and stretched out on the couch, not wanting to be staring at Nico anymore. Another show with boats. Wasn’t there some kind of Vegas detective show on at this hour? At least that had some humor.

She heard a “Good night, Maki” but her only acknowledgement was a near invisible nod as she pulled the blanket up to her chin. Tomorrow, back to New York City, and getting this cozy Nico Christmas cinnamon charm out of her system.

[vronnica]

‹ ･ ｡ ☾  [ blackpink vc ] hey boys. soz for missing plotting hour and opening… my bf wanted a cheese and wine night, so y’all know i was knocked af for like 12+ hrs. but now i am back and ready for action ! HENNYWAYS,,, i’m acacia ( she/her ), i’m twenty years of age, and i hail from the pst timezone ! i love kpop ( specifically got7 and blackpink. however, my ult bias is vernon from seventeen. if you know, you know. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  ), milk tea, and mac and cheese. sooo sorry you’re all trapped in this rp w/ me. but y’all will learn to adore my 3am messages and casual spam on the dash. with that being said, under the cut you’ll find out more about my piece of shit baby angel, ronnie ! if you want ur muse to be friends with the stereotypical rich bitch. keep on readin bbs ;) psa: if you like this then you’re obligated to plot with me srry but i don’t make the rules. ( i’m jk please like this or i’ll cry. ) i’ll either slide in your IMs or you can contact me on discord @ mlilk#3162

jennie kim & cisfemale • hey, isn’t that veronica moon? she is that twenty-two year old that’s been living in conyers farm for twenty years. did you know her family is worth $18B? no wonder she is so ingenious & haughty. she is known around the estates as the aesthete, after all. 

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RELATIONSHIPS ( WANTED CONNECTIONS )

                                    H E R   D A I L Y   R O U T I N E

in veronica’s dreams, she is the epitome of a morning person. in reality, she’s a two in the afternoon kind of person. however, her schedule does not allow her to do that. so she does everything possible to transform herself into a morning person. new white rays shine through the window as she lies in her queen sized bed. she lifts up the aqua colored silk eye mask and the warm ball of light filtered through her thin eyelids. it takes her a moment to adjust but eventually her eyes flutter open to reveal the exhaust in her chocolate brown hues. she extends her arm out to her bed side table, grabbing ahold of her phone. she clears out the notifications that do not automatically appeal to her and checks the ones that do. after five minutes of procrastinating, she finally slips out of bed.

ronnie trudges her feet against the hardwood floor, making her way over to her bathroom. with a flick of a switch, the bright light from the crystal chandelier fills up the room. she runs herself a bath. filling the tub with lavender and jasmine bath salts. her le soir silk night slip pools around her feet as she climbs into the warm water. she’s completely and utterly relaxed. the time passes too quickly and she’s back on her feet. she wraps the fluffy white towel around her small frame and walks into her closet. winter, her favorite time of the year. she picks out a classic veronica moon outfit. a light orange and black tartan patterned dress paired with her wool cashmere burberry coat. and with a single spritz of her chanel no.5 onto her chest, she’s ready for the day.

                                              B A C K S T O R Y

moon jisung, ( chairman and co-owner of urban place resorts / hotels ) met vanessa ross ( retired model, turned fashion designer ) back in 1995 at one of vanessa’s casting calls. that, of course, was being held at urban place’s gangnam location. it definitely was not love at first sight. vanessa’s serious aura made jisung think she was a lawyer. jisung’s spazzy persona had vanessa thinking, “ this man is the chairman ? ” their relationship remained business. until one day jisung accidentally texted the designer one letter, “ q. ” from there, the relationship blossomed.

october 29, 1996, veronica moon was born, the moon family was complete, and they’re absolutely perfect. two years after she was born, jisung and vanessa decided to make a permanent home in conyers farm. therefore, veronica grew up in a really nice household. nice cars, designer clothes, and every day was a vacation. she was constantly spoiled. always given whatever she wants, whenever she wants. and of course, she’s used to getting her way all the time. ultimately making her: bad and boujee. her family is loaded. ( duh every1′s is. ) and she’s always been surrounded by lots of love and luxury.

being the only child, ronnie never had any consequences. in school, she became sort of a bully. she was very ruthless and cold. she had that, “i’ll do anything to get where i need to be,” personality. and if it meant paying someone to transfer the other student threatening her valedictorian spot, then yes, of course she’d do that. people either hated her or loved her. there was no in between. she kept her clique small. ( yes, a clique, which indeed was very exclusive. invite only. think of regina george or blair waldorf. ) she ran her school and she liked to keep it that way. 

once she graduated she became more of an adult about things. but, old habits die hard. therefore, some of those traits she developed in school still linger with her til this day. just a little more filtered. ( truly, just a tad bit. ) she got accepted into almost every ivy league college. her mother gave her the option to just pass on college. her father on the other hand, encouraged her to go to school to have the major under her belt. ultimately, she decided to go to yale and major in art history. ( she chose yale because it was only a little over an hour away from conyers. ) though, now, most of her classes are being completed online.

present time: veronica is currently taking a semester off school to really think about what she wants to do after she graduates. at the moment, she spends a majority of her time working on her art. growing up she always had an artistic eye. vanessa ( being a fashion designer ) taught her all the techniques when it came to drawing for fashion. though eventually, veronica steered away from the clothing industry and found herself drawing more intricate works of art.

                                           P E R S O N A L I T Y

too long; didn’t read: an angel with a halo unbalanced with horns, not a devil but not a saint either ?? kind yet has a backbone. softer than what she seems like. humorous and witty though understanding. mistrusting but willing to let loyalty speak. wealthy but tries not to depend on her family. stays away from the king glitterati lifestyle and fronts as if she’s just a normal gal livin’ in conyers etcetc.

she has that tell it like it is personality. she just calls it likes she sees it. even if she’s not exactly right. she’s literally drowning in her riches. making her materialistic af. some people might think she’s that dumb bimbo rich bitch. but she’s actually very VERY smart. witty and intelligent to be exact. 

super particular when it comes to most things. ( high maintenance queen. ) she wants things done correctly. so she often runs by the quote, “ if you want things right you gotta do it yourself. ” she absolutely despises like relying on others to get things done when she knows she could do it faster and better. a little bit of a ocd queen. 

her instagram = her job. it’s filled with ootds, selfies, food pics. but most importantly: her art. it’s the platform she uses to show people she isn’t just a pretty rich girl. she has talent. ( *insert "the kardashian's have no talent" - proven wrong in 7 minutes vid.* ) 

she’s very dedicated to her work, thus making her very goal oriented. she’s very creative and she’s actually a very good artist. she’s one of those people that set their mind to something and goes through with it until the end. i’m sure she picked up doodling and bullet journaling while growing up. *plays boss ass bitch vine.*

too long; didn’t read pt. 2: she’s slowly growing out of her tough head of hair and morphing into a young woman so beautiful over the years, but also at times, terrifying ?? self destructive ?? even if she’ll never let anyone see her deteriorate her insides sigh. she’s a hot mess. but she tries her best to hide that shit. yeye sweg.

                                            R E L A T I O N S H I P S

FRIENDSHIPS: she has plenty of friends, at least in her head. in reality, she just knows a lot of people through her many connections. so she has many affiliations. but never real friends. she’s very particular with the people she associates herself with. she believes that those around you reflect who you are as a person as well. therefore, she only surrounds herself with the best of the best. she may not be the best person to tell your secrets too either because she’s quite the gossip queen. but she can probably persuade you to trust her. rip. however, if you are a close friend of her’s, she’s very loyal to those who are loyal to her. which means she’d never do you dirty. but that’s only if she really cares about you. she’s a really great listener and she’s willing to give advice to those are willing to take it. plus, she’s the type to spoil the people she loves. so expect the best christmas gifts ever if u rollin’ with her. 

honestly, she really does need to surround herself with good people with genuinely good intentions. so please, someone teach her what loyalty is. 

bonus points if they’ve been friends for awhile. displays loyalty.

ENEMIES: she was bully in high school. so you know this girl has more than enough enemies ( and haters. ) she uses people, she pushes people around, etc etc. like she has some very evil intentions. she’s vengeful and irrational. she puts fuel to drama and loves to see people crash and burn. why ? she wants that reassurance that she is flourishing above all. she never wants to be belittled and will do anything to remain on the very top. however,,, ronnie does have some good intentions. she leans more to the chaotic neutral side. ( maybe tilted a bit more towards evil, but still. ) deep deeeeep deeeeeeeeeeep down the girl is trust issue central when it comes to letting people in. she can’t help it. she’s like that one rihanna meme, them: you can’t just cut people off. ronnie: *holds a pair of scissors* she doesn’t have problem with letting people go. so people think she’s a bitch because, “how could you just drop our five year long friendship like that.” and she’d just shrug. but really, she’s hurting beyond repair and will go home crying while eating a thing of ben & jerry’s chunky monkey.

there’s always that possibility where a friendship just didn’t work out. maybe they just stopped having time for each other and now it’s just mad awk. whatever it is, an enemy would b beaut.

veronica absolutely needs enemies. give her many. plenty. an abundance please.

LOVERS: i have a feeling she’s dabbled in the dating world. she’s had a few boyfriends, dates, etc. but most likely nothing LONG TERM. possibly because she doesn’t see the point unless it’s for marriage. just like her mom and dad. she has this [ beyoncé vc ] independent woman facade going on right now. which makes her seem like she doesn’t want anyone. but she’s secretly a hopeless romantic. this girl would love to be loved. and she truly needs it. she’s probably read tons of books about love and fluffy shit like that. it’d be a hard mission to win this girl over. but not impossible. she just has high expectations when it comes to relationships. so someone rlly needs to come here and treat this girl right. 

100% dabbles in the quick hook ups for the sake of fulfilling those needs. 

though, if the right person were to come along… she’d be loyal to them, completely devoted to just them.

CONGRATULATIONS ! you made it to end ! if you read all of this… i love you. i only ever write so much bc… it gets me in character lmao. also, i wrote all of this literally the moment i woke up so pls excuse any mistakes. i would really love to plot with everyone. so just slide into my IMs and we can get things started !! luv u *blows a kiss*

[taurus-annie-main]

Table 13

Summary: Chanyeol is truly a mystery of a guy.He comes into the restuarant with different women at his hand and you can never pin point who excatly he is but in the end, all mystery’s are uncovered. chanyeol!escortau

There are about ten different Chanyeols. Some are near enough identical but most are different.

Sometimes, he's a tight-lipped business guy dressed in fitted suits and polished shoes. But the thing is, he's also a happy-go-lucky guy, one without a single bit of his life planned but he's just going along with whatever life throws at him. And sometimes, he's a doting 'husband' that wears old man sweaters and thick frames. With each Chanyeol you saw, stood by his side were different women. Most older than him, and sure enough were his mother's age - even though you'd never met her, you could guess. You always wondered about him, creating fantastical scenarios about what he could do. Now, you would ask him but, you've only interacted him in the confines of the restaurant you worked at and you're sure it'd be inappropriate to ask.

But you did have other ways.

On a slow evening, you plucked up the courage to ask Baekhyun. Baekhyun seemed to get along with him and you suspected they might know each other from the way they talked and made jibes at each other. "Uh?" He asked, stopping to dry the glasses. You leant closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. "What's with that guy?" You asked, your eyes gesturing to the table behind you. "Which guy? There's loads of guys here," he said, peering over your shoulder. "The one you talk to all the time. He comes with different women every week," you said. That seemed to do it because the ends of his lips lifted into a smirk. "Oh, him. That's Chanyeol. Why do you ask?" "Just wondering," you said. "So, what does he do?" Baekhyun shrugged and went back to drying the glasses. You could tell he knew. However, he didn't look like he was about to spill the beans anytime soon. "Ask him for yourself." "You're no fun," you sighed. "Anyways, I'm gonna need two scotches for his table.Table 13." "I'm fun, but you're too nosy," he said, spinning around to grab two glasses and the bucket of ice. "Curious, not nosy," you corrected. You lowered your voice and drew closer, "Is he cheating on his wife?" Baekhyun snorted as he poured the amber liquid into the glass. "Cheating? He's single if my memory serves me correct." You snorted. Single your ass.

His hand was clasped over hers in that sweet comforting 'were totally  together' way. Plus, they looked in love! His eyes were looking at her as if she was the prettiest woman in the world - fuck, he looked up. You whipped your head around.

"Then why are they holding hands like that?"

"Because" He left it at that and you knew you couldn't push anything worthwhile out of him. "The drinks are ready." You mumbled thanks and took the tray. As you walked to the table, his eyes were on you for a moment, but as quick as they came, they left even quicker and landed back on his date.

It wasn't every day you accepted Baekhyun's invites to 'Drink' however, with your roommate gone for the week, you decided that accepting the invite wouldn't be so bad. You hadn't the faintest clue as to who would be there, but after a few drinks, you're certain you could somewhat shimmy your way into the clove of Baekhyun's friends. You and Baekhyun go to the bar after your shifts end, it was only a minutes walk but you wished you'd taken your heavier clothes when you'd changed at the staff rooms. The bar is warm and the atmosphere equally warm. Baekhyun led you to a large table surrounded by a group of people which judging from their clamorous greeting and large smiles were Baekhyun's friends.

"You're late," a girl pipes up, swatting Baekhyun's shoulder as he takes the seat next to her. She nuzzles against him and you can only guess that they are together.

"Shh, I'm here now," he says, flicking her forehead. "Shit, guys, this is ..."

As you took the chance to introduce yourself, you hoped that they didn't notice the slight tremor in your voice. You hadn't expected that many people to be here. They fired their names back at you and you took an empty seat beside a chair draped with a wool coat and scarf.

You unravelled yourself out of your own heavy coat. Wasting no time, the girl who you guessed was Baekhyun's girlfriend (well, judging from the way she snaked herself around his arm, she certainly was his girlfriend) introduced herself as 'Rae' and mentioned it was short for something, but you didn't have the gusto to press on for more information. Instead, you nursed a glass of a cherry drink as she mused on about something you were undoubtedly clueless about.

You were in the middle of talking about the latest Netflix show, a horror anthology when the chair beside you was pulled out with a scrape. You whoever had left their jacket there was back to claim their seat.

Eager to see who the new person was, you tore your self away from the conversation to look beside you. It took you a few seconds, but when the 'stranger' turned his head towards you, you couldn't help but let your brows raise ever-so-slightly. It was the guy from the restaurant, the one with a dozen or so 'girlfriends' (quotation because you refused to believe Baekhyun's sentiments in the fact that those women were anything but his partners). You had his name on the tip of your tongue, it began with a 'C' or something, you remember Baekhyun letting it slip.

"Jesus, were you pissing your whole life away in there?" A guy piped up, he was staring at him from the brim of glasses with a lad-ish grin.

"Got lonely waiting for me or something, Soo?" C shot back, as he poured beer into his half-filled glass.

"You wish," the other muttered, before taking a swig of his own beer. "Jeez, you didn't even introduce yourself to the newbie."

If he recognised you, he certainly didn't make it known - maybe you were too insignificant for him to recognise. You couldn't blame him though; it was a sea of black and white uniforms in that restaurant.

He furrowed his brows for a moment. "I feel like I've seen your face before?" he said, tilting his head ever-so-slightly, with a small smile on his face.

"You're making moves ... already?" Rae snorted. "Just tell her your name you doof."

He peered around you to narrow his eyes at Rae. "Actually, I was not making moves."

"It's alright," you piped up with a chuckle, you could sense the tension rising but you knew they weren't about to start hurling glasses at each other, you suspected it was friendly banter.

"Don't be too nice to him, he's a sneaky one" Rae added with a wink.

He snorted and leant closer to you. "Don't listen to her, she's still mad I used her eyeshadows for a painting. I'm Chanyeol."

You guessed you must've looked super confused (well, you were actually ) because he cracked up after a few moments of staring you in silence. "I should've added some pre-amble to that - Rae's my sister, twin to be exact."

You turned to Rae, who was busy showing something on her phone to the girl on the other side of the table. You'd take a better look later, but even when you were talking to them you could barely see similarities in their looks, maybe it was because you weren't concentrated on her face?

"Don't look too hard," Chanyeol teased, snapping you out of your daze. You faced him now. "So, you work with Baek or something?"

You nodded. "I'm a waitress."

He snapped his fingers. "I knew it! I don't forget faces."

"I remember you too," you added. "You always come in with ..." you didn't finish off the last part of your sentence, either way, you're sure he caught your drift.

To forever seal your point, he leant back and raised his brow and nodded slowly. "Oh ... you do? Well, I guess you could say I'm a regular."

"Me too."

He rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "You work there."

The rest of the night went great, you'd found yourself surprised by the fact that you seemed to quickly meld into their group dynamics. You'd even gotten a few numbers too, problem is you weren't good at names so most were left nameless but they'd never now that. The only hiccup to the night was when Kyungsoo, the guy who Chanyeol referred to as 'Soo' spilt his drink on the red-lipped girl sat next to him, May that was her name. She huffed and you immediately gave her stack of towels, meanwhile, Kyungsoo was busy stifling a laugh behind his hand which of course earned him a hard wack from May. Who then stomped off with Kyungsoo hot on heels saying something along the lines of 'baby, stop!' At the sight, Chanyeol had nudged your arm, leant close to your ear and said 'Couples, huh?'

"How are you getting home?" Chanyeol asked as he stomped down on the cigarette he'd just had in his mouth.

It was raining, torrential style and the stickiness of your shirt was making you more comfortable the longer you stayed out. "Train," you answered.

You were the only two left, Baekhyun and Rae had left fifteen minutes ago after hailing a taxi. May and Kyungsoo had all but disappeared after having their fit outside.

"Train," he said, voice high and disbelieving. "I'll call an uber for you, you can't be catching trains at this time, especially with this rain-"

"Are you serious?" you said. "We're in 2017 remember?"

"It's still a dangerous world, especially for a cute girl like you," he said all too casually for an easily ruffled person like you. You thanked the low light for hiding the curved edge of your lips and blooming heat on your face.

"Anyways, whereabouts do you live?"

"Huh?"

"Where do you live?" he asked, tapping away at his phone. "I need it for the Uber."

"Oh - wait, you totally don't have to do that. I know how to use the train," you said, your words tumbling quick out of your mouth as you realised what he was doing. As much as a car ride home would've been nice, you couldn't bear to let yourself be a burden on someone, especially if you'd only started talking five or so hours ago.

"Don't do the too-polite thing," he said.

"It's gonna cost you though," you said.

"I know," he nodded. "We'll do multiple stops? So tell me your address."

After a moment of going back and forth, you gave your address - actually, you gave him the next street before it, to be safe of course. You'd watched too many Investigation Discovery to do anything less.

So now here you both were, stuffed into the back of a stuffy sedan that played a monotonous tone. You made small conversation here and there, nothing of substance really but it was nice. However, as the car approached the turn that neared your street your body begun to burn with a question. Who were all those ladies?

"Quick question," you started off. He looked up from his phone and hummed. "I hope you don't mind me asking ... but - hmm, it sounded easier in my head-"

"You wanna know about the restaurant thing?"

You were stunned for second but nodded. "Am I intruding?"

He shook his head. "I mean, I don't tell everyone but I'm an escort of sorts. Without the sex, just dates."

"Escort." you took the word in.

"Does it weird you out?" he asked after a moment. "You wouldn't be the first."

"I think it's interesting ... but, I think I did sus it out before," you said. "I always wondered why you came in with different ladies and your different looks. It was like a game of Guess Who, with me being the only player."

"Ahh, those are my 'personas', it's basically what the client wants and stuff," he said. "It's a bit of an acting gig, with way more money."

"How does one become a client?" you asked, with genuine curiosity.

"Why? Are you looking to spend the day with me?" he asked, raising a lone brow with a smirk.

Once more, your face was drenched in heat. No wonder he was an escort, he really had a way of cranking up the charm and making you feel flustered. "N-no, I was just wondering - I don't think I'm your target clientele."

"Rich and older?"

You nodded with a chuckle. "Yep."

"It's not what I go for in real life," he said.

You paused. Was he flirting?

"I think we're here," he said.

You peered out through the window, "shit, I didn't even realise the car had stopped." You grabbed your fallen bag."Thank you for the ride."

"No problem," he said. "See you around?"

"Sure."

It looked like 'See you around' was quicker than what you'd thought because in the following week Chanyeol was back at the restaurant. But, something was different. First of all, it was morning service and he never came in the morning service. Secondly, he was alone. Yes, alone. No rich older lady in sight.

"Your break's soon right?" he asked when you came over to take his order.

"Yeah ... how did you know?" you fired back.

You had a sneaking suspicion that the idiot who worked the bar had let loose your break time. You'd flick his forehead later and maybe thank him too - depending on how you felt of course.

"Baekhyun. He has loose lips when hung over," he said.

"I'm not surprised," you said.

"So, care to join me?" he asked. "I was thinking of ordering the strawberry pastry platter, but I don't think I can eat it by myself."

A/N

IT’S BEEN SO LONG MY DUDES!!!!!!! But im so glad I can finally post something!

Anyways, I was thinking of something, I want to add a wlw section to my blog -simpler terms I want to also write for girl groups too. I read girl group fics but I never see that many and it’s certainly a hole that needs to be filled. I think I’ll be doing Twice, Red Velvet and Blackpink. What do y’all think?? and of course drop some GG fic ideas in my inbox :)

[hannahberrie]

Snowbound (part 1/2)

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Eleven, Mike Wheeler Characters: Jim Hopper Rating: K WC: 2717 Summary: When El invites Mike to spend the day at the cabin, Hopper finds himself supervising a sleepover he didn't sign up for. Two-shot.

[Part 2] [AO3]

[A/N]: So, I'm pretty sure that canonically, Hopper's cabin only has one bedroom. Through the power of fanfiction and not-caring-that-much, let's just say that for the sake of this story, there's two.

In a rare change of pace, Hopper was on leave from work today. Flo would call him if any emergencies popped up, but that seemed unlikely. Besides, after the events of the last two autumns, every other Hawkins ‘emergency’ seemed pretty minuscule in comparison.

Hopper’s plans for the day: sleeping in, a couple beers, some light reading, coffee and contemplation.

El’s plans for his day: not that.

It was early January, which meant that Mike was still on winter break from school. Naturally, Eleven was looking for every possible chance to spend time with him.

Hopper quickly learned that his day wasn’t going to go as planned when he awoke to El shaking him out of bed.

“Wake up!” She said eagerly, ignoring his confused grunts and cries of protest.

“Jesus, kid!” Hopper exclaimed, grumpily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “What’s going on?!”

“I wanna see Mike!” El pleaded, “He goes back to school soon!”

“I can drop you off at his house, then,” Hopper grumbled, turning to roll back into bed.

“But I want him to come here!” She explained, tugging on his shoulder so that he was facing her again.

Hopper sighed and eyed her warily. “Why?”

“He’s never been here.”

“Because there’s not much here,” Hopper snorted.

“We have the TV!” El insisted. “And Eggos!”

“So, you just want to watch TV and eat waffles all day with him?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t think you two should be on your own out here,” Hopper said carefully. “It’s not really...”

His brow furrowed as he tried to think of the right word. Appropriate? Safe? Responsible? Considering that Hopper would rarely use those words to describe his own actions, none of them seemed to fit.

“A good idea,” he finally settled on. “You should have some kind of supervision.”

Supervision, i.e., making sure that his daughter’s boyfriend wasn’t up to no good. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mike, per say. The kid had certainly proven himself to be valiant on more than one occasion.

Regardless, that still didn’t change the fact that Mike was only 13, and Hopper just didn’t trust teenage boys, like, at all.

When Hopper had been around Mike’s age, his mother was completely convinced that Hopper was on the debate team (he wasn’t). And if Mike so much as thought of pulling any of the same moves that Hopper had with Chrissy Carpenter back in the day...

In short, Hopper just wanted to take precautions. Precaution #1: Not letting a hormonal teenage boy spend the day alone in a secluded cabin with his daughter. Granted, he had the day off today, but El didn’t know that. Spending the day babysitting a pair of teenagers was not exactly what Hopper had in mind for his rare vacation day.

“But you don’t work today!” El reminded him. “You could go get him and then stay here! We wouldn’t be alone!”

Dammit. “Who told you I had the day off?” Hopper grumbled.

“Will heard you tell his mama so Will told Mike and Mike told me!”

“Will heard me talking to Joyce?”

“Yes! On the phone,” El explained, exasperated, “Will says you two always talk.”

Hopper wasn’t much of a blusher, but he felt his cheeks flare up at that. “Not a lot,” he mumbled, rubbing his jaw. “Just sometimes.”

El disregarded this. “So, can you bring him?” She pleaded instead, “Please?”

“I dunno, kid…”

“Please!” She whimpered, pouted her lower lip, batted her doe-eyes, and with that, Hopper knew that he was done for. Resistance, at this point, was futile. El, as she often did, had won him over.

“Fine,” Hopper sighed, “Just let me —“

But by the time Hopper said, “Fine,” El had already run out the door. “ThankYouSoMuch!” She exclaimed in one breath, calling out to him from the living room. He could hear her dialing the phone, no doubt to let Mike know the good news.

One of these days, she wasn’t going to win him over so easily.

Today wasn’t that day, evidently, as around an hour later, Hopper found himself driving Mike back to the cabin with him.

Per Dr. Owens’ orders, El was still to be kept in hiding for the rest of the year, which meant that organizing time for Mike and El to be together had to be handled with care. Ted and Karen knew about El, she’d spent plenty of afternoons at the Wheeler home, after all...

...Hopper just usually left out the part about her being telekinetic, a government experiment, or a Russian spy (not that the last one was ever true to begin with, but he digressed).

“Your parents know what you’re up to?” Hopper asked Mike, though, in the back of his mind, he realized this was probably something he should have asked before picking the kid up.

“Kinda,” Mike replied unconvincingly. “I told them I was going to go hang out with my friends. Dustin said he’d cover for me. My parents don’t really care what I do anyways, so it’s not a big deal.”

“I’m sure they care,” Hopper offered.

Mike just shrugged, looked down at his feet, and grumbled, “I guess.”

Hopper didn’t like the sound of that, but didn’t press the issue further. He wasn’t much for small talk, and trying to make one-on-one conversation with the boy currently dating your daughter was a little awkward, to say the least.

Thankfully, the drive didn’t take long. The morning was still young when Hopper stopped the car on the side road closest to the cabin. The air was brisk and bitingly-cold, and the sky was blanketed with a thick layer of dark grey clouds. It’d snowed heavily the night before, which left calve-deep snowdrifts throughout the forest.

“Watch your step,” Hopper instructed as the two exited his cruiser.

Mike nodded appreciatively. “Thanks again for the ride,” he said as the two began the short walk to the cabin.

“Don’t mention it,” Hopper said, “Was I supposed to let you bike here?”

“I could have!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I could do it!” Mike bolstered. “It’s not that far!”

“It’s a good 20-minute drive, maybe 25.”

“I’ve biked to the quarry before, that’s like, just as far away, basically.”

“Impressive.”

The forest was stunningly still as they walked. The only sound to be heard for miles around was the crush of snow beneath their boots, the distance drum of a woodpecker drilling into a tree, and the occasional brush of dead branches against their coats.

Despite his heavy snow boots, bulky winter coat, pom-pom adorned hat, and knitted wool mittens, Mike’s cheeks were getting pink. It was probably from the cold, or maybe the exertion of trudging through all the deep snow. The latter seemed more likely, as he seemed intent on keeping up with Hopper. With every step Hopper took, Mike strained his legs to match his pace. As Hopper was obviously much taller and leaner, the kid was nearly lunging through the snow to keep up with him.

Mike didn’t have to try so hard to impress him, if that’s what was going on here. Hopper would be lying if he said that it wasn’t slightly amusing though.

As Mike lunged about, Hopper became increasingly aware of the rattling sounds coming out of his bulging backpack.

“Whatcha got in the bag there?” Hopper asked conversationally, trying to keep his demeanor as least snoop-like as possible.

“Just some movies, board games, comic books, and stuff,” Mike replied, “You know, in case we get bored or anything. I brought Monopoly! It’s kinda lame, but you could play with us, if you want.”

Hopper gave him a polite smile. “That’s okay, kid. I’m sure El has a whole agenda planned for you two, anyway.”

Mike brightened at the mention of El’s name. “Probably, she’s like super good with that kind of stuff,” he gushed, “I’m trying to teach her how to make her own D&D campaigns. We’re just starting off with basic a basic dungeon crawl, then we’re gonna work our way up to intrigue adventures.”

“That’s nice,” Hopper replied, not understanding any of what Mike had just said.

Not much later, the two finally reached the secluded cabin. Hopper couldn’t help but notice the flash of the curtain rustling behind the front window. No doubt El had been waiting there on standby ever since Hopper had left. The thought made him smile in an endearing sort of way.

“Here we are,” Hopper announced, causing Mike to grin excitedly. The pair mounted the front steps, approached the cabin door, and stomped the extra snow off their boots. Hopper gave a cautionary glance around the forest before giving his secret knock.

Within seconds (milliseconds, really), El had undone every lock and swung the door wide open. “Hi!” She burst out eagerly, eyes locked on Mike.

“El!” Mike exclaimed. He stepped forward quickly, pulling her into his arms in a big hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too!” El responded, squeezing him tightly.

The last time they’d seen each other was Saturday.

Today was Monday.  

Hopper had to bite his tongue to keep himself from pointing this out to them.

“You’re cold!” El commented, pulling back from Mike to examine his face.

Mike’s face flushed even redder as El moved her hands up to cup his cheeks. “I’m fine!” He insisted, “My mom made me wear a billion sweaters.”

El gave him a doubtful look. “Mike. You’re cold.”

Hopper, who’d seemingly been invisible to them for the past couple moments, cleared his throat.

“I think we’re both pretty cold, so let’s all get inside,” Hopper cut in, placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “We’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

“Yes, come in!” El said eagerly. She took Mike by his mittened hand and pulled him into the cabin. Hopper entered behind them, listening as they chattered away. The kids headed over to the living room (living area, really), as he hung up his coat and made his way to the kitchen. Even though he hadn’t gotten to sleep in, there was still plenty of time for coffee.

As he started to brew a pot of coffee, El quietly approached him.

“Papa,” she whispered, glancing back at the living room, where Mike was in the midst of removing his various layers of outerwear.

“Yes?” Hopper said bemusedly. He already had a pretty good feeling as to where this was going.

“Can you go to your room?” She asked in an odd mixture of both politeness and forcefulness.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, kid.”

“Why?”

“Where should I put this stuff?” Mike called out, holding up the mass of knitted wool that was his hat, scarf, mittens, and a couple sweaters.

“Anywhere!” Hopper and El chimed back before returning to their own conversation.

“We had a deal, remember?” Hopper reminded her. The coffee pot finished brewing, so he grabbed a spare mug to fill. “Supervision? Remember that?”

“You can supervise,” El said, “From your room. You can hear.”

“Why all the privacy?” Hopper looked her in the eye as he took a sip of his coffee. “I thought that you were gonna do is just watch TV and eat waffles.”

El’s face flushed pink. “Yes. but…”

“No buts,” Hopper smirked as he ruffled her hair, ignoring her narrowed eyes and frustrated pout. He grabbed the latest morning paper and moved to sit at the dining table, well within view of the living area. “I think I’m going to be comfortable right here,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.

El looked exasperated but defeated. He heard her grumble under her breath as she returned to Mike, who had settled on stacking all his items in a makeshift pile in the corner.

Hopper could tell that El wasn’t thrilled with the whole situation (she kept giving him looks from the living room), but she got over it soon enough. Before long, she and Mike were back to conversing with ease, their soft chatter serving as a kind of white noise buffer for Hopper.

Even though it was his day off, Hopper found that reading the newspaper led to a slippery slope of events; reading made him think about the latest cases, thinking about the latest cases made him frustrated that he hadn’t made any new leads lately, and being frustrated that he hadn’t made any new leads lately made him dust off a few cold case files that he kept lying around the cabin and get to work.

What could he say? Old habits died hard. Besides, it gave him something to do while he supervised the kids, and was a far more challenging puzzle to solve than the crosswords in The Hawkins Post.

While Hopper absentmindedly scrounged over case files, Mike and El crafted a makeshift fort out of couch cushions, one of the dining chairs, and the sheets from El’s bed. They spent most of the rest of the day inside there, goofing off and joking around.

As…eventful as this morning had been, Hopper had to admit that it was good to hear El laughing and having a good time. After everything that she’d gone through growing up, some basic happiness was the least of what she deserved.

The kids spent their day TV (El introduced him to her favorite soap opera: All My Children, to which Mike replied, “This is kinda cheesy,” but continued watching anyway), playing board games (Hopper had never heard the two bicker until El refused to pay Mike after landing on his Boardwalk hotel, stating that she “didn’t want to,” to which Mike replied, “You have to,” to which El exclaimed, “I hate this dumb game”), and snacking (after the Monopoly incident, Hopper directed Mike to the secret Eggo stash — after El was presented with a stack of candy-covered waffles courtesy of Mike Wheeler, the two exchanged earnest apologies and all was forgiven).

The day flew by faster than Hopper had expected and before long, it was evening: time to take Mike back home. “We better head out,” Hopper announced, setting down his files and rubbing at his temples. His brain hurt from staring at so much information and getting nowhere for so long. He felt like he’d blinked and watched the day disappear, and if it wasn’t for his watch reading 6 PM, he wouldn’t have believed that much time had passed at all.

El gave a small whine from inside the fort, but the two kids emerged, looking quite glum. Mike started gathering his things together as El reluctantly helped. Hopper grabbed his coat and keys as he moved to stand by the front door. He sincerely hoped that the drive back wouldn’t be too bad — at night, the wet snow froze the roads into ice, which made trying to drive over it absolute hell. He was going to have to take it slow, avoid side roads…

“Do you have to go?” El asked. The two had finished getting Mike’s things together, and she was now in the midst of giving Mike a goodbye hug.

“I don’t want to,” Mike mumbled back, his face buried in her ever-growing curly hair.

“You two can see each other this weekend, or something,” Hopper reminded them, checking his watch.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mike assured Eleven, pulling back to smile at her.

“Okay!” El beamed back. She rose on tip-toe and kissed the corner of his mouth, causing Mike to smile bashfully.

Their eyes met then, and Hopper couldn’t help but notice the familiar heart-eyed look that El had been sporting lately, the way that Mike was now slowly moving in, and how obviously obvious it was where this was all headed.

Hopper decided to cut things off by clearing his throat. “You ready to head out, Mike?” He asked as the two flinched apart.

“Uh, yeah!” Mike responded, flushing red. He quickly put on his winter layers, grabbed his backpack, and gave El one last goodbye hug before crossing the living room to stand at Hopper’s side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing up at Hopper anxiously.

Hopper just nodded and gave Mike a light pat on the shoulder. Slipping on his winter gloves, he readied himself for the winter chill, opened the front door…

…And instantly realized that outside, all hell had broken loose.

[rotzaprachim]

Kanej Modern Occult Detective AU

For the amazing Isabelle @pivoinesaturnienne who requested ‘Inej and Kaz in a modern au pls 👏🏼☺️’ 

Based roughly on the episode and a half I have seen of Lucifer 

1. Kazuya Brekker was born in the 1600′s, the son of a Japanese woman and a Dutch merchant. His mother saw something chaotic in his dark eyes and named him for the peace she hoped he’d acquire instead. Both of his parents died when he was young, and he was primarily raised by his half brother Jordie. They’re living in Amsterdam and hustling at the trade exchange (though Kaz has figured out how to route large chunks of VOC guilden into his personal accounts, but damn those bastards deserve it) when the city is smashed with an epidemic. He dies, and then comes back to life as . ..  something a little more than human. 

2. Kaz basically spends the next 400 years as a literal demon- flitting between parallel realms (he’s always felt like a member of two worlds anyway), accumulating ridiculous amounts of cash, and holding a hell of a lot of grudges. For some theological mumbo-jumbo reasons I don’t feel like figuring out, Kaz ends up stranded in modern day New York City, without the benefit of his usual demonic powers. 

3. Inej Ghafa runs a private investigation firm in Queens. She takes almost any clients who need her, and resultantly barely makes enough to keep the lights on. (There’s one person who drags her home from the office and makes sure she eats a meal that’s not ramen, stale bagels, or instant coffee, and that’s her room mate Nina.) 

She’s Tamil Catholic and actively practicing. 

She’s also still super close to her family, and treks out to New Jersey on Sundays to go to Mass and lunch with them. 

On the whole she really likes her job. It can be difficult and tiring, and it’s impossible to be an investigator and not constantly, furiously angry with the institutionalised inequalities of the Justice System, but usually she feels like she’s doing something that helps others. Usually. 

It’s on a grey Thursday morning she meets Kaz. She doesn’t really know what the GQ model, or whatever the hell he is, is doing in her office, but she’s not exactly going to complain, if only for the pure aesthetic appreciation. Still, she feels acutely aware of the knife she has hidden in her desk drawer.

He stands sort of awkwardly at the door until she gestures for him to sit down.

“I can’t pay a temp right now,” she says evenly, even though this guy looks more one of the Wall Street up-and-comings whose corporation deals her eviction notice than the kind of people who usually visit her office, with the Tamil-language signs out front and cigarrettes-and-old-coffee smell that’s been stuck to the place since before she got here. 

He leans across the table. He has very dark eyes and God probably drew the lines of his face with a ruler. Inej doesn’t know much about men’s fashion but the textured, grey wool coat he’s wearing looks like it cost more than several months rent for her. He has a raspy-but-smooth voice (like, a whiskey commercial level raspy-but-smooth voice) in an accent she can’t quite place.

“Luckily for you, my services are free.” 

(Later, watching the glittering, flickering gold map of New York- “New Amsterdam,” as it always will be to him, although maybe he just likes having “dam” in the name- he can’t stop thinking about her. Why did he choose her struggling PI office as the base of his mandatory redemption? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he feels like he’s been pulled underwater without knowing it and he can no longer see the surface.) 

4. He may have lost most of his powers but he does manage to tap into his accounts, which are demonstrative of four hundred years of investing, schmoozing, and outright stealing. He’s always been better at aquiring money than spending it- that always felt like some unbreachable loss of control- so he decides to finally dish some out. Her rent is paid off for the next six months and replaces the tea kettle that barely works with a fancy Italian model. one day when they need to go on a bit of a road trip upstate to find a cheating husband, he greets her outside the office with a to go cup of that really fancy hot chocolate (house made marshmallows and all) and a ‘60′s Chevrolet Corvette. 

(He keeps the car. it’s a nice car, timeless and simultaneously restrained and vulgar. His style.) 

Inej, for the most part, is super worried that he’s connected to some kind of organised crime. It’s Nina who chills her out a bit, using the talent she’s always had for knowing when people are telling the truth or not. (It’s in their heartbeats.) And she knows that Kaz in general is shady AF, but she also knows he won’t bring any harm to Inej. 

5. TOGETHER!!! THEY! SOLVE! CRIMES!!! AND BRING JUSTICE TO NEW YORK! Like honestly Dream Team material right here. They solve a mixture of regular and occult cases. Inej is sharp, focused, and hyperaware of details, not to mention extremely driven in her mission. Kaz is in general utterly ruthless, but at least now it’s directed to a good cause. 

There’s an incident where they have to infiltrate a shady party to find evidence against Jan Van Eyck, a particularly corrupt developer. This of course involves wearing formalwear and going undercover as Dr. and Mr. Selvaraj (Of course!). And it involves Inej wearing a silver-white gown with embroidered flowers and a pearl headband with her long, straight hair down around her bare shoulders. 

(Needless to say, she turns a lot of heads.)

Afterwards, with the ballroom up in flames and Van Eyck in handcuffs, Kaz and Inej stand outside the convention centre. Inej is swapping into a pair of flats, heels dangling from one hand.

“So.” She says.

“So.” He repeats. 

“My room mate and I are working our way through trying every takeout option with a delivery charge of less than a dollar in the vicinity of our apartment.” 

“Umm hmmm.” 

Kaz tried to focus on the holding laundromat sign across the street instead of Inej, how luminous she was in the reflections of the flashing red-and-blue squad car lights. 

“And we’re halfway through the new season of Peaky Blinders. And we won’t rewind to the beginning.” 

“Uh huh.” It took a lot of mental concentration for him to read out “M-O-E’S P-A-Y A-N-D W-A-S-H” instead of focusing on her, the flutter of her eyelashes and the way she was biting her lip right now, like she usually did when considering a decision. 

“So, you could, you know, join us.” 

“Join you?” 

“Me and Nina. Watching Peaky Blinders. Probably going to order in adobo and lechon, because Nina’s finishing a double shift and she says she needs deep fried pork to recuperate.” It was going out on a limb, and Inej felt winded after putting the option in the open, like she’d run a race in her ballgown. 

“Me? Go with . .. you? To your apartment?” 

Goddamn it. Kaz knew from the way his face was burning up and the way she was smiling that his face blushing something mighty. 

“Yeah, genius. Come back with me.” 

He offered his arm like a true gentleman as they exited the scene of (not really their) crime.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Cover You in Oil, pt20

Word Count: 6326 Tags: @outside-the-government, @yourtropegirl @to-pick-ourselves-up-7, @ghostssss, @rampant-salamander, @saysay125, @sistasarah-sallysaidso @shewhorunswithfandoms, @flirtswithdanger @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns 

It was still dark when Sally’s alarm wakened her. She yawned and rolled over, silencing the alarm and pulling her pillow back over her head. A few minutes later, the chime of an incoming text rocked her awake. She groped her hand across the night table and pulled her phone to her face.

“I love you.” Tony. She should have known. She was too preoccupied before bed to think about messaging him, and she’d deliberately avoided video chat because she didn’t want to be caught in a lie about her and Sasha’s plans to leave Latveria.

“Not surprising. I am irresistible, after all.”

“Early morning arrogance, nice. I didn’t think that would be a turn on, but I might need a cold shower. Snowboarding today, right?”

“Yeah. Snowpants are super sexy too. They crinkle and are bulky. Rowr.”

“God, I love it when you describe what you’re wearing. It’s gonna be a long cold shower at this rate.”

“And wool thermal underwear. Sweatpants. Scarf. Oh, this should really get you going, I have a pom-pom on my snow hat.”

“I’m gonna need a photo of that sexiness. Right now.”

Sally laughed and snapped a selfie, lying back on her pillow. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she’d forgotten to wash the make-up off her face before she’d fallen asleep, leaving her with streaking mascara down one side of her face. Her pajama top was pulled off one shoulder, exposing the pale, freckled skin there.

“Enjoy.” She rolled onto her side and pushed herself to sitting, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The phone chimed again.

“You play dirty. That’s not snowboarding gear. Then again, neither is this.” A picture of Tony’s ankle and calf appeared on the screen, causing Sally to cackle.

“What a daring and provocative image!”

“I didn’t want to shock you too much. Your innocence is so beguiling, you know.”

“I mentioned Sasha was built like a tank and is good-looking to boot, didn’t I? Good thing I’m so innocent…” Sally walked across the room and pulled out her thermal underwear, and started getting dressed while she waited for Tony’s response.

“Wait, Sasha is a guy?”

“Ha ha. I have to get ready. The sun will be up soon, and there’s a lot of snow calling to me.”

“Just remember how you felt after last week.”

“I love you, Tony.” She pulled her snowpants out of the closet and tossed them on the bed, wondering what exactly she should pack to take with her. Probably nothing other than her phone and her engagement ring.

“I love you too, princess.”

“Just. Yeah. I love you.” She slipped the ring on her finger and took a deep breath as she looked at it, chest tightening with longing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Victor’s a creep.”

“But you knew that already. So what else?”

“What else does there need to be?”

“Do I need to come over there and pull the answer out of you?”

“I honestly think that would be exceptionally dangerous, if I am completely truthful with you.” It was a calculated risk admitting even that much, but Sally really wanted to curb his impulse to suit up and head over.

“When you say things like that, you make me nervous, princess.”

“Tony, I can handle this. I don’t need you swooping in to rescue me. I’m not a damsel in distress.”

The video messaging link on her laptop chirped, and Sally knew it was just better to talk to him than keep trying to allay his fears by text message. She sat down in front of the computer and accepted the call.

“Seriously, are you safe and unharmed?” Tony cut right to the chase. Sally smiled and let out a little sigh.

“Yes. I’m fine. I’m tired, and I’m overreacting to little things, and I miss you. I didn’t realize how much I would. It’s not like we’ve been together for years.” Sally reassured him.

“All you need to do is say the word. I’m not suggesting you aren’t capable of handling yourself, just that if you want an easy out, I’ll come snatch you away,” Tony assured her.

“Fair. I’ll let you know if I can’t handle it,” Sally nodded. “Remind me again how good the encryption on my laptop, StarkPad and phone are please?”

“It’s a multi-level encryption system, and the base levels are deliberately just hard enough to crack that they seem foolproof. But they’re designed to be hacked with effort. It throws the hacker off the scent of the deeper encryption. Once it’s hacked, everything that is under the higher level of encryption disappears off of the device,” Tony explained.

“So if it got hacked, our text transcripts wouldn’t be available?” Sally asked.

“Right, but your planning app for work would open right up,” Tony nodded.

“Fail safes?” Sally asked.

“How do you mean?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Is there any way for me to shut it down, if I know someone is about to try?”

“Press and hold the home button for three seconds. It’ll default the device into hacked mode, and hide any incoming data messaging,” Tony explained. “If you’re that worried, Sally, you aren’t telling me everything. What is going on? And remember, I am your soulmate. Your fiancé. And soon will be your husband. Lying isn’t going to look good.”

“Like I said, Victor is setting off my warning bells. This is a spooky landscape to begin with, and I’m on edge. I’m probably overreacting, Tony.” Sally could hear her mother chastising her about lying by omission, but she just couldn’t open up and tell the whole tale to him. “I’ve really gotta go though. Snowboarding!”

“I still don’t believe you, but I’ll badger you more about it tonight,” Tony shook his head.

It was overcast, and by the time Sasha and Sally reached the ski lodge, it was snowing heavily, making visibility limited. Sally looked up the mountain, socked in behind dark clouds and looked back at Sasha.

“Really?”

“It’s actually the best weather to get out of here. We’ll be long gone before anyone notices with these flurries blowing around,” he nodded.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Sally asked.

“We’ll do some runs until mid-morning, and then we’ll break to eat. When we take the lift back up to the top, we’ll just head over to the far run, ditch our equipment and start hiking,” Sasha explained. “There’s some caves we should reach by nightfall, and once we get up tomorrow morning, we’re going to have another long day ahead of us, but by tomorrow night, we should be able to alert your fella to where we are, and have him extract us without much fuss.”

Sally nodded and followed Sasha into the lodge. “Reassure me that you won’t murder me or something.”

“I’ve got everything at stake too, Sally. Making the right decision is a lot easier when you know it might help the case against you.” In that moment, Sasha became Bucky Barnes again, and Sally nodded.

“I just,” Sally paused. “After the thing in DC –“

“I’ll never be the same man I was, Sally. But I’ll be damned if all I am remembered for is the Winter Soldier,” he shook his head.

The falling snow didn’t hamper Sally’s enjoyment of the morning at all, once she got past the underlying dread of their plan failing. By the time Sasha signaled her at the bottom of the hill to head in for a snack, she was feeling nearly as free as she did on a surfboard. Just colder.

“You seem less tense,” Sasha commented. Sally nodded.

“Freedom is a heady elixir,” Sally admitted. “And those hard runs feel a lot like flying.”

“One last run before we go eat then,” he laughed. “It’s starting to get crowded, and it looks like the sky is clearing a little.” He directed her back to the lift, and they hopped on a chair. Sasha watched the skiers below them as they headed up the mountain.

“I don’t know how you look down like that,” Sally laughed. “It makes me dizzy.”

“Didn’t you tell me just last week that you like jumping out of planes for fun?” Sasha shot back. “There’s some erratic skiing happening on that run you’ve been favouring this morning. Maybe try a different one this time.”

“I feel confident in my ability to dodge around them,” Sally shrugged. “I barely missed clipping a kid earlier this morning, but I think they’re just out having fun. It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Sasha sighed. Sally hopped off the chair and winked.

“I do,” she laughed. “Race you to the bottom, old man. Last one down buys lunch!” She headed toward her run, without looking back.

Partway down the intermediate run, a skier dodged in front of her. She barely missed hitting the man, but was able to redirect herself without falling. A few minutes later, another skier shot across in front of her, and she just wasn’t fast enough to safely avoid hitting him. She knocked him down, and lost her balance, not quite bailing into the snow. When she was able to regain her legs, and straighten up, she looked up just in time to see the tree in front of her as she slammed into it. And then she saw nothing.

“Sally!” A familiar voice called her, from far away. She blinked and looked up into Sasha’s concerned face. “Sally, you’re badly hurt. Where’s your phone?”

“Inside my coat,” she moaned. “What happened?”

“You hit a skier, and lost control. And then you hit a tree,” Sasha explained. “I’m going to call Tony.”

“No, Sasha, just get me help,” Sally breathed. “I hurt everywhere.” She closed her eyes and mercifully, everything went dark again.

Something smelled like trees and antiseptic. Sally drew in a deep breath and yawned, opening her eyes slowly. She was in a narrow bed in a cool, white room. There was a window just far enough away that all she could see was the blue sky beyond her room.

“Iubită, finally, you are back with me.” Sally looked away from the window toward the voice. The man was in a rumpled white shirt, open at the collar. The sleeves were rolled up, and the amount of wrinkles in the shirt suggested he’d been sitting vigil in the chair for a while.

Sally’s mouth was dry, and she licked her lips before trying to speak. “Where am I?”

“The medical centre. You had a skiing accident.” The man didn’t elaborate, but handed her a cup with a straw. Ice water had never tasted so good. She cleared her throat and tried to sit up. The man held his hand up to stop her and pressed a button on the side of the bed, lifting her head.

“What happened?”

“Your femur was broken in three places, so you needed a surgery to repair it,” he explained. “Fortunately, the medical advances we’ve made here allowed the bone to be repaired, possibly stronger than it was before.”

“Three places?” She asked. “How does that get repaired?”

“The femur has a steel rod inside it now. Thanks to our advanced robotics technology, the bone is already repaired,” the man explained.

“Are you the doctor?” She asked.

“No, Iubită,” he laughed, softly, and took her hand in his. “The doctor warned me you’d had a head injury as well, but I didn’t realize he meant you would forget so much.”

“What did I forget?” Sally asked. All she could remember was another man asking her about her phone.

“Iubită, Sara, I am your husband, Victor.” He sat at the edge of the bed, and smoothed her hair off her face. “You are my wife.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” Sally shook her head. “My head hurts. And my leg is burning. Are there stitches? Is that why the skin is burning?”

“You have no stitches, my love.” Victor shook his head. “The technology was sufficiently advanced that it completely healed your incision. Look.” He helped her draw back the sheet, and sure enough, when she compared her legs, the only thing that told her which one had been broken was the burning she felt in the affected leg. Otherwise they were a perfect match, completely unmarred. Sally ran her hand down the affected leg, and could feel a twisting ridge of scar tissue under the flesh.

“Why does it feel so odd?” She asked.

“The technology is not perfect, and cannot correct old wounds,” Victor explained.

“I don’t remember another injury,” Sally said. “But my leg feels different now.”

“Sleep, Iubită. You need to regain your strength, or we’ll have to reschedule the coronation -”

“Coronation?” Sally interrupted

Victor chuckled softly. “Yes, my beloved princess. Now that we are wed, you need to be elevated to your station as Empress of Latveria, that you may rule at my side.”

“Empress? Of Latveria?” Sally asked. The words seemed so familiar, but she couldn’t make sense of anything they were speaking about.

“Rest, Sara,” Victor squeezed her hand. “I must see to –“

“I thought I was American?” She interrupted. Victor smiled as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“You are, Sara. You came here to work, and we fell in love. You chose to stay when I proposed.”

“I don’t remember,” Sally shook her head. She felt the press of an invisible weight on her chest, and took a deep, ragged breath.

“The doctor says it will return with time, but while your brain is still swollen, you might have problems with recollection.”

“If we’re married, why don’t I have a ring?” She asked. Her head felt foggy, like she was lost and couldn’t find her way out of a maze.

“It’s right here,” he replied, reaching for the bedside table and slipping a wedding set on her finger. Sally looked at it, and narrowed her eyes. The engagement ring was a round cut pink diamond. That didn’t seem right. “I’ve assigned a guard to watch you tonight, lest you get frightened. I will see you in the morning.” He pressed his lips against her forehead again and turned to leave the room. The guard stepped in and the spoke quietly in the corner for a moment before Victor left. The guard came and sat in the chair Victor had vacated and smiled at her.

“How are you feeling, doll?” He asked. Sally looked at him and blinked slowly.

“You’re the guard who helped me on the ski hill,” she realized. “I can’t remember your name.”

“Bu – “ he started. “Alexandr Vurdalakovich.” His face fell.

“We were friends,” Sally surmised. The guard smiled.

“You called me Sasha,” he nodded. “You were in my charge when you were hurt.”

“Was it your fault?” Sally asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“No ma’am,” he shook his head.

“Did I trust you?”

“With your life,” he nodded. His voice was serious, almost hard.

“How long ago was the accident?” Sally asked.

“6 days, 14 hours and 32 minutes ago,” Sasha replied.

“And you’re sure I trust you?” Sally demanded.

“I give my word,” he nodded, the same hard tone back in his voice. Sally looked back at her hand, to the foreign rings on her finger and then looked back at Sasha.

“Why is my engagement ring wrong?”

Sasha stared at her, eyes narrowed and assessing. He huffed a little breath out, but said nothing.

“I – “ he started.

“Sara, I have your pain medication,” a nurse interrupted as she breezed through the door. She lifted the covers just enough that she could see Sally’s leg and pressed on it in a couple of places. “Where is the pain, mostly?”

“Uh, there’s a burning sensation that wraps around my thigh. It seems to follow that band of scar tissue,” Sally offered. The nurse pursed her lips and shot a direct look at Sasha.

“Step outside, please,” she ordered. Sasha shook his head and locked gazes with the nurse.

“I’m under orders from the Emperor to not leave her side,” Sasha refused, unblinking.

“I need to assess her,” the nurse protested.

“It’s okay,” Sally interjected. The nurse turned to look at Sally, narrowing her eyes.

“What is?”

“Sasha, it’s okay. Just stay by the door?” Sally asked. Sasha nodded and stepped just outside the room. She could see the outline of his head through the cloudy window on the door and was reassured this stranger who felt safe wasn’t leaving her. The nurse accessed her IV and injected the medication into the line. Soon, Sally was drifting off again.

The searing, scalding pain in her leg pulled her out of her sleep with a start. From the inside of her thigh, wrapping like a snake around until her knee, the band of scar tissue was on fire. She reached down to rub at it but the skin was hot to the touch, like she was being burned right in the moment. She sat up, pulling back the blankets, and stared at her leg. It looked fine, but the line of scar tissue was a faint pink that was just a tiny bit darker than the rest of her skin.

She dragged in a shaky breath and looked over at the soldier sleeping in the chair by the foot of her bed. He looked uncomfortable in his uniform, beret tucked into a shoulder epaulet, but his gloves still on. She narrowed her eyes at the gloves. There was some sort of significance there that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she felt as though if she could just remember that one detail, so many other things would fall into place.

“Sasha?” Sally’s voice was a coarse whisper. He immediately snapped awake.

“Sally?” He pulled his chair closer silently and sat up, leaning forward, arms on his knees.

“Sasha, how did I get here?” She asked.

“You hit another skier,” Sasha started slowly. Sally could tell he was withholding information.

“But how did I wind up in Latveria?” Sally asked. Sasha blanched.

“You really don’t remember?” Sasha asked. “You have no recollection of the weeks leading up to your arrival here?”

“None,” Sally nodded. “The last thing I remember is surfing at Santa Cruz. In April? The water was still a little chilly.”

“Do you remember the last job you worked?” Sasha pressed.

“A charity car? For pancreatic cancer research?” Sally squinted, deep in thought. She knew the answer was wrong, but couldn’t remember what the right answer was. She sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing across her. The pain in her leg was wearing her down emotionally, and nothing the nurse gave her came near to relieving the pain. It was only when she was sedated that she could sleep, and even then she was haunted by dreams of a third dark-haired man, this one with rich chocolate brown eyes with gold highlights. She fell back against her pillow.

“You’re tired,” Sasha observed. Sally nodded. “I’ll get the nurse so you can have something for pain.”

“The pain meds aren’t working,” Sally admitted.

“I’ll let her know that too.” Sasha rose and stepped to the door of her room, gesturing to the nurse. They had a quiet conversation in a language Sally didn’t understand and then Sasha nodded and turned back to Sally. “She’s going to see if she can get an order for something for nerve pain. And she’ll bring something to help you sleep.”

“I feel like maybe you are more than my guard, Sasha,” Sally commented. “You’re my friend too?”

“Very much so,” he nodded, and moved his chair to sit beside her. She reached out for his hand. Surprised, he allowed her to lace her fingers in his. They sat in silence until the nurse came with the next dose of pain medication.

“Did you get something else for pain for me?” Sally asked as the nurse cleaned the saline lock at her wrist.

“We’re trying a medication for nerve pain now,” the nurse nodded as she injected the medication. Sally sighed and nodded.

“And something for sleep?” She asked.

“In about twenty minutes.”

Sally settled back into the bed and closed her eyes. She focussed on breathing slowly and evenly, a vague recollection having read something about breathing and pain control prompting her to try to relax, her fingers still entwined with Sasha’s. She heard the nurse return, quietly working around Sasha to assess her leg and give the sedative medication. She started to relax enough that she could feel herself dropping off to sleep and allowed the dreams to come.

The ocean water was cold and Sally resurfaced, sputtering and laughing, and his lips brushed against hers. She sighed into him and the waves retreated, and suddenly they were in a massive bed, and his lips trailed down her neck and shoulder, following her collarbone to the valley between her breasts. He looked up at her, and she fought to remember him, fought to remember those brown eyes that were so clearly full of love in a way she couldn’t have just created in her imagination. The soft hairs of his carefully manicured goatee dragged across the gentle curve of her belly and she gasped as his lips found the painful band on her inner thigh.

She came awake with a start, his name on her lips. But it was gone before she was fully coherent, and she pulled back into awareness by the concerned furrow on Victor’s brow.

“Iubită, you were having a nightmare.” He smoothed his hand across her forehead, sweeping the hair off her face.

“It didn’t feel like a nightmare,” Sally argued. “I felt like I was trying to remember.”

“Sara, you were crying out in pain and begging for help,” Victor prompted. Sally shook her head and fell silent. She knew she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been. The dream was too realistic, and nothing about it felt wrong. Being alone in the cold medical room with Victor felt wrong, but Sally was still so lost in the lack of memories that she couldn’t figure out exactly why.

“The pain medications are not working on my leg,” Sally changed the subject. “I know you said the surgery was state of the art, but I feel like someone has coiled a rope around my leg and keeps pulling it tighter and tighter. It burns all the time.”

The corners of Victor’s mouth turned down and his brow furrowed. “I will see what the doctor has to say.” He rose and before he left, leaned down to kiss Sally’s forehead. Sally tried to control the instinctive flinch, but was left wondering why she recoiled from his touch, if he was her husband. She knew Sasha held the key to what was happening, but they were never alone long enough for her to pull any information out of him. Sasha slipped in as Victor stepped out.

“You’re awake,” he commented.

“Why does he call me Sara?” Sally asked. Sasha drew in a deep breath.

“To put distance between who you were and who he wants you to be,” Sasha admitted truthfully. Sally used the controls on the side of the bed to raise her head and readjusted herself into a more comfortable position.

“And why am I finding moving so easy if my leg was broken in three places? Shouldn’t I be stiff and sore?” She demanded.

“The technology that he has developed for healing the human body is remarkable,” Sasha hedged, his eyes flicking to the camera Sally had just noticed was in the corner of the room monitoring them. Sally suddenly understood why every time she tried to talk to him the nurse would interrupt.

“Should we test this leg out then?” Sally asked, swinging her legs over to the side of the bed. Sasha leaped to his feet and stood in front of her, holding out his hands to catch her.

“What about your pain?” He asked.

“Everyone insists it is nerve pain. So it shouldn’t get any worse with the use of my legs, right?” She shrugged, shuffling herself to the edge of the bed. “Help tie up this gown, would you? I get the impression we’re friends, but not naked-bum-seeing friends.”

Sasha smirked and pulled the gown across her back and tied it at the side of her waist. “We are not naked-anything-seeing friends,” he confirmed. Sally placed her feet on the cold flood tentatively, and shifted her weight to her good leg, slowly easing her balance over to both legs. Just as she’d thought, the pain was no worse once she was standing.

“Where can we go walk? If I was injured skiing, I know it’s not April anymore,” she commented.

“There’s a gym in the former dungeon. For members of the guard,” he started. “I can see no reason why we couldn’t go there.” With a hand across her back, he guided her slowly to the door. They were met by the nurse, who blocked the door.

“And where exactly do you think you are going?” She asked, her accent so thick Sally could barely understand it. She was obviously speaking English for Sally’s benefit.

“Testing the strength and integrity of this bone repair,” Sasha shrugged.

“I don’t have a doctor’s order for activity,” the nurse argued.

“You must have, you were able to take the catheter out yesterday after she woke up,” Sasha shot back. “It would still be there if she wasn’t allowed to get up to the toilet.”

“Toilet privilege is different than free activity,” the nurse snapped. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Well, I don’t understand either. If this is a state-of-the-art repair, I should be able to get up and move around. I should be encouraged to do so,” Sally argued. The nurse shot an angry look at her.

“You need to get back into bed,” she ordered.

“Humour me for a moment, Sasha,” Sally started. “Victor said I was his wife?”

“Yes,” Sasha nodded.

“And this is my wedding band?” Sally pointed at the ring on her left hand.

“Yes.”

“So I’m the wife of the emperor of this country, correct?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

“That would seem to be the case,” Sasha nodded. Sally rose up, standing as straight as she could manage and stared the nurse in the eye.

“I would strongly advise you to get the fuck out of my way,” Sally smiled, her tone cooler than her words. The nurse sighed heavily and stepped out of the way of the door, allowing them past. Sasha slipped his arm around Sally’s back again and helped her to the elevator. They stood in silence as the elevator descended to the dungeon level, and again, he helped her off the elevator.

“I should have found a wheelchair,” Sasha commented when Sally needed to stop to catch her breath.

“I’m in better shape than this,” Sally took a deep breath, and forced it out slowly. Sasha nodded.

“You’ve been running every morning since you got here. Usually 3 or 4 miles,” he agreed. “But this kind of injury and surgery takes all your reserves and burns through them. Just a few more feet and we’ll be in the gym.”

“I can do that,” Sally pushed herself off the wall, and allowed Sasha to help her again. She had no limp, she noticed, and other than the pain and exhaustion, she would never have known she had been injured. The bone itself felt strong, the muscles powerful. Once they were through the gym, Sasha turned her sharply to the left where the track was. As soon as they were on it, he spoke quietly.

“My guess is that we have less than five minutes before Victor is down here demanding you get back into bed. I disabled the monitoring in this gym months ago, it intermittently does and doesn’t work, but the sound is always far too distorted to understand what is being said,” he explained.

“I keep dreaming of a man with brown eyes.” It was the first thing Sally thought to blurt out. “Every time I am sedated, he returns.”

“Do you remember your soulmark?” Sasha asked.

“My what?” Sally asked, confusion crumpling her features. The words sounded like they meant something, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Soulmark,” Sasha said the word again. “It’s a sentence or phrase etched into your skin that tells you the first words your soulmate will say to you.”

“Did I think that was a legend?” Sally asked. It seemed to familiar, but she couldn’t imagine buying into it.

“Shit.”

“What?” Sally asked. He nodded in the direction of the doors to the gym, where he saw Victor arguing with the captain of the guard. Victor pointed at them, and the guard stepped out of the way, but Victor had more angry words for the man.

“It’s not a legend,” Sasha spoke quickly. “And when I carried you into the operating suite, I saw your mark. And when you came out of the surgery, your mark was gone. As is half of your memory.”

“Sasha, was Victor ever my lover?” Sally breathed, horror washing over her.

“Never,” Sasha shook his head. “I would argue that he frightened you, to be honest.” Sally looked up and watched as Victor strode toward them.

“Vurdalakovich! What is the meaning of this?” Victor stepped in front of them, impeding their progress around the track.

“Her Grace wanted to walk, to make sure her surgery had been successful.” Sasha was suddenly the perfect soldier. Sally straightened as much as she could. “I didn’t dare argue.”

“Sara,” Victor started. “It is far too soon –“

“It’s been six days,” Sally argued.

“You only woke yesterday,” Victor countered, taking her free hand in his. He disentangled her from Sasha’s side, and took his place, sliding his hand across the small of her back. Unlike when Sasha touched her, her skin crawled, warning her something was very wrong, even if she couldn’t figure out what.

“If the repair was as state-of-the-art as you claim, I should have started physiotherapy yesterday,” Sally argued. “I forced the guard’s hand and demanded he bring me somewhere I could walk.”

“I don’t think it is wise, my love –“

“If you want me to walk at my coronation, it is very wise,” Sally interrupted. Sasha cocked an eyebrow from behind Victor’s shoulder, and Sally smiled, redirecting it at Victor.

“We can argue about this more tomorrow,” Victor set his jaw. “But now let’s get you back to your bed.”

“As I am worn thin, I will agree,” Sally nodded. Victor tilted his head to one side and looked hard at her. He pursed his lips and nodded. Sally took him in, tall, and strong. Handsome. Shrewd intelligence that shone out of his eyes. She realized that most women would find him extremely attractive, but there was something deep inside that repelled her.

“Very well.” Victor scooped her up in his arms, and carried her toward the doors. He turned and levelled his gaze on Sasha. “We will discuss your insubordination later.”

“My insubordination, you mean,” Sally corrected. Victor narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. “I demanded, Victor. He followed my orders. Had you given him any orders to suggest he shouldn’t be at my beck and call?”

“No,” Victor barely paused before answering.

“Then it is settled. He remains my guard because I trust him. He is the only thing I come close to remembering about being here,” Sally countered.

“If that is what you wish, Iubită,” Victor nodded.

“It is,” Sally nodded.

“Sally!” The man with the brown eyes screamed, reaching out to her as she was dragged deeper and deeper into a dark abyss. She reached back, his name on her lips, crying out for him. She pain in her chest matched the pain in her leg and she saw words snaking around his bicep in writing she recognized as her own. His fingers entwined in hers, but before either of them could get a firm grip, Sally was tugged away again, her fingers slipping from his.

“No!” She screamed.

She sat up in bed, covered in sweat, breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Sasha bolted up from his chair, suddenly alert.

“Are you okay?” His voice floated across the dark room. Sally turned toward the corner it came from.

“That dream I had yesterday,” she began. “It became a nightmare. He was trying to save me and I was pulled away.”

“The doctor came in when you were sleeping. You’ll be leaving medical back to your suite this morning,” Sasha offered, changing the subject deliberately.

“Will you still be expected to guard me?” Sally asked.

“Yes,” Sasha nodded. “Victor is concerned about your safety. He feels the accident was deliberate.”

“Tell me how it happened again,” Sally laid back in the bed, looking at the monitor camera out of the corner of her eye.

“You were honeymooning at the ski lodge,” Sasha started, his voice dull and lifeless. Sally suspected he was sending her a message. “You were on an intermediate run, and someone cut you off. As you tried to avoid them, you changed direction and hit a tree.”

“And my leg was broken?”

“You had a broken leg and a concussion from the accident. Victor ordered the guard and the ski patrol to investigate, and now they have uncovered evidence that it was a set up to destabilize Victor’s government,” Sasha recited. Sally had a flash of recollection about dodging someone on the ski hill and nodded. She knew that much was true, but she suspected the rest of the story was false. Every time she woke from another dream, she found herself able to discern more easily the truth from fiction.

“Is it too late to take me for a walk? I feel restless,” Sally asked.

“I received dispensation while you slept to take you whenever you felt necessary,” Sasha nodded.

“And we’ll be safe?” Sally asked, hoping Sasha caught the double meaning. “It is night, after all.”

“I’ve secured the area myself,” Sasha nodded, and assisted her from the bed. The pain along the scar bit as she stretched herself, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward. She was never going to regain her strength without forcing herself. And one way or another she needed to be strong for the coming weeks.

When they were halfway through the first lap in the gym, Sally drew in her breath. “I know something is going on, Sasha. I just can’t figure out what.”

“It’s coming back to you, though, I think,” he nodded. “You remembered about the accident?”

“I remember being cut-off,” Sally nodded. “Hitting the tree.”

“Anything else?” Sasha asked. Sally flushed.

“I remember June. I remember being approached to work on a car in New York. I remember being concerned about the contract for some reason, but going anyhow,” Sally admitted.

“And?” Sasha prompted.

“I know I’ve had,” Sally trailed off, and turned redder. “Uh, relations? With someone.”

“You’re in your mid-thirties, Sally –“

“No, I had never done that before New York. There was something stopping me,” she cut him off. “And something about New York changed that. The brown-eyed man? I dream about him constantly.”

“Your soulmate, Sally,” Sasha whispered. Sally felt an icy chill down her back and stopped walking.

“I don’t think I had one?” She replied. Sasha shook his head.

“I was brainwashed. For years. I couldn’t remember anything about my past,” Sasha started. “I saw one of the vials of medication they’ve been giving you. It’s the same drug that was used on me.”

“What?” Sally could feel her heart rate increase.

“For decades, I couldn’t remember who I was, or who was important to me. Until one day, I was ordered to kill a man. And seeing his face, hearing his voice, it woke those memories in me, and I was able to start to claw my way back to the surface. Discover who I really was,” he explained, fiddling with his phone a little as they walked. He handed the phone over and Sally took it, looking down at the photo he’d brought up. It was a pair of men who looked very familiar.

“That’s Captain America,” Sally commented on the handsome blond man on the left of the photo as she recognized him. “My grandfather served with him, you know.”

“Do you know the man he is standing with?” Sasha asked. Sally looked back at the photo and took in the man on the right. When Sasha had first past the phone to her, she hadn’t noticed him at all because of the shield giving away who Captain America was. She took in the sharp angle of the second man’s jaw. His wavy, dark hair. Perfectly groomed goatee. And rich, deep chocolately brown eyes. Sally’s breath caught.

“Tony,” she breathed. She drew in a sharp breath as a wave of memories washed across her, amplifying the pain in her leg until she crumpled against Sasha. The embarrassing soulmark, the contract to work on Clint Barton’s car. The moment when he spoke the words to her, and every subsequent moment. His lips on hers – at Coney Island, the Tower, the gala, the moment he proposed. Her mother’s wedding dress, remade for her because it matched so well with the beautiful hand-me-down engagement ring that had been Tony’s mother’s. “My engagement ring –“

“I have it. And your phone. And no idea how to let Tony know you are safe or alive because your fucking encryption shut down messaging when I tried getting into it,” Sasha slid an arm around her and helped her stand up. “Let’s get you back to your bed.”

“We need to leave,” Sally argued.

“You’re hardly in any shape to be hiking through the Carpathians, Sally,” Sasha argued.

[iggyw]

Yuuri/Victor fic recs, part two

I said last time that I wanted to do more first-time recs, which I almost completely fucked up. Sorry?

Repeat After Me - queenieofaces

Teen and Up, 5880 words. Victor and Yuuri aren’t speaking the same language. Lovely, lyrical examination of their relationship’s evolution from Victor’s POV.

Yuuri seems to communicate best through euphemism, through metaphor, through talking around the subject rather than approaching it head on, and so Victor tries his best to mimic him, to take his words and echo them back.  If Victor lets Yuuri set their pace, lets him choose how to frame the conversation, Yuuri stops shrinking away.  If Victor meets Yuuri where he is instead of bounding ahead and hoping he’ll catch up, Yuuri inches incrementally closer, closes the space between them.  So Victor lets Yuuri set the starting conditions (Yuuri is katsudon) and Victor will mirror that back to him with modification (Victor loves katsudon).  It’s a convoluted method of communication, especially given that neither of them are speaking their native languages, but after so long dashing ahead and looking back to see Yuuri running away, Victor will take anything that works.

Calligraphia - emilyenrose

Mature, 2924 words. Victor gets a tattoo. Yuuri gets publicly embarrassed. Funny and charming.

“You’re so cruel,” says Victor. “Of course I’m not skating in a wedding outfit. That’s for our wedding skate.”

“Wedding skate?” says Yuuri, and eyes Victor suspiciously. Unfortunately it is completely impossible to tell the difference between Victor’s joking grin and his I-am-deadly-serious grin. “Victor, are we doing a wedding skate?”

in the spaces between - sixpences

Teen and Up, 7237 words. Another beautiful story about languages, really nice domestic fluff featuring the whole Team Russia ensemble.

Victor speaks Russian with him at the rink too, unless it’s easier to get Yuuri to understand something in English or Japanese, and even when he’s tapping his foot in full, calculating coach mode it’s an education in Russian zoology. Yuuri is porosyonok when he flubs his third jump of the day, ribka when he struggles to articulate the changes he wants to make to his step sequence for the free skate, voronyonok as Victor buttons up his new black wool coat against the winter cold.

He laughs, though, when Yuuri asks him what kind of animal a kotletka is.

“Oh, a very fierce and dangerous one. Your mother hunts them down every week at Super Yuki and smothers them to death with egg and dashi.”

Yuuri tries to mitigate his blush with an eye roll. “Did you have to start calling me a katsudon in multiple languages?”

Immaculate Dream, Made Breath and Skin - RC_McLachlan

Explicit, 2875 words. Crazy-hot first-time PWP. Best tag: “Yuuri Katsuki: Craving Cock Since 2007.”

Almost half his life has been spent training for the day that Victor Nikiforov takes him to bed, so when it finally happens after the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri's prepared. More than prepared: he's ready. No one's ever touched him as a lover, sure, but there's nothing that he hasn't already dreamed about doing or having done to him to make anything that could happen a shock.

But he's said it before and he'll say it again: Victor lives to surprise him.

Three Sheets to the Wind - mousapelli

Explicit, 9086 words. Three times Yuuri and Victor had sex. Hot and funny and adorable.

"You're gorgeous," Victor said, making Yuuri squirm even harder. Victor laid two fingers against Yuuri's collarbone and dragged them slowly, slowly down to his stomach. "All mine. My delicious katsudon."

"Stop bringing that up," Yuuri huffed. "You're the idiot asking me about eros when you knew I'd never had a…" Yuuri hesitated. He'd never had an anything.

"Boyfriend," Victor finished. "Well, you've got a boyfriend now, haven't you? We can talk more about your eros now, if you want."

Go, enjoy, and comment!

[farshyn]

101517 | Trendsetter’s Bazaar

We went early around 12nn to beat the crowd and to claim the prize I won from the IG giveaway of @trendsetterteam and @skingenie. I was contemplating on going because of the inclement weather but I’m kind of glad that we still went.

There were lots to see, online shops have gathered into one place and you don’t even have to pay for shipping if you like something from them. You just have to pay the entrance ticket for PHP 100. There’d be another Trendsetter’s Bazaar on November 3-5, 2017 at SMX Convention Center, you can check their Facebook page for more details.

Faux fur for flat lays.

Tons of adorable notebooks and stationery.

This is quite small in real life but I guess it’s just proportionate to usage since you’ll only need a drop or two to highlight your face. I saw one youtube vlogger using this and I would buy this if I was into makeup. It really does wonders to your face. lol

There’s a whole stall selling cases but almost everything are for iPhones.

There are also clothes for your pets ranging from PHP 250-500+.

I saw this wool coat at Greenhills but of better quality.

Dainty rings for PHP 250 each. I kind of wanted one but it was kinda pricey for me and I know I’ll be able to see these at Divisoria.

Customizable wallets, passport holders, etc. You can chose the charms you want to put.

There’s this shop that sells K Beauty and Skin Care, I just forgot the name of the store. Aside from the regular sized products, they also sell these samples for PHP 20 each. Super affordable. I bought two samples of Innisfree Jeju Volcanic Cleansing Foam because I’ve been wanting to try that product. 

I’m a fan of Skin Genie’s Lip and Cheek Stain Alive! I’ve been using mine (Creamy Peach) since March and recently, I discovered that it’s better to put on loose powder on your lips before you apply for full coverage. Plus, the tint won’t just settle in the middle of your lips. 

I wonder what these Liquor Soaps smell like.

Barney from How I Met Your Mother has this term ‘Cheerleader Effect’, a cognitive bias which makes you think that individuals are more attractive when in a group. Same goes with these clothes, the visual merchandise of this store did its job well. It makes you want to buy something. But when you hold a piece, it loses its charm and makes you think if you really want it or if you’re just swayed by the overall look of the place.

Stranger Things inspired.

The navy blue shirt is the only article of clothing I bought. Aside from the cheap price, it’s the only one that suited me out of all the clothes I tried on.

I tried on a shirt from Mura Clothing that looked like that pink one. I liked it but the fitting wasn’t great on me.

For all the beauty junkies out there, this place is a haven for you. Lots of makeup brushes and tools.

Definitely a place for girls who love affordable clothing and adorable designs as this shop is pretty famous for that.

These parkas are reaaaally nice and super affordable too. I would buy one if I didn’t already have one.

There was also the Travel Sale Fair where luggages were almost 70% off, discounted airfare tickets, and various promos on tours and activities. Overall, it was an okay experience. I’m not much of a shopper and only got the stuff I listed down prior to going. Going here was a good reminder that I don’t need many things in life. Bazaar haul on my next post.

[elizaxspears]

So, i know I did a one shot not that long ago, but I had to do another one for them. It’s a little late, I know, but I hope you enjoy the cheese that this fic is!

What do you get a super spy like Harry Hart? Honestly, that’d been a question Eggsy’s been asking since the beginning of December. 

It hadn’t been long since they started seeing each other; two months at most but even so, it was still their first holiday together after all. Harry’s also lived a lot longer then he has, has pretty much everything he could need or want; Eggsy doesn’t know enough about butterflies to see if he could help expand Harry’s collection. Harry’s never mentioned much about the holidays, about gift giving, about any of it really probably because there was no set ‘time off’ period for a Kingsman agent but Eggsy went and bought him something anyway.

Honestly, it’s not even that special of a gift, at least, he’s sure what other couples buy each other. He’d gone through many shops, poking his head in and leaving empty handed until he came across what lay in the box on his lap as he waited for Harry to come home. The man had been stuck at headquarters all day to finish up some papers he owed Merlin.

He’s got tea already made, a fire going, even some fitting music Eggsy’s found buried in the back of Harry’s closet. He knows maybe he shouldn’t have gone digging though Harry’s things, but he’s still young (he also wonders how much longer he can actually use that excuse).

He sets the box aside to greet Harry at the door, being sure to wear his biggest smile. “Hey Har.” he greets, assisting Harry remove his jacket. Harry’s arms go lax as he lets the younger man help, Eggsy already seeing the tension in his shoulders ease just that tiny bit. “Busy?”

“Exhausting is more accurate.” Harry replies, “and thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” the coats hung up and Eggsy takes Harry’s bicep, gently urging the older man to follow him into the sitting room. “Made tea.”

“Wonderful.” comes Harry’s reply and Eggsy’s sure he’s probably more eager for the beverage then the gift Harry hasn’t noticed till on the couch. But as he picks up the cup waiting for him, he stills, listening intently. “This song…”

“Ah, yeah. Um, found it in your closer.” he awkwardly rubs the back of his head. “Sorry if—”

“My mother loved playing these records around this time of year. Always put her in the festive mood, kept her motivated through all the baking she used to do.” Eggsy notes the fondness on Harry’s face, his lips titled upward in a soft smile. “I haven’t heard any of these songs in years. I forgot I even had them.”

“So, you don’t mind?��

“No. No I don’t.”

Eggsy smiles brightly at him. “Then, maybe you won’t mind that I brought ya somethin’?”

Harry looks curiously at Eggsy then to the rectangular shaped box Eggsy picks up. “My dear boy, you didn’t need to.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted too. Besides I…I think you’ll like it.”

Harry sets down his tea and takes the box. The curiosity on Harry’s face is enough to make Eggsy’s heart swell just a little more for the older man. He almost looks a little bit younger when he’s holding the gift someone presented to him. Carefully, Harry opens the cardboard lid and stares down at what’s inside. Eggsy bites the corner of his lip when Harry’s curiosity faces to something unreadable. “You, ah, I notice you really like that one jumper of yours. You wear it at a lot and I thought, I dunno, maybe it’d be nice to have something else too?” Inside the box is a black wool turtleneck. Harry needs to set the box down to feel the fabric between his fingers, his face going soft again. He removes his suit jacket and the white dress shirt, folding them neatly over the back of the couch before pulling out the sweater.

Eggsy doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Harry pulls the jumper over his head, tugging down the bottom to erase the wrinkles. He’s picked the right size and the colour and fit is very flattering on Harry. His perfectly coifed hair is a little disheveled now, a few strands of soft brown hair falling across his forehead. For once Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “So…like it?”

Harry places his hands on his chest, looking down at himself. Coming home to a new, soft sweater like this one was something he didn’t even know he needed until he put it on. “I very much do.” he replies. “Thank you Eggsy, truly. I…it’s such a simple gift, but one I am immensely fond of.”

“Really?”

“Quite, yes.” although now he looks a little unnerved, sad even. “I, apologize that I have nothing for you, Eggsy. I never expected to even get anything myself. In hindsight, I should have thought of something and I apologize I have nothing to give you.”

Eggsy scoffs, walking up to Harry and wrapping his arms tightly around Harry’s waist. He presses his head to Harry’s chest, feels Harry’s fingers curling into his hair, his other arm wrapping equally around Eggsy’s own waist. “Nah, you already got me the best present of all Har,” He takes a deep breath then looks up, boosting himself onto his tiptoes for a warm, sweet kiss, and he feels Harry hold him even closer, unwilling to break the kiss. Even when Eggsy does, he doesn’t pull that far away, just enough so he can lock his eyes with Harry’s soft chocolate ones and say, “it’s you.”