#anyways chat i love being pakistani

[arctimon]

It’s Prom Season, everyone!

Or it...was? So depending on where you live and when you actually had it, you might be going or have gone to Prom this next couple of weeks.  Most places (at least in the U.S.) are opening back up, and that means that kids at school are coming back together just in time to dress up and party out.

This whole train of thought came up when I was delivering packages last week.  I saw so many kids wearing tuxedos and dressed, so I guess they were heading out for the night.  I talked to a couple kids, and they just seemed so relieved they were doing something normal for the first time in over a year.

I suppose you’re wondering why I’m bringing this up? For (Big Hero) 6 reasons, obviously. (Spoiler: I don’t actually have six reasons.) But before we get to that...a little history of little ol’ Arct.

*pulls up rocking chair* (Spoiler again: I don’t actually have a rocking chair.)

I remember my prom very well.  I also recall there being a big controversy because the students of my high school could vote for the theme.  I don’t remember all of the choices, but I do remember what I voted for.

Toga Party. Because who doesn’t love a Toga Party?

Now, thinking back, everyone showing up in a white bedsheet and making sure that everyone was actually wearing something appropriate underneath (or anything, really) would have been a nightmare.  So they went with the “safe” choice. “Kiss From A Rose”. Yes.  That “Kiss From A Rose”.

Methinks that the staff didn’t look into the meaning of the song when it was chosen, because I didn’t hear any objections from them. I went with a small group of four people: myself, my twin brother, his girlfriend (now wife, by the way), and her best friend Shannon.  We were the respective third and fourth wheels; it was all about my brother and his girlfriend. For the record, Shannon and I didn’t go to prom together.  We went together, but not together.  Glad we cleared that up. To make an already long story drastically shorter, I had a really good time.  Chatted with friends, watched from afar as the people who were meant to be prom king and queen become prom king and queen, and I danced like most awkward teenagers do at that age. I also got a slow dance with Shannon.  I think it was out of pity more than anything because of the aforementioned awkward teenage thing, but it was still nice.  Protip, prom goers out there: a slow dance is a slow dance.  Take what you can get. So where am I going with this?

I was thinking about how we have two members of the Big Hero 6 gang that never got an opportunity to go to any sort of dance, and it’s the two that you are already thinking of: Hiro and Karmi.  Hiro, being 14, never went to high school.  Based off of Karmi’s presumed age of 16, she probably only went to one year of high school, and if she was anything like she was when Hiro first met her, she wouldn’t have been asked.  That, and freshman are normally not allowed to go to these things anyway. Now the others...that’s fun to think about. Honey Lemon?  Totally would have gone.  Probably got voted prom queen. Go Go?  Totally would have not gone.  Probably got voted prom queen as the class prank. Fred?  Never went to public school (presumably), so the closest thing he got to one was his Bro-tillion. Wasabi?  Hmm.  I feel like he’s the kind of person that would go stag (aka he went to a group event alone). Now, I don’t know what Megan’s thing was in “Something’s Fishy”, but whatever it was, she and Hiro were definitely younger than everyone else there (or maybe it was just animated that way for some reason):

The theme was “Dance The Night Away”, so maybe it was prom?  Perhaps a bit too early, depending on the timeframe of the season, but still.

Where was I going with this? Well, I think it’s mostly just me think about a scenario where I can imagine Hiro and Karmi getting themselves in a “prom”-esque situation where they have no idea what they’re doing.  Karmi would kind of know, but never being in that situation would cause her to immediately seize up.  That’s the kind of thing that I imagine Hiro (because it’s Karmi-related) would take the lead on. Which actually brings up a lingering thought:

(Hiro, get out of the way for a second.) I flatly refuse to believe that Karmi just happened to have this dress lying around just for the purposes of going to a Liv Amara-hosted event.  It’s too quick.  So, why does she have this dress?  Quinceañera (or Pakistani equivalent)?  Dinners out with her lawyer parents? Or...perhaps maybe a slightly sadder reason?

“I...never got invited.” Hiro winced. “Sorry.” “It wasn't your fault.  I was an idiot for thinking that anyone would actually invite me to prom.” “I would have invited you.” Karmi turned her head to look at him, her cheeks going more pink.  “Hiro, you were twelve at the time.  And also not in high school.”  She paused, and then added, “And you didn't even know me back then.” “Like any of that has ever stopped me before.”

She set her gaze back outside to the rain.  “It's ironic, right?  Us talking about this, and look at us.  All dressed up and no place to go.”

[Stopped there because future story spoilers.]

Well, I guess I don’t have to imagine a situation where this could happen. Because it’s going to happen. Get your slow dance, ladies and gentlemen.  Because you bet your butt that I’m going to make sure Hiro and Karmi get theirs.

[odium-amare]

(Reddit removed this post accusing me of having a personal agenda it’s absurd.) “Asian Women who reside(d) in non-Asian countries, have beauty standards and dating affected you?”

https://www.reddit.com/r/AskWomen/comments/dm4ymn/asian_women_who_resided_in_nonasian_countries/

(This includes South Asian women [Indian, Pakistani, etc.] as well fyi.)

(Note: This is not meant to be a whining or venting post. I'm curious about experiences and want to hear stories.)

Let's start with me...

I'm a Vietnamese woman (hello username) who grew up in the beautiful but fairly boring state of Virginia, United States.

Growing up, I have always had a messed up and inherited perception even without being told that white girls were preferred or the "ideal." I've noticed this even as a little kid and did not think much of it until much later. Even my own dad thinks white women are "most attractive" for the sole reason of more color variation within their hair and eyes.

Being surrounded by white media, books, people and environment, this was the "norm" for me.

In middle school and highschool, I was invisible compared to these girls. At least I felt I was.

Thanks to Asian pop media growing more everyday and more Asian representation is increasing in Hollywood (but is it the RIGHT representation though?) we're getting more seen.

Most people would point out that fetishization of Asian women are a big thing and therefore, I shouldn't be "complaining." Fetishizing of any ethnicity was never, is never and will never be a compliment. I'm sure I don't have to address and explain as to why the fetishization of Asian women, the expectations that I'm supposed to be a subservient, submissive and sexual woman for the sole reason of my race is in fact a form of racism. Not to mention the whole ideal caters to some racist, ignorant and gross white men; or guys who are too obsessed anime.

Same for Asian men but unfortunately, most people brush off casual racism towards Asians as opposed to other races.

Anyway, I grew to be proud of my heritage and to be more comfortable in my own skin.

Did I wish I was white as a kid? I have wondered what it would be like to have blonde hair and blue eyes, but no. And I don't ever wish to be anything other than Vietnamese. I think Vietnamese and other Asian women are gorgeous. I adore my dark hair and dark eyes. I'm not bashful to say I think I have my own interesting and sultry beauty that differentiates from the cute white/European girls I used to feel invisible too.

Making peace with oneself growing up and gaining experience develops this.

I always thought women of color were beautiful. Maybe it's because I got bored of what I was constantly surrounded by but black women have always made me be in awe of them.

As for dating life, well realistically speaking, I'm aware I will not be everyone's or even most people's ideal. I live in the West where Eurocentric standards are put on a pedestal. I have to accept this.

I may love myself but the stigma will always be in the back of my mind to remind me to tread carefully for whom I choose to connect with.

I also have to accept fetishizing Asian women are a huge thing. I've ran into countless situations that involved it.

I used to flirt around with a guy of German descent who wanted to be with me because he had a thing for Japanese chicks and me being Vietnamese, I was "close enough" for him.

There was a Swedish guy who pursued me but checking his past exes/flings, most were Asian.

I've had British guys throw racist slurs yet for some inconceivable notion, they thought those were compliments.

I was constantly asked if I'm a mail order bride.

The phrase "love you long time!" was constantly thrown in my and other Asian girls' faces.

I ran. Fast. I also see the fetishization often here in various subs on Reddit. It can't be helped that every time a white guy chats me up, the negative implications people have when they see an Asian woman with a white man will always be in the back of my head.

"Does he have yellow fever?"

I had a black guy call me a "white worshipping Asian whore" when I was calling out a hypocrisy in a conversation. Nevermind the fact I don't worship white people...Ever. Nevermind the fact that I am constantly trying to stand up for my own race and other minorities. Nevermind the fact that I find Asian and black men most appealing. The insult was completely irrelevant to the argument at hand but I was immediately judged because I was Asian.

Other than that, I'm still quite young and am happily single. I don't have much to talk about men from other races other than Asian guys. But I have observed a lot from other people to relay back trends I see. Asian guys will never tell you this because they're too busy demeaning and berating Asian women for dating outside their race but Asian guys desire white girls too (and Latinas.) If you go to Japan and ask the average guy their ideal woman, they'll probably answer an Eastern European country.

So Asian ladies, what are your experiences with beauty and love?

[btsybrkr]

You’re Hired

I love The Apprentice. I look forward to it every single year. It’s the one reality series that too-smart-for-you TV snobs won’t look down on you for watching, despite the fact that The Apprentice is really just Big Brother in suits. Think about it: larger-than-life contestants, living together in a big house, completing tasks where they will always be destined to fail (because it makes for much better conflict), all while being watched closely by an omnipotent figure, who calls all the shots.

In fact, Alan Sugar is a much scarier man-in-charge than the titular Big Brother. For one thing, he looks the contestants in the eyes when he’s destroying them emotionally - Big Brother hides away in a little recording booth somewhere, where he’s safe from any angry housemates, who’ve snapped after the pointlessness of what they’re doing has finally dawned on them. What a coward. Also, Alan Sugar is really bloody rich. Alan Sugar is so rich that he could probably buy you, and sell you back to yourself at a much higher price, and that’s pretty scary, if you ask me.

But, I digress. The thing that’s so great about The Apprentice is that it’s so low-stakes. Not to the contestants, of course, but to the viewer. See, it’s the only reality show where I never care who stays or who goes, and that’s because the contestants are usually, without exception, cocks - and this year hasn’t been much different.

Obviously, the stand-out recipient of the ‘Jesus Christ, You Really Are Absolutely Awful’ award this year has to be librarian and general irritant Lottie Lion, whose name alone makes her sound like the archetypal spoiled brat character from a Roald Dahl novel. It suits her so well, it’s almost as though her parents just sensed from birth that she was going to turn out that way. Or maybe she came out of the womb riding side-saddle on a horse and waxing lyrical about how much better she is than everyone else. I can’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

When she wasn’t shooting a piece-to-camera to repeat her mantra “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win”, she was busy coming up with increasingly ridiculous reasons why she was the ideal candidate for the top job in each task. She started out strong in Week 1 by announcing she was the best choice for sub-team leader in a tourism task, because “I know that the population of South Africa is 51 million”, and yet, amazingly, still managed to out-BS herself week after week. Perhaps the finest example was Week 9, in which she described having viola lessons when she was four as having been “in the music industry for 15 years”. By that logic, I’ve been in dentistry for 23 years, because I can navigate my own mouth with a toothbrush without taking out six of my teeth in the process.

Oh, and let’s not forget the remark she allegedly made in a contestants’ group chat, in which she told Pakistani candidate Lubna to “shut up, Ghandi”, before allegedly threatening “I’ll fucking knock you out at our press training”. Obviously, this is horrendously racist and absolutely out of order, and with any luck, Lubna might knock her out first, since, as a person born with arms, she has technically been in the boxing industry for 33 years.

On a much lighter note, this series might have introduced us to one of the most genuinely likeable contestants The Apprentice has ever seen in the form of Thomas Skinner, a self-described “full-time geezer”. Obviously, that’s not his day job - geezering does not pay very well, especially in this difficult economic climate. He’s a salesman, and a bloody good one - he’s so ridiculously charismatic that he could sell me the very concept of breathing itself and I’d probably pay over the odds for it.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at much else, and was fired by a reluctant Alan Sugar after losing eight out of the nine tasks he’d been involved in. I got thinking, though… couldn’t Alan Sugar just take him on anyway? Considering the lack of success that previous winners have experienced, he honestly might as well. I’m not sure exactly what he would hire him to do, but if anyone can help Thomas realise his dream of actually making a living as a full-time geezer, then I’m sure it’s him.

Personally, I think he deserves all of the money and maybe a knighthood, purely on the basis he’s the first candidate in a long time that hasn’t once described himself as ‘cutthroat’ or ‘brutal’, or made some ridiculous statement about how money is so important to him that he’d probably murder his entire family for a fiver. You know, like they usually do.

This year’s final saw headhunter Scarlett Allen-Horton and artisan bakery owner Carina Lepore go head-to-head for the opportunity to work alongside The Ultimate Sugar Daddy, with the final task being to create a hypothetical launch for their respective businesses.

Step one was to pick a new brand name. Carina and co. decided on Lepore’s, because - as Thomas put it - “people will go for the bread, but they’ll go for you, too”. It’s a nice enough point, but if she’s opening a chain of bakeries, she won’t always be in there, will she? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been disappointed to go into a Blackpool branch of Gregg’s, only to be told that, once again, I’m unable to speak to King Gregg himself. He’s probably hiding in one of his fancy London stores, the big elitist. Scarlett had slightly more trouble with rebranding her recruitment company, which aims to place more women and minorities into top level engineering positions. Marianne helpfully suggested naming it after “those animals that build their own homes”. Beavers. She means beavers. Beaver Recruitment? Really? Not exactly suited to a top level headhunting agency, but on the bright side, she may have just stumbled on a great new way for men to describe going out on the pull.

Next on the agenda was to come up with a billboard and a TV advert. The billboards were both surprisingly good, at least in comparison to anything else filmed against a cheap green screen in this year’s series (the now infamous soundbite “who took my unicorn, Sparkle Stars??” from Toy Week immediately springs to mind). The TV advert task was a different story for Scarlett, who was surprised to find that her ‘vision’ of Lewis, Lottie and Marianne driving an imagery car in an empty warehouse wasn’t absolute advertising golddust. “It’s cheesier than I imagined”, she said, upon seeing it for the first time. How? I genuinely can’t understand how she came up with that and thought it was ever going to look like anything other than part of a hastily-planned GCSE Drama performance. But then I would say that, because as someone who has seen a TV advert before, I’ve technically been in marketing since 1996. On Carina’s team, their prison-themed advert for her artisan bread (no, I’m not sure how they arrived at this idea, either) was far more impressive - prefect from a 1960s comic book Ryan-Mark even managed to put in a convincing performance as a hungry jailbird, which wasn’t something any of us were expecting to see this year.

After this, and the all important pitches - which I’m not going to go into, since it’s consistently the least entertaining part of the finale, where I imagine most people, including me, take a toilet break - it was time for the final boardroom. In all seriousness, the tension in the final boardroom is mad. I can only imagine it’s like you and another person are staring down the barrel of a madman’s gun, except the madman is Alan Sugar, and you want to be shot because, instead of bullets, it’s money. Actually, it’s not like that at all, is it? But it must be absolute squeaky bum time for the candidates, is what I’m trying to say.

After a few minutes of back and forth, and a couple more minutes of Carina and Scarlett turning on each other at the last second - which I’m absolutely, one hundred-percent, completely sure the producers definitely didn’t encourage in any way - The Sugarman arrived at a conclusion, and crowned Carina the winner, with a statement that I’m sure we can all agree with: “I do like the idea of more bread.” Well, don’t we all?

Anyway, deserving winner found - as well as plenty of memorable moments and ridiculous characters along the way - that’s it for another year. The only thing I’m left wondering is why it’s called The Apprentice, since the prize is a £250,000 investment, and since most real life apprentice jobs pay about £3.90 an hour. But then I wonder that every year, and to be honest, I’m all fired out.

[critic-corner]

13 Contemporary Rom-Com Novels That You’ll (Probably) Love

Even though this is a mainly fashion and film blog, I do like to consider this a platform where I get to share my thoughts and opinions on anything of interest properly and well, reading is a big passion of mine. Even though I do talk about it on Instagram a little but, for whatever reason I don't on this blog.

Many of my reader friends ask me for recommendations, so I took this as an opportunity to create some book-related lists even though it's a little hard to do that because lists are never-ending. Anyway, I'll try. Also, don’t worry it’s not gonna turn into a book blog, it’ll just be a small segment of my entire blog.

You can click on the book title to get your own copy!

One Day In December

Laurie is pretty sure love at first sight doesn't exist anywhere but the movies. But then, through a misted-up bus window one snowy December day, she sees a man who she knows instantly is the one. Their eyes meet, there's a moment of pure magic... and then her bus drives away. Certain they're fated to find each other again, Laurie spends a year scanning every bus stop and cafe in London for him. But she doesn't find him, not when it matters anyway. Instead they "reunite" at a Christmas party, when her best friend Sarah giddily introduces her new boyfriend to Laurie. It's Jack, the man from the bus. It would be. What follows for Laurie, Sarah and Jack is ten years of friendship, heartbreak, missed opportunities, roads not taken, and destinies reconsidered.

I have never understood the love at first sight trope but because this story travels for ten years where the characters get to know each other intimately, it worked out perfectly. My favorite part about the book was how you will see these characters grow and make important life decisions. By the end, I was so emotionally invested that I was sad when the book ended.

This is definitely one of my favorite contemporary novels. I have been recommending to all of my friends, even the ones that don’t read that often. If you are a rom-com fan, get this book because it’ll simply warm your heart.

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

The Royal We

American Rebecca Porter was never one for fairy tales. Her twin sister, Lacey, has always been the romantic who fantasized about glamour and fame. Yet it's Bex who seeks adventure at Oxford and finds herself living down the hall from Prince Nicholas, Great Britain's future king. And when Bex can't resist falling for Nick, the person behind the prince, it propels her into a world she did not expect to inhabit, under a spotlight she is not prepared to face. Dating Nick immerses Bex in ritzy society, dazzling ski trips, and dinners at Kensington Palace with him and his charming, troublesome brother, Freddie. But the relationship also comes with unimaginable baggage: hysterical tabloids, Nick's sparkling and far more suitable ex-girlfriends, and a royal family whose private life is much thornier and more tragic than anyone on the outside knows. The pressures are almost too much to bear, as Bex struggles to reconcile the man she loves with the monarch he's fated to become. Now, on the eve of the wedding of the century, Bex is faced with whether everything she's sacrificed for love-her career, her home, her family, maybe even herself-will have been for nothing.

If you know me, you’d know that I’m a royal family nerd. So, when I came to know about this book last year, I was all over it because it seemed like a perfect escape. And while I was expecting it to be all cheesy, I was surprised by how realistic it seemed. Yes, it has been heavily influenced by the Kate-William romance, but that only added to the thrill of it. If you want a nice royal romance which also seems relatable, this is definitely the way to go!

You can get your copy on Amazon.

This Love Story Will Self-Destruct

Meet Eve. She’s a dreamer, a feeler, a careening well of sensitivities who can’t quite keep her feet on the ground, or steer clear of trouble. She’s a laugher, a crier, a quirky and quick-witted bleeding-heart-worrier. Meet Ben. He’s an engineer, an expert at leveling floors who likes order, structure, and straight lines. He doesn’t opine, he doesn’t ruminate, he doesn’t simmer until he boils over. So naturally, when the two first cross paths, sparks don’t exactly fly. But then they meet again. And again. And then, finally, they find themselves with a deep yet fragile connection that will change the course of their relationship—possibly forever.

This book was been marketed as When Harry Met Sally reimagined and I couldn’t disagree more. Apart from the fact that the two characters meet time and again, there isn’t much else relating this story with the movie and that’s not a bad thing. I just don’t want you guys to shocked like I was. Rom-coms have a fluffy, carefree vibe to them and technically, it has those aspects, but there is an underlying sadness to the story because of the female character (with whom I surprisingly found myself relating with, by the way).

I am that person who prefers character-driven stories over plot-driven ones and while this book doesn’t really fall in either of those categories, I fell in love with the two main leads. It’s been months since I read this book and they still casually pop up in my head every now and then, and I constantly find myself talking about them like they are real people. If you are a fan of emotionally-driven romantic novels, you might like this one.

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

Unmarriageable

In this one-of-a-kind retelling of Pride and Prejudice set in modern-day Pakistan, Alys Binat has sworn never to marry—until an encounter with one Mr. Darsee at a wedding makes her reconsider.

One thing to always keep in mind before reading a retelling is that you cannot expect it to be amazing. At most, it can be great. I’m saying this because the ghost of the original and the eventual comparison will always be lingering over the book which will definitely hinder the reading experience. So, just go into it expecting a nice time, and not hoping to find your all-time favorite (if you do, then obviously that’s great).

Coming to Unmarriageable, the original premise of Pride & Prejudice fits perfectly on a Pakistani back-drop, or just any desi family. And while I was expecting to fall in love with the romance, I ended up enjoying the social commentary that Soniah Kamal did and that was probably because of how similar Indian people are. All in all, it was not the best Pride & Prejudice re-tellings (I think I’m yet to find that), but I sure as hell had a fun time reading it.

You can get your copy on Amazon.

Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

No one’s ever told Eleanor that life should be better than fine. Meet Eleanor Oliphant: She struggles with appropriate social skills and tends to say exactly what she’s thinking. Nothing is missing in her carefully timetabled life of avoiding social interactions, where weekends are punctuated by frozen pizza, vodka, and phone chats with Mummy. But everything changes when Eleanor meets Raymond, the bumbling and deeply unhygienic IT guy from her office. When she and Raymond together save Sammy, an elderly gentleman who has fallen on the sidewalk, the three become the kinds of friends who rescue one another from the lives of isolation they have each been living. And it is Raymond’s big heart that will ultimately help Eleanor find the way to repair her own profoundly damaged one.

This is one contemporary novel that has managed to step out that genre and successfully enter the literary talks. I have been hearing about this book for over a year and absolutely fell in love with it. If you are not the best in social situations and have a hard time navigating through them, you might like it very much. The story is told entirely through her point of view so it was very interesting to see this lonely person find her way to life (albeit unknowingly). What surprised me was just how funny the novel was. This can easily become one of your favorites!

Also, I have to appreciate the cover designer of this novel. There are two covers and both of them are genuinely so amazing!

You can get your copy on Amazon.

Always Never Yours

17-year-old Megan Harper is about due for her next sweeping romance. It's inevitable—each of her relationships starts with the perfect guy and ends with him falling in love... with someone else. But instead of feeling sorry for herself, Megan focuses on pursuing her next fling, directing theater, and fulfilling her dream college's acting requirement in the smallest role possible. So when she’s cast as Juliet (yes, that Juliet) in her high school’s production, it’s a complete nightmare. Megan’s not an actress, and she’s used to being upstaged—both in and out of the theater. Then she meets Owen Okita, an aspiring playwright inspired by Rosaline from Shakespeare's R+J. A character who, like Megan, knows a thing or two about short-lived relationships. Megan agrees to help Owen with his play in exchange for help catching the eye of a sexy stagehand/potential new boyfriend. Yet Megan finds herself growing closer to Owen, and wonders if he could be the Romeo she never expected.

I was going into the novel fully expecting it to be cheesy or even cringey and got out surprisingly loving it’s realistic portrayal of human emotions. My favorite part was the female character and her straight-forward way of thinking, even though it sometimes prevented her from becoming vulnerable. If you are a Shakespeare nerd, I guarantee that you’ll have a ball reading this one.

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

The Sun Is Also A Star

Natasha: I’m a girl who believes in science and facts. Not fate. Not destiny. Or dreams that will never come true. I’m definitely not the kind of girl who meets a cute boy on a crowded New York City street and falls in love with him. Not when my family is twelve hours away from being deported to Jamaica. Falling in love with him won’t be my story. Daniel: I’ve always been the good son, the good student, living up to my parents’ high expectations. Never the poet. Or the dreamer. But when I see her, I forget about all that. Something about Natasha makes me think that fate has something much more extraordinary in store—for both of us. The Universe: Every moment in our lives has brought us to this single moment. A million futures lie before us. Which one will come true?

Another book that I expected to dislike but surprisingly didn’t. I hate insta-love stories, but weirdly enough this one seemed convincing to me. The characters were likable and do keep in mind that the demographic the novel was trying to reach was young adult and it worked perfectly for that in my opinion. One particularly great thing about the writing-style is the fantastic use of different POVs (point-of-view). If you've ever wondered about the life of those strangers that you only meet for 10 minutes or cross on the street, then I think you’ll particularly enjoy this one.

You can get your copy on Amazon.

My Oxford Year

Set amidst the breathtaking beauty of Oxford, this sparkling debut novel tells the unforgettable story about a determined young woman eager to make her mark in the world and the handsome man who introduces her to an incredible love that will irrevocably alter her future—perfect for fans of JoJo Moyes and Nicholas Sparks.

I went into this book expecting just another rom-com, my bad. I should have paid more attention to the fact that they mentioned Nicholas Sparks on the back cover and you should too because otherwise the second half will completely take you by surprise. This book has all the elements of a giddy romance - Oxford, with it’s Harry Potter-esque interiors, English poetry and amazing fleshed out characters. It will also (probably) break your heart, so keep the tissues close by.

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating

Hazel Camille Bradford knows she’s a lot to take—and frankly, most men aren’t up to the challenge. If her army of pets and thrill for the absurd don’t send them running, her lack of filter means she’ll say exactly the wrong thing in a delicate moment. Their loss. She’s a good soul in search of honest fun. Josh Im has known Hazel since college, where her zany playfulness proved completely incompatible with his mellow restraint. From the first night they met—when she gracelessly threw up on his shoes—to when she sent him an unintelligible email while in a post-surgical haze, Josh has always thought of Hazel more as a spectacle than a peer. But now, ten years later, after a cheating girlfriend has turned his life upside down, going out with Hazel is a breath of fresh air. Not that Josh and Hazel date. At least, not each other. Because setting each other up on progressively terrible double blind dates means there’s nothing between them...right?

This is my second Christina Lauren novel and well, I had a ball reading it just as you’re supposed to with any of their novels. This one, in particular, stands out because not only is it well written but the characters felt oddly realistic. The first chapter did feel like the book will probably filled with all kinds of tropes because the female character is so fashionably eccentric but thankfully, non of that happened. It’ll make for an amazing weekend read!

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

Vision In White

Childhood friends Mackensie, Parker, Laurel and Emmaline have formed a very successful wedding planning business together but, despite helping thousands of happy couples to organise the biggest day of their lives, all four women are unlucky in love. Photographer Mackensie Elliot has suffered a tough childhood and has a bad relationship with her mother, which makes her wary of commitment. But when she meets Carter Maguire, she can't stop herself falling for him, although his ex-girlfriend is prepared to play dirty to keep him. Mackensie soon realizes she has to put her past demons to rest in order to find lasting love...

This is first of the four in the Bride Quartet series and while I would literally suggest all four of them, just give this one a try first. There are a lot of things I like about this book, the main being the sisterhood that is majorly present in the entire series. Secondly, even though the female character has a dysfunctional family that leads her to being kinda sorta commitment-phobic, I like the relationship showcased is so healthy. Normally, in romantic books, there’s a lot of miscommunication to drive the plot ahead but this book works a nice example of how to showcase a healthy couple even if one of them (or both of them) are fighting internal battles. It’s a perfect cozy read!

You can get your copy on Amazon - paperback or kindle.

Practice Makes Perfect

Payton Kendall and J.D. Jameson are lawyers who know the meaning of objection. A feminist to the bone, Payton has fought hard to succeed in a profession dominated by men. Born wealthy, privileged, and cocky, J.D. has fought hard to ignore her. Face-to-face, they're perfectly civil. They have to be. For eight years they have kept a safe distance and tolerated each other as coworkers for one reason: to make partner at the firm. But all bets are off when they're asked to join forces on a major case. Though apprehensive at first, they begin to appreciate each other's dedication to the law— and the sparks between them quickly turn into attraction. But the increasingly hot connection does not last long when they discover that only one of them will be named partner. Now it's an all-out war. And the battle between the sexes is bound to make these lawyers hot under the collar...

This is one of the best workplace romances that I have come across and would highly recommend to everyone interested in that genre. It is a little cliche but it’s not trope-heavy which is definitely a plus. It has the right amount of heat and character development that a good fluffy contemporary demands. It’s just nice, fun ride!

You can get your copy on Amazon.

By The Book

An English professor struggling for tenure discovers that her ex-fiancé has just become the president of her college—and her new boss—in this whip-smart modern retelling of Jane Austen’s classic Persuasion.

If you couldn’t tell by now, I’m a sucker for Jane Austen re-tellings and unlike Unmarriageable, I really liked this one a lot. As I mentioned above, you can’t have your expectations with re-tellings high, but even if you expect some genuinely nice exploration of relationships (like Austen used to do, among other things), but in a modern setting then I think you will really like it. The fact that it’s completely from the female character’s point of view, makes the writing a lot more intimate. Give it a read, you may like it.

You can get your copy on Amazon.

The Upside of Unrequited

Seventeen-year-old Molly Peskin-Suso knows all about unrequited love—she’s lived through it twenty-six times. She crushes hard and crushes often, but always in secret. Because no matter how many times her twin sister, Cassie, tells her to woman up, Molly can’t stomach the idea of rejection. So she’s careful. Fat girls always have to be careful. Then a cute new girl enters Cassie’s orbit, and for the first time ever, Molly’s cynical twin is a lovesick mess. Meanwhile, Molly’s totally not dying of loneliness—except for the part where she is. Luckily, Cassie’s new girlfriend comes with a cute hipster-boy sidekick. Will is funny and flirtatious and just might be perfect crush material. Maybe more than crush material. And if Molly can win him over, she’ll get her first kiss and she’ll get her twin back. There’s only one problem: Molly’s coworker Reid. He’s an awkward Tolkien superfan with a season pass to the Ren Faire, and there’s absolutely no way Molly could fall for him. Right?

Even though personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of the book because I just didn’t find it engaging enough, I do know that a lot of you out there might love. Not only does it have wonderful LGBTQ+ representation, but there aren’t a lot of book written about introverted young girls who love romance but have zero first-hand experience with it. I liked that it was fairly realistic and the characters were fleshed out. I’d say give it a try, you never know, may find yourself in Molly.

You can get your copy on Amazon.

[iv-kplpt]

catch me like a cold II/II

ding. 14k words rated t

Next few weeks were pretty busy for Charlie – she had a social life to build and a house to buy. Her decision to settle down seemed to be final; she felt like Gotham is a place where she belongs.

Also, Gotham had Oswald Cobblepot and his wicked, wicked tongue – and as much as she valued his company and skills, she wasn't sure if she values them enough to take him with her, assuming she'd drop everything and hit the road again. She had to stay if she wanted to keep Oswald around.

And she wanted that. Oh, she definitely did; after their sudden hookup in her hotel room they met up a few more times, always at her apartment; he claimed the thrill of sneaking out of his cage and stealing his friend's car keeps him going. And who was she to deny him what he needed?

(It was always him who was doing the denying anyway.)

His presence felt... Nice. That word wasn't doing him full justice, but it had to do – she wasn't the overly eloquent one. His presence felt comforting and she was almost sad every time he had to get up and leave.

(She almost asked him to stay during the day once, but ultimately bit her tongue and said nothing, watching him put on his coat and blow her a goodbye kiss.)

Oswald was a very pleasant distraction, keeping her mind away from the intrusive thoughts, rewarding her struggles with staying in place. Also he seemed honest in his enthusiasm – and she knew he's a master manipulator, oh, she knew it damn well. He manipulated the extremely calm and collected Bruce Wayne into punching him in his face, while Bruce's last ally at the board was watching. He could easily manipulate her into feeling safe – so she did her best to not allow herself to feel safe, to feel at home with him around. She felt desired, yes – but she did her best to keep it impersonal. To never call their relationship „friends with benefits” - they were simply a series of one night stands, with some very thin strings attached.

(But she enjoyed those moments when they weren't having sex. She enjoyed simply having his eyes on her, she enjoyed the simple feeling of his warm, relaxed body next to hers, she enjoyed the way his eyes would light up when he made her laugh at one of his terrible jokes. She liked the way he spoke her name, the fact he seemed to be interesting in small things she had to say, the fact he seemed to genuinely want her to settle down. Maybe he wanted her money, maybe he wanted to get her on his side and to use her to get away from Maroni, maybe she was simply a distraction for him as well, maybe he genuinely liked something about her – all were valid options.)

Only once they hooked up in a place other than her hotel apartment and it was Peperoncino. It happened after another dinner party; this time she was invited as her own person, rather than someone's plus one. She heard Maroni's old friend returned to Gotham and that he wanted to greet her properly, as well as introduce her to the new blood among his people. Charlie didn't know a lot about Fish – the mysterious friend – as she seemed to avoid the public eye; she was running a popular nightclub that was closed for the time being, as nobody could be trusted with running it during her absence.

The evening seemed to be interesting, as everybody was going to be there – even including people Charlie hadn't met yet. She already received her state-of-the-art phone from Maroni's tech guy – Edward Nygma – and it was working like a charm; she was curious what kind of person spends their free time tinkering with phones and operating systems for the sake of a beloved loner. She was also curious about the personalities of Maroni's two men on the force – street cop Wilson and detective Bullock.

When she got to Peperoncino's well-hidden patio, only Crane and Jacques were there. As she entered, Crane got up to greet her – Jacques didn't, instead only nodding in her general direction.

(She prefered bartender's way of greeting her, actually. Felt more natural. Felt more like something she was used to.)

„Since you're not sitting anyway, can you go and fetch Cobblepot for us?” Jacques asked her carelessly and Crane shot him a scandalized look. „He's taking forever to get ready. Fucking narcissus.”

„Sure.” she said shortly, turned around and walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically on marble – and then wooden – floor.

Oswald was trying to decide between two ties in similar shades of yellow, when she entered the room without knocking.

„Always a pleasure.” he said, still staring at his reflection in Jacques's giant mirror. „Which one is better?”

„Both are equally terrible. The right one looks like a good quality silk though.”

She winked at him and in response he smirked and turned around. He still looked good in a suit, and this thing looked custom made – perfectly tailored, in a deep, nearly black shade of blue.

„Care to help me out with it?” he asked, coming closer.

„Yellow tie with a dark blue suit, Oswald? You are a disaster.” she sighed, tying it for him, his eyes on her face.

„But a beautiful one.”

She finally looked up and her eyes met his. There it was – this mischievous spark, a sign of trouble, a promise.

„True.” she admitted, finally stepping back and watching as he slightly loosens the knot, his eyes still on her. „Now come on. I don't want Jacques and Crane to get any funny ideas.”

„They wouldn't be wrong though.” he said, putting his arm around her waist, just like he did when they first met and he was pretending she's his good friend. „Plus I'm sure Jacques noticed I've been borrowing his car.”

„Maybe he thinks you're having fishing trips.”

„Darlin', the only thing I'd fish out of the Gotham River are corpses. No, he knows about our little thing. Speaking of which... Don't drink too much wine tonight.” he suddenly whispered, brushing her temple with his lips. „Alright?”

„Fine.” she muttered back, not sure how to interpret this sudden, quiet act of tenderness. Sure, he was trying to tell her to not get drunk, because he wanted to have some fun – but the rest was a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

When they returned – his arm still around her – other people had arrived. Maroni and his mysterious lady friend were nowhere to be seen, but she still could see some new faces. Both men were chatting with Esme and Misty; eventually the former noticed Charlie and Oswald and smiled at them.

„Charlie!” she called out in her slightly raspy voice. „Have you met my brother?”

„Not yet, no.” Charlie replied, approaching them, Oswald following few steps behind. „But the night's still young.”

Esme's brother was named Rocco, Rocco Wilson. He was a calm, young man of Pakistani descent; he and Esme were adoptive siblings and were close friends before they even got adopted.

„We told them we come as a joint package.” Rocco said with a smile, gently squeezing his sister's hand as she looked at him with her gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes the color of the full moon. „They were meaning to take us both anyway, but we wanted to be absolutely sure. And here we are!”

„Here you are indeed, waiting for Sal, who's running late to his own damn party.” a man standing next to them agreed, cocking his head. „Cobblepot.”

„Bullock.” Oswald greeted him reservedly. „Long time no see, detective.”

„Damn, Oswald, cut me some slack, wouldn't ya? Unlike some, I have a job to keep.”

He lit up a cigarette and looked at Charlie.

„And you must be Charlotte.”

„No, I'm Charlie.” she corrected him. „Sal's the only one to call me that. Let's keep it that way.”

„Noted. I'm Bullock. Harvey Bullock. Also... Hungry.”

„You're always hungry, Bullock.” Jacques claimed, approaching them with a glass of wine. „But same. Do you think Sal and Fish will be mad if we start without them?”

„Yes. And that's a damn great argument to do it.”

„Well, count me out. I've peeked into the kitchen. Fish. Lots and lots of fish.” Oswald said, looking disgusted. „Someone's trying to kill me.”

„Oh, but I thought penguins love fish!” Charlie said, gently nudging him with her elbow and he grimaced and shuddered.

„Not this penguin. I despise fish.”

„Oh, but I'm sure there's at least one fish you love, isn't there, pretty boy?”

The voice coming from the patio door didn't belong to anyone Charlie knew; it was sultry and smooth like silk.

When she turned around to see who said that she saw the elusive Fish Mooney herself – and it felt a bit like a revelation, the way her intensively purple fringe played with her dark skin and the way her expensive cocktail dress hugged her hips and the way her heels made the marble tiles sing. It felt a bit like a revelation and a bit like falling in love – it was something in her aura, something in her step.

Or maybe it was something in the way Oswald's face lit up when he saw her and spread his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace as she kissed his cheeks.

„Fish bloody Mooney, I'll be damned.” he said, visibly overjoyed. „Finally!”

„Ah, I knew you'll be happy to see me, boy.” she said with a sly grin, ignoring everyone else, her eyes on Oswald and his eyes on her.

(For a brief moment Charlie felt an odd sting somewhere near her heart.)

„Have you been bad?”

„I've been absolutely despicable, Fish.”

„Good. That's my Oswald.”

She affectionately patted his cheek and he grinned. Finally, Fish turned her attention to Charlie.

„So, you're Charlie. You're shorter than I thought.”

„People always underestimate the ankle-biters. It never ends well.”

Fish only laughed in response, turned around and walked up to Bullock, who was watching her quietly, attentively and-

He's in love with her, she realized suddenly. He looks at her the same way Esme looks at Misty, the same way I looked at Harry on our wedding photo. He's in love. He probably feels at peace now. He looks at her like she's a sunset, turning the sky into something even more beautiful.

„The worst woman in Gotham.” Oswald said quietly, putting his hand on Charlie's shoulder; she shuddered from the sudden touch of his cold fingers. „Or the best one. Depends on how you look at it.”

„She seems... Interesting.”

„Oh, I was hoping you'd say nice.” Fish replied, with her back turned to Charlie and Oswald. „I'll take it as a compliment, sweetheart.”

After the dinner – Maroni showed up late, no sign of his elusive tech guy – people started to leave, one by one. Esme and Misty wanted to give Charlie a ride home – but she politely refused, glancing at Oswald, who was playing with Bullock's pocket knife, while listening attentively to detective's tired rant. He was quickly moving the blade, flicking it with his long fingers and she wondered if it's a hint for the things to come.

(She hoped not; she liked her lingerie. She'd rather not have it cut to pieces, even by Oswald.)

„I'm not going home tonight.” she finally said, her attention back to the couple. „I have... Things to do.”

„And is any of the things you're going to do named Oswald by any chance?” Esme asked, her eyes glimmering playfully behind her elegant glasses.

Charlie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, feeling – and looking – flustered.

„Who else knows?” she asked and Misty – who was checking her email on her phone – looked up, glanced at her wife and finally turned her attention to Charlie.

„Everyone.” she said shortly. „We all knew it's going to happen eventually. It's no big deal though, we're all adults here.”

„And... Sal..?”

„He doesn't care, as long as you don't rat Oswald out. Your sex life's your own... Which basically translates into „please don't give me any details, ever”. Deal?”

„I'm kinda curious though.” Esme admitted. „How does it happen between the two of you? How do you come if there's a man involved? You know. Those things.”

„I know you want to treat me as your token heterosexual friend, but please, Esme, I'm bi. We both are. And as for orgasms... We're getting bi.”

Esme and Misty both groaned and Charlie grinned with satisfaction.

Finally, she and Oswald were left alone, with Jacques holed up in his own guest room. She almost felt sorry for him – almost. Oswald's hand creeping up her thigh was very effective at keeping her mind away from Jacques and his problems.

„Jacques will hear us...” Charlie muttered, as he kissed her neck, his other hand searching for the zipper of her dress.

„Not if you'll keep quiet.” he said in response, tenderly brushing her arm with his lips. „Can you do that?”

„You know damn well I can't.” she said and gasped as his teeth found her neck. „See?”

„Whoops. My bad.” he said and even though she couldn't see his face she knew he's smirking in that infuriating way that always made her want to either punch or kiss him.

Her hands were free this time, free to roam his body and free to cover her mouth to muffle the sounds he was making her body sing.

She stayed the night, after they were done. As she was lying in his bed, her hair ruffled and her body relaxed he turned his head to look at her; and as they were both lying on their stomachs he reached out and – gently, softly, tenderly – stroked her face with his scarred hand and asked her to stay.

„Alright.” she muttered, feeling more and more sleepy. „I can do that. I'll be here when you wake up.”

For a brief moment, he looked like he wanted to say something – and maybe he did, but she didn't hear it. She dozed off as his eyes were on her face and his hand on her freckled cheek. It felt nice – to fall asleep feeling someone's tender touch. She could get used to it; again.

***

When she woke up the next day Oswald was still asleep next to her; it felt a lot like a deja vu, except this time there wasn't any blood smudged on his face.

He looked peaceful, even despite the scars. Seeing him like this – peaceful, vulnerable, quiet – made her feel something. Something she'd rather not feel. Something she remembered feeling, long time ago, in another life.

(His quiet, warm presence felt like home. His arms wrapped around her felt like home.)

As she was lying still, her thoughts a racing mess, horrifying realization slowly dawning upon her Oswald opened one eye and glanced at her sleepily.

„You're still here.” he stated and yawned, his eye closing again. „That's nice.”

„You wouldn't let me go.” she said jokingly and in response he sighed and untangled his limbs, letting her go.

„Can you make me a cup of coffee?” he muttered, his eyes still closed.

„Only if you say pretty please.”

„Don't use my own tools against me.” he muttered. „You might regret it.”

„Is that a promise?”

„It might be. But please. Coffee.”

She wrapped herself in a nearby blanket and went to kitchen, trying to not overthink anything. It was nothing, she was sure of it; all of it meant absolutely nothing.

Someone was in the kitchen, someone she hadn't seen before, someone tall, dark skinned and suspiciously energetic.

„Good morning!” the person said after seeing Charlie stand awkwardly just outside the kitchen. „Do you need something?”

„Uh... Coffee?” she said with uncertainty, trying to figure out who is she looking at. That person seemed friendly and harmless and their messy, messy hair and slightly scratched arms implied a fun night. „I'm sorry, but who are you?” she finally asked, as the person turned around in search of a clean mug.

„I'm Eddie. Eddie Nygma.” he said cheerfully and she cocked her head, wondering when did he sneak into Peperoncino. „And you, I assume, are Charlie. Is that coffee for Oswald?”

„Uh... Yeah. You're the tech guy, right?”

„Mmmhm. Is everything alright with your phone?”

„Yeah, it works fi- Wait, how did you know the coffee is for Oswald?”

„I know him pretty well.” he said cheerfully, handing her a cup of coffee. „There you go. Did you have a fun night?”

His eyes for a moment rested on her bare shoulders and a place where Oswald bit her a bit too hard last night.

„Did you have a fun night?” she asked in return, staring at his own scratch marks.

They both shrugged and smiled; she then turned around and returned to Oswald.

„I just met Nygma.” she informed him as he was slowly waking up.

„Oh yeah?” he muttered sipping the black liquid. „He's alright.”

„Seems like I wasn't the only one being mistreated this night.” she said with a faint smile and he winked at her.

She left him shortly after – she needed some time to herself. She needed to collect herself and maybe figure out what was going on in her head.

Being with Oswald... Made her feel something. Something not entirely physical. She was content with just spending time with him, with just talking. She let her guard down for a moment, for a night; she let her guard down for a night and it made her feel something she didn't want to feel.

Charlie knew about Oswald far more than he knew about her. She knew his life story – and it seemed like he still hadn't find out about her story. She knew everything in excruciating detail; while he only knew she was, at some point, married.

(The fact he didn't seem to mind her social status as a rich heiress was still rubbing her the wrong way. It was the main reason she put her guard up in the first place; he hated the rich, and yet he seemed to crave her company. Maybe he craved her money. Maybe he wanted to seduce her into folly. But she wasn't going to let him to, not anytime soon.)

But his company still felt comforting. Like she could finally open up – which she never did. Everyone she met – except for Maroni, as she suspected he somehow knows the full story – only got bits and pieces. She was sure Louise is on her way to digging out the truth, now that Bullock and Rocco entered the picture; and she was damn sure at some point Oswald will get impatient and start digging as well.

But that problem could wait – she had more important matters to take care of, such as buying a house. She wanted something elegant, modern and relatively secluded; a place where she'd be able to hide from the outside world on a bad day, when the weight of her husband's body would feel like an iron ball chained to her ankle, dragging her down.

(She also wanted a place where Oswald would be able to visit her, to take her mind off her problems, to take her breath away. A place he wouldn't have to leave before the dawn.)

There was a house for sale few kilometers from the Wayne Manor – in Crest Hill, a prestigious suburb. It had three bedrooms, an enormous living room, three bathrooms, a library and the best-lit kitchen Charlie had ever seen; it looked nothing like her family home. It looked perfect.

The process of buying the home went smoothly, thanks to Maroni's subtle influence – in fact he offered he can simply buy it for her as a welcome gift, but she declined. She was sure it would somehow become public – and she really didn't want people to get any funny ideas about her and Salvatore Maroni. She preferred being his relatively mysterious, recently widowed friend for the time being.

(Being perceived as his lover could come in handy, just... Not yet.)

She was glad for his help though – she started to have weird problems focusing, some time after her night at Peperoncino. She simply couldn't focus on anything – her body wasn't letting her to. Her eyes were burning, she had troubles breathing and swallowing, her head felt like it's filled with cotton wool and her fingers felt like they're shivering, despite not moving – it was a weird feeling, happening somewhere deep beneath the surface.

„Are you alright?” Louise asked her one day, during brunch. „You look pale.”

It was Friday and Charlie was just finishing picking furniture for her new home. It turned out to be a lot more complicated than it seemed – since her casual arrangement with Oswald seemed to be fairly stable, she wanted to buy some pieces of furniture he'd deem suitable for their needs. And he turned out to be extremely picky.

„Oz is driving me insane.” she muttered back, furiously typing a reply to Oswald's text that was a long criticism of a bed frame.

do you want me to just order a custom thing? i know a guy working for leathercave, you grump.

Actually...

...no, oswald, that was a joke. forget it

„Yeah, he does that.” Louise said, stirring her iced coffee. „Is everything alright between you two?”

„Why do you ask?”

„And why are you avoiding answering the question?”

Charlie sighed and rubbed her forehead with the back of her palm. She kept forgetting that Louise is – after all – a lawyer; she could be relentless. And was good at asking questions.

Was everything alright between her and Oswald? She didn't know; it's been a while since their last rendez-vous, but they kept in touch; and she often found herself thinking about him, about the way he looked just after waking up, the way he brushed her face with his hand, the way he laughed, the way waking up in his warm embrace felt like home. He was often on her mind and it was concerning.

„I think we're doing good.” she said finally, reaching for her iced tea. „As two separate people, that is. There is no we to speak of.”

„Are you sure?” Louise asked, raising her eyebrow. „You know you don't have to lie to me. I'm not on Maroni's side, I'm on songbird's side.”

Songbird was another of many nicknames Louise was using when talking about Oswald Cobblepot in public places – she sometimes referred to him as Tommy, or beautiful idiot, or her cousin Chester.

„What are you getting at, Louise?”

„You two aren't dating, are you?”

Charlie laughed and shook her head at this ridiculous idea.

„It's not like that. We're friends with benefits – a series of one night stands, platonic strings attached. It's nothing deep, nothing romantic.” she assured Louise; it felt heavy on her tongue, like the most blatant lie – and it left her feeling like someone was choking her, squeezing her neck with strong, slender fingers.

And something in Louise's face, something in her eyes told her her friend isn't believing in anything she said.

***

Finally the grand day arrived – the day she was saying goodbye to her hotel apartment and hello to her new home, just outside Gotham. Her belongings she was keeping in a rented warehouse in NYC arrived few days ago – all her clothes and books and other things she collected over the years of her life devoid of any problems and doubts.

Harvey Bullock helped her unpack – other people offered their help as well, but she decided to settle on Harvey. He seemed capable and was making her feel at ease – he wasn't talkative and his presence was calming.

(He reminded her of her father, with his calm eyes, jokes both dry and jovial at the same time and welcoming, attentive demeanor. Also she figured this might be a good occasion to find out some stuff about Fish Mooney, who seemed to be extremely close with Oswald.)

„How's work?” she asked, as they were putting her old comics on a shelf.

„I'm helping out friendly ADA with making Gotham believe Penguin is long gone. It's harder than it sounds, because... He's an idiot.”

„Oh?”

„About three weeks ago we got a call from some worked up clerk who was doing some late night grocery shopping. He claimed to have seen Cobblepot on the street.”

„...right.” she said slowly, avoiding looking at Harvey's face. Three weeks ago Oswald visited her in the hotel. Her skin still tingled at the memory of ice cubes.

„This has to end, Charlie.” Harvey said suddenly, shaking his head and she looked at him in surprise. „I know he was there because of you, but this has to end. Months of work, almost... Almost gone. All because Cobblepot couldn't jerk off like a normal person.”

(She didn't have the right words to explain the true nature of their arrangement to Harvey Bullock. She didn't have the right words to explain who gets the most out of their evenings.)

„What do you want me to do?” she instead asked defensively. „It's not my fault.”

„If you're so hellbent on... Doing whatever the fuck you're doing with him, then have him move in with you.” Bullock said, sounding surprisingly nervous. „Maybe it'll work out for you two.”

It didn't sound like the worst possible idea, Charlie concluded; „having Oswald move in” did have a nice ring to it. To have him around when she wakes up and when she falls asleep, to not have to limit their time together.

„You know, Charlie, you and Oswald... You kinda remind me of me and Fish.”

Hearing this Charlie instantly furrowed her brows, wondering what the hell does he mean by this. It was not a secret Harvey and Fish were a thing – Oswald told her that the same evening she met them. They've been together for years now, and they met when Bullock was investigating Falcone's crime empire. Back then, Fish Mooney was a double agent of sorts – everybody knew her night club and everybody knew it's one of Falcone's shady business hubs. What people didn't know was the fact Fish was constantly feeding information to Maroni, who was Falcone's golf partner.

Bullock met her years ago, and they've been seeing each other regularly since then; they somehow made it work, despite one of them being a notorious criminal and the other one being a cop. One was a respected citizen, while the other one was... Less respected – but they managed to keep their thing going, to keep it hidden from the public eye.

„What do you mean by this?” Charlie asked anyway, despite knowing of all that and Harvey shot her an amused look.

„Acting dumb? Fine, your game, your rules. But the similarities are there, girl.”

He paused for a moment, looking for the right words.

„And there might be more of 'em than you suspect.” he finished, turned around and left the room to get another box, leaving her puzzled.

Once the boxes were unpacked – most of them, at least; she decided she's not going to make Bullock help her with her clothes – she was left alone, just her and her thoughts. She was tempted to message Oswald, to get him to come, to keep her company – the house was obviously bigger than her hotel apartment at The Peak and all this blank space was further amplifying the overwhelming sense of loneliness. She wished she had a pet.

(She never wanted one before everything went to shit.)

Her first night in her new home in Gotham was mostly sleepless, as her thoughts eventually drifted towards Harry, towards his eyes, his smile, the way they said „I do”, the way he was making her feel beautiful and loved, even on worst days. And yet when she was lying in her new bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her – dead cold gone – husband all she wanted was not to hear his voice again or to be kissed by him again; no, all she wanted was for Oswald Cobblepot to be there.

***

It took her about a week to face the cold, hard truth – she was in love. And when the realization truly came, it didn't even come from her – it came from Louise and Misty and Harvey.

It all made sense, when they spelled it out for her. It all made sense – the way she felt around him, the way she felt when she woke up in his arms and looked at his face, the way she felt like his company might somehow fill the emptiness in her heart, this place where Harry used to be.

And Harry – despite being dead and gone and buried – was the biggest obstacle standing between her and admitting her feelings in the first place. What he did to her, what he made her do, what they did to each other – it was unforgivable. Unforgettable. It was something she had to work through – and she had no idea how to start. She wasn't even sure if she wants to work through it.

The perspective of sitting down with a shrink and telling them everything was too much to bear. It would probably be Jonathan Crane – who was, after all, a psychiatrist, and a damn good one – but she couldn't bear imagining his face after hearing how she one day grabbed an ice pick and drew it through Harry's neck, after making him beg for his life.

(Killing Harry felt... It was one of the things she didn't want to admit, one of those things she wanted to repress, to hide, to forget; it felt good. Vengeance felt good. His blood on her hands felt good – for a moment. Then it felt like nothing, like ash, like shame.)

She decided to pay her parents a visit, to maybe clean up their graves. She missed them – she missed her father's kind eyes and she missed her mother's warm hands. She missed how much they loved her – but the shame kept her from ever visiting, kept her away from New York.

She left Gotham one morning, when the city was still asleep. She locked her house and set up an alarm and left, like she already did once; but this time she didn't leave a message for anyone, even though this time there were people who might've been concerned about her house being empty, about her not being in her bed.

Her visit in NYC was short, as she only visited her parents. The graveyard where they were buried was mostly empty and quiet when she walked in; and her parents' grave was surprisingly clean and well-kept, as if someone was taking care of it during her absence.

(She felt a sting of remorse, of shame, of sadness. Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen. Eleanor Schiller-Aberdeen née Moran. It sounded so impersonal, like names of strangers, not people who raised her, who loved her, who died because of her.)

„Hi.” she said eventually, sitting on a small bench in front of their grave. „It's me. I'm... Sorry. I should have come sooner.”

The grave didn't respond, because after all, it was just a mass of stone, under which the corpses of her parents were hidden, lifeless, rotten, dead.

„I'm sorry.” she finally said, deciding to let it all out. „I am sorry... But it's your fault too, you know? It was my mistake and I never asked you to pay the price for it. I never asked you to take your own lives. It wasn't needed... But you did it anyway. You left me with my mistake. You left me... Alone.”

Her voice cracked and she paused for a moment, looking around to make sure no one's listening.

„But I'm fine now!” she said, her every word dripping with fake optimism. „I'm doing better. I... I got everything back. He paid the same price you did. And... I met someone. Oh, you'd absolutely hate him. Remember how you loved Harry? You'd hate Oswald. He has nothing to his name, nothing but old shame and spilled blood. I think I feel something for him... For his eyes and the way he makes me laugh and the way he makes me want to come back to Gotham. He makes me feel... Like I actually have something to come back to. Like I should try and start again.”

She paused again, trying to fight off the tears in her eyes, trying to stop herself from crying.

„And even if he doesn't feel the same, even if he's just another Harry, even if he's only after my money... At least I know I still remember how to love. I still know what love feels like. Maybe this one will leave me devastated – but I got tough. I can take another heartbreak. This one won't destroy me."

„Charlotte?” she heard a voice coming from behind her; she shivered slightly and turned around.

It was father Cassidy – her family's favorite priest, who was present during her baptism, during her wedding and during her parents's funeral. He looked older than she remembered him; more wrinkles and gray hair. But his eyes were exactly the way she remembered them – intelligent, filled with a compassionate spark, dark like a fertile soil.

„Hello, father.” she said, looking at his slightly agitated face. „Long time no see. Care to join me?”

„Where have you been, Charlotte?” he asked, sitting down next to her, firmly gripping his walking stick with trembling hands.

„Here and there, father. I was looking for something.”

„Did you find it?”

„Yes.” she said, returning her gaze to the silent grave. „I did.”

„Does it mean you're back? In New York?”

„No, father. I'm settling down in Gotham. Have you ever been to Gotham?”

„I have a family there. A brother and his wife and their four children.”

„Do you think it's a good place to start a family?”

„It's a place like any other. A place can't be good or bad. It depends on the people.”

„Well, do you think people in Gotham are good?”

„Nobody is fully and truly good or bad, Charlotte.” father Cassidy said, also looking at the grave. „Nobody is just one thing. We're all multifaceted.”

„Even Harry Spencer?”

She turned her head to look at Cassidy's somber profile.

„Was he multifaceted, father?” she repeated her question and father Cassidy sighed and shook his head.

„I can't give you the answer you want to hear, Charlotte. I am... Terribly sorry about what happened. To you, to your family... It was a tragedy.”

„Was this tragedy multifaceted, father?” she asked, her voice cracking again. „Was it not truly and fully bad?”

„I'm not going to argue with you, child. Neither of us can win.”

„No, you're not going to win. I know the truth.”

She got up from the bench, smoothed down her black coat and looked at father Cassidy – an old man who knew her since she was an infant and who wed her to Harry fucking Spencer – one last time, trying to see him as an anchor, as something leading her to her old life, something which might prompt her to abandon Gotham and Oswald and Maroni.

But she didn't see anything like this in father Cassidy; so she simply bid him farewell, turned around and walked away, leaving him on that small bench in front of her parents's final resting place.

She was back in Gotham two days later and her phone was blowing up. People had been worried sick – Bullock almost organized an official search party. People she left behind expected the worst – and their relief when she came back was something she couldn't fully comprehend. She couldn't tell if it's genuine. She hoped it's genuine.

Oswald showed up on her doorstep after she returned. He didn't text, he didn't call; she just heard the doorbell ring and there he was, towering over her, his hands crossed on his chest, look of pure determination on his face.

„Allo.” he said to her, staring her down, along with her bathrobe and her pajamas. „Can I come in?”

„What do you want, Oswald?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

„You.” he said simply and her heart skipped a beat.

She was thinking about him that afternoon. Slowly, carefully she considered her feelings. She put them all together and took a long and good look at them and finally put a label on them – and the label said „love”. She was in love and she was damn sure it's one sided and is going to end with a heartbreak. She was sure there are no real feelings coming from his side – he was only after the money. He was only after the freedom her money could get him. He was a master manipulator and he was manipulating her by singing her body electric, by giving her what she wanted.

She decided to not give in to his manipulations. She knew she can take another heartbreak – but she didn't want to endure it so quickly, so soon after burying her husband, her first love.

They didn't look at each other that night; she absentmindedly wondered who is Oswald thinking about when her lips are on him, if there's someone who truly matters to him, if there's someone making his heart skip a beat. She wondered if there's a special someone, serving as an inspiration for him constantly giving her everything she wanted – attention, sex, a fragile sense of safety.

She wondered.

***

Being in love didn't feel good. It felt stifling, suffocating; like still air on a hot day just before the storm. It felt dangerous – she's been in love once and it didn't end well. It felt like a trap. Like a recipe for another disaster.

(His arms felt like home. His fingers on her face felt like home.)

She tried to escape this ridiculous, humid stiffness, this choking feeling in her throat. She tried to escape it by drowning herself in cold water.

Well, not literally. She wasn't trying to commit suicide, she was simply taking a lot of cold baths. One too many it seems, considering one morning she woke up with a headache and a cold.

(She dreamt about Oswald a lot ever since her return from the New York, ever since he showed up on her doorstep with that awful Cockney rolling out of his mouth, with that oddly determined look on his face. She dreamt about him a lot since realizing she actually, genuinely loves him; almost as if it unlocked some secret part of her brain, called „dreams to make you sad”. She'd often wake up with her face pressed into a pillow.)

„Fuck.” she muttered to herself, feeling weak. „That's just great.”

It's been about two weeks since her last night with Oswald. She started to actively avoid him – pleasure wasn't worth the pain of trying to figure out who's really in his heart.

Also, she was sure she might crack and say something she'd regret. He was good at making her crack. She didn't want to know how he'd react if one day she said she loves him.

She mostly spent those two weeks tightening her bonds with other people. She went to another party with Salvatore and spent the evening gossiping with Louise. She helped Esme and Misty hide their anniversary gifts from each other. She went to one of Crane's lectures. She even tried to befriend Jacques, but it was difficult; it was difficult to be at Peperoncino and to not head upstairs, to spend the day in a certain criminal's company.

(He was often on her mind, way too fucking often. It was maddening.)

It didn't mean she was ignoring him; she'd reply to his texts. She'd pick up the phone on those rare occasions when he decided to call; but her replies would be short and the conversations would be as concise as humanly possible.

And not even once he asked her what is going on, if they're done, if he maybe did something. Not even once.

(It hurt more than she wanted to admit.)

So, one day – after a long streak of ice cold baths – she woke up sick. She had the third worst headache of her life, she was coughing her lungs out and her whole body felt hot and cold at the same time. She felt like she's dying – she was also out of cold medicine and was definitely not in the right shape to go out and get some; so she called Crane, who was – after all – a doctor. Sure, he was a psychiatrist, but it was no secret he's capable and experienced in other areas of human health as well. He did patch Oswald up after his last run-down with the Batman – and he did it beautifully. If she didn't know, she wouldn't have guessed.

„Gosh, I'm so sorry!” Crane said in the most apologetic way possible, after she described her symptoms through the phone. „I have my hands full today... But I can send someone else to take care of you.”

„As long as they're competent, doc.”

„Oh, I assure you, they're incredibly competent. Please take care.”

„Thanks, doc. You too.”

About an hour later her doorbell rang and she dragged herself to the front door, shivering and sniffling, doing her best to stand straight.

She wasn't sure who was she expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't Oswald.

„Top of the morning to you, beautiful stranger!” he said, shooting her a quick grin. „Even though it's afternoon.”

„You can't be here.” she muttered in response, avoiding looking at his face. „I'm expecting someone.”

„Yes. Me. Crane called me.”

„He promised me someone competent.” Charlie fired back without thinking.

„I'm very competent when it comes to taking care of you. I thought we already established that.” he said, seemingly completely unconcerned.

She sighed, turned around and shuffled off, returning to her living room; Oswald followed.

„Did you steal someone's car again?” she asked, wrapping herself in her biggest blanket.

„No, I borrowed it. And this time... I asked.”

„And did Jacques agree?”

„Of course he didn't.”

„You were this close to losing your bad boy charm, you know.” she muttered, closing her eyes, trying to focus. „So. What now?”

„Now I'm going to treat you to the best damn cold medicine in history. Also I'm going to stick around for a while. To... Make sure you're alright.”

What was that in his voice? Concern? Uncertainty? She didn't know and she didn't care.

„What are you going to put in me?” she asked instead and he snickered in response.

„Not myself, I'm afraid.” he said and she groaned. She'd hit him with a pillow, if she wasn't so weak. „It's a polish thing. Ever been to Poland?”

„Didn't have the pleasure.”

„Me neither. But there's a lot of Poles where I grew up. They took me in. Apparently by polish standards I'm an absolute delight.”

(Not just by their standards, she almost said, but bit her tongue and only groaned instead.)

„I need to use your stove first.”

„Kitchen's behind us.” she muttered, her eyes still closed. „What else do you need?”

„A pot. And a glass. I think I'll manage. You just... Stay here. Try to not die.”

He returned a few minutes later, with a tiny glass filled with a suspiciously smelling liquid. The smell was strong enough to get through her stuffy nose; but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what might actually be in there.

„What am I about to drink?” she asked cautiously, glaring at the steam rising from the surface. „If I die I'm going to haunt you, you know.”

„I'll get an Ouija board just to talk with you.” he promised nonchalantly. „But this isn't going to kill you, I promise.”

The substance did taste like something that might kill her; but she somehow drank it all. Her throat was burning and the weird, intense flavor almost instantly brought tears to her eyes.

„Vodka, honey and some cloves.” Oswald announced cheerfully, as she struggled to swallow the last gulp. „Works every time!”

„You fucking monster.” she whimpered, her throat on fire. „I'm going to die!”

He only laughed in response, sank onto her couch and put his feet up on her coffee table.

(He looked relaxed. He looked peaceful. He looked beautiful. Even sick and miserable she wanted to kiss him; but she knew he wouldn't give in. She felt disgusting, all sweat and stickiness. Also she hadn't brushed her teeth that day.)

They talked – mostly about nothing. About other people. He told her some stories about Fish and Bullock and their initial struggles and about how Misty used to be in relationship with Crane and about how Nygma apparently somehow gets along with literally everyone.

Eventually he offhandedly mentioned Lady Arkham – and the way he spoke her name, the sudden weird glimmer in his eyes... Suddenly everything made sense.

Oh, Charlie thought, not quite listening. Well then. Silly, silly me.

Of course it was all about her. They almost destroyed the city together. They almost brought Batman down together. He was her second in command and she was the devil on his shoulder. Of course it was all about her; it was all about her and what they shared and what they almost accomplished together.

(One more time Charlie pondered how weird it is to sit on a couch with a wanted criminal and chat about his failed plans. Oswald had a lot of blood on his hands, a lot of pent up anger inside of him, and now there it was – her proof she ultimately means nothing to him. Of course.)

„Do you miss her?” she asked, her masochistic side taking the better of her.

Oswald sighed and nodded.

„Every day.” he confessed. „She was a little shit, and an even worse person than me, but... She understood. And that's more than can be said about almost everyone in this bloody city.”

„What do you think happened to her?”

Why in hell was she dwelling on that subject? Did she really want to put some more salt on her open wound?

„Heavens know.” Oswald said, his voice almost cracking. „Part of me hopes she's alive, but... She's most likely not. She's probably buried in Arkham. Ironic, innit?”

„Mostly just sad. Were her parents really... You know?”

„Oh, absolutely. But do you want to know the worst part?”

„Try me.”

„Sometimes I'd wish we could switch places.” he said quietly, in a strange, solemn tone of voice. „Sometimes... Sometimes I'd think this is still better than what I had. Still better than... Nothing.”

Her heart felt heavy in her chest and she looked away. Right.

That was part of a reason she didn't really tell him anything about her life before Gotham – when she lost everything, she was old enough to manage. To work through it.

(Or maybe she was just damn good at repressing it.)

What happened to Oswald, to his family – it happened when he was a kid. And he never got any closure; he tried and it didn't end well.

She felt more sorry for him than she probably should. That man sitting right next to her; he was still a remorseless criminal. Some people called him a monster. She was sure there is at least one mother in Gotham who uses Oswald as a boogeyman – and for a good reason.

And yet, all she felt was positive.

(Part of her was attracted to what he did. She could hear father Cassidy's words in her head, crystal clear; no one is truly and fully good or bad. People are multifaceted. Maybe the evil in him was attracting the evil in her. Maybe it was her own naivete she never really outgrew.)

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder; he sighed, closed his eyes and covered her hand with his own, pleasantly warm.

„World's a fucked up place.” she said eventually. „And what happened to you, what the Waynes did... You didn't deserve any of it.”

„I kept telling myself that ever since I found out what really happened.” he muttered in response, his eyes still closed. „And look at me now.”

There was a lot of things she wanted to tell him.

I wouldn't have you any other way.

I still love you.

There's still some good left in you. Not a lot of it, but still.

I wish we met before the world destroyed us.

I wish we've met before they convinced you life is war.

„I can think of worse things to look at.” she said instead and he smiled faintly.

„How are you feeling?” he asked. „Better?”

„Yeah, I think this... Thing actually helped. A bit.”

„Then I guess one more glass should do the trick. And then you should get some sleep.”

„And a bath.”

„Can you even walk straight?”

„...maybe.”

„Well, I can help. And I promise... I'll be good.”

He smirked at her and she shook her head in disapproval.

(She was glad for his offer though. She was feeling exhausted; and the alcohol didn't help with her sense of balance.)

It felt a bit weird – it was the first time his hands on her naked body didn't mean fun. He was gentle and it felt so, so relaxing; a welcome change.

It didn't stop her body from reacting to his hands though – with her hair still wet, she put his hand on her breast.

„Oh, doctor.” she said, half jokingly. „I want you.”

He let out a quiet laugh and took his hand away, shaking his head.

„This isn't covered by your insurance. Now come on. Get up.”

Once she was mostly dry and in her warmest pajamas, he actually carried her to her bedroom – she insisted she can walk, he insisted she shouldn't.

(He won. Of course he did – he was stronger. Plus she enjoyed the feeling; his arms felt safe. His arms felt like home.)

Finally, he forced her to drink one more glass of his hellish slavic concoction – it still tasted and burned like hell, but she knew he's relentless.

(The thought of prolonging this odd episode of caring was tempting and she almost simulated a hissy fit.)

„Now, try to get some sleep. You'll feel better once you wake up.”

„Will you be here when I wake up?” she muttered, her eyelids heavy like her heart.

„It can be arranged, love.” he said softly. „I'm free like a bird.”

(She fell asleep thinking about his anecdote about how he and Vicki Vale once put on a show, shortly before he shot Hamilton Hill; she had to act like a terrified civilian and he had to act like she's not his boss. He called her love in the most menacing, derogatory way possible; and everybody ate it up. She wondered if he sometimes called her that in a way meant for this word.)

He wasn't there when she woke up. Sure, she woke up feeling ten times better, her cold completely gone – but it would feel so nice to wake up with him somewhere nearby.

Instead, he left a note. She smiled faintly at this sight – naturally. It was his turn to sneak out.

The note was an apology; he said something unexpected had turned out, that he was needed elsewhere.

„Well fuck, I need you as well.” she muttered, putting the note in the drawer of her nightstand.

(Did she need him? Or did she simply want him? She couldn't tell the difference anymore.)

***

She had plans for the next day - Fish Mooney was finally reopening her night club and was hosting an exclusive, invitation-only party to celebrate it. Only her friends and actual VIPs received elegant invitations to Waterfront's launch night – and Charlie was actually more than a bit surprised when she received hers.

She only met Fish a few times; and sure, she liked that woman. She was dominant, elegant, direct. She knew what she wants and how to get it and Charlie caught herself pondering on how it feels to be the object of Fish's desire more than once. But still, they only met a few times and never really talked about anything important – and yet there it was.

„Should I be worried?” she asked Misty during a phone call.

„About what?”

„About Fish. Wanna hear my paranoia talk?”

„Oh god, I think I know where this is going...” Misty sighed and Charlie could hear a faint knocking in the background. „Shit. Gotta go, my assistant brought me documents I asked for.”

„You have an assistant?!”

„Yeah, what's so shocking about it?”

„I never heard about a journalist with an assistant.”

„Well, I'm one of a kind.” Misty said nonchalantly. „I wrote the best articles on Cobblepot, I can do whatever I want. Plus, Theo really needed a job and I really have to go. But don't worry about Fish. She's... Well, not exactly harmless. But she's on our side. Yes, Theo, come in!”

Misty ended the call and Charlie was left with her doubts. They came seemingly out of nowhere – absolutely nothing was suggesting Fish wants her on her side to use her deep pockets to get away from Maroni and build her own empire. Hell, if that was the case Charlie would gladly help if only Fish asked outright – but the minimal probability of being used again was enough of a spark to ignite the flames of her paranoia.

She locked it away – for now; same way she did with her doubts and fears related to Oswald. The best way to solve a problem was to ignore it.

(Now she understood why her sudden breakdown the other way was so intense. In hindsight, it all made sense, every little thing.)

She had a dress to pick. Her doubts could wait.

***

The Waterfront was hidden even better than Peperoncino – it was, after all, an exclusive place. It used to be one of Falcone's crown jewels; after his death and hastily cutting all ties with him Fish could in theory make it more open to general public, but she decided on keeping the exclusive tag on.

Louise was waiting for her near the entrance and she didn't look happy.

„Fucking Wayne is here.” Lou said to her before Charlie even had the time to say hi. „I want to die.”

„And good evening to you as well.” Charlie replied and winked at her and Louise shrugged angrily. „Oh come on, cheer up. It's not like you absolutely have to talk to him.”

„No, but you do. He's interested in you.”

„What?!”

„Oh, for fuck's... Don't act so shocked. It's a well known fact he's a bachelor and you're a rich, attractive, young woman who recently moved here. Of course he's interested.”

„I don't like the sound of it.” Charlie stated firmly. „And I don't like him.”

„You barely know him. I mean, I know why I hate him, but you... Talked to him once.”

„Yeah, well, maybe I got some of this disdain from your cousin. Can I ask you something?”

„Shoot.”

„Why are you calling him Chester?”

Louise smirked.

„Well, the short answer is... His middle name is Chesterfield. Yes. I know. His parents named him like this.”

(Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. What a mouthful!

Suddenly she remembered their first conversation; she asked him if there's a shorter version of his name and he called himself a mouthful. And yet – for some reason – she couldn't bear herself to call him Oz again.

Also she wondered if he considers her a hypocrite for calling his name „a mouthful”, all while being named Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth Schiller-Aberdeen.)

The place was crowded – apparently Fish's list of friends and VIPs was very long. She was surprised to see Bullock in the crowd – he looked almost comfortable, wearing a suit instead of his usual tired coat. He shaved.

„Did he frock up just for her?”

„She has him wrapped around her finger. I'm pretty sure he'd take a bullet for her.” Louise replied, without even looking in Bullock's general direction. „Oh, I found our girls.”

Misty and Esme found them a booth in the corner of the room, with a good view on everyone. Soon after Charlie and Louise sat down Fish approached them; she was wearing a crimson dress and Charlie found herself a bit lost in the crevice between her breasts.

(And judging from expressions on her companions faces, she wasn't the only one.)

„I'm glad you all made it.” Fish then said, her eyes focused on Charlie. „Especially you. How's Gotham treating you?”

„I've got nothing to complain about... For now.”

„Oh, trust me, you will find something.” Fish said with a knowing smile. „Or someone.”

„Maybe I already found someone to complain about.” she said without thinking.

„And who might it be?”

(Louise who was texting someone under the table paused her typing for a moment; out of the corner of her eye, Charlie saw her becoming oddly tense.)

„I'd rather keep it to myself for now.”

When Fish left – followed by Harvey, who seemed both desperate for her attention and like he'd rather die than say it out loud – after a brief period of silence, the girls loosened up and started talking, politely ignoring everything Charlie just said.

(She felt like this is going to bite her in the ass, sooner or later. Probably sooner.)

It was a pleasant night – eventually Harvey joined them for some time, as he felt the urge to lovingly complain about Fish to someone.

(Apparently she was driving him mad, but the spark in his eyes was saying something completely different.)

She somehow managed to avoid Bruce Wayne altogether that night – he was there, she saw him and he courteously nodded in her direction, but didn't approach; she sensed it might be because of her company. She knew Louise is shooting him menacing looks and she was glad.

(Even though she was kind of curious. Bruce and Oz – Oswald – grew up together and for years he knew her criminal heart-throb better than anyone else. What kind of person Cobblepot used to be before Thomas robbed him of his innocence? But there was no good way to ask this question; she couldn't just walk up to Bruce Wayne and ask him about him childhood friend, who might or might not be the source of her emotional anguish.)

„You're staring at Wayne.” Esme asked her eventually, glancing at her. „Why?”

„I'm wondering how to ask him about Oswald.” she replied, taking her eyes off Wayne's back. „They grew up together.”

„Well, Wayne does live for attention, so I'd say... Just pat him on a shoulder and be blunt.”

„Why are you suddenly interested in Oswald's childhood?” Misty asked, before Charlie could say anything. „You can just ask him, you know.”

„I'm interested in an outside perspective.”

„Well, Wayne did do an interview or two about his friendship with Oswald... I can dig them out for you.”

„Or maybe let's let her talk to him.” Esme suddenly said with a pensive expression on her face. „We could use someone who knows what's up in his life.”

„Treating me like a pawn, Midnight?” Charlie asked jokingly, shaking her head.

„Not a pawn. An asset. Knowing what is Wayne up to might be vital in our little... Enterprise.”

„Isn't Salvatore friends with him already though?”

„Sal is friends with everyone, meaning he's friends with virtually no one. No, we need a personal touch here... And here's where you enter the picture.”

„Alright, I'm in.” Charlie said, against her better judgement. „What do you want me to do?”

„We can start with a conversation... Without Louise behind your back, trying to turn him into stone.” Esme finished with a wink and Louise nonchalantly flipped her off.

„Oh, and be somewhere near. I need a picture.” Misty added with a grin. „It'll be a beautiful article.”

„Better don't make it front page though. I don't want to spend rest of my life in a public spotlight.”

„Your dirty little secrets are safe with us.” Misty assured her and Charlie furrowed her brows.

„Secrets? I don't have any secrets... Well, I have one.”

„Don't act dumb.” the journalist pressed on; judging by her eyes, she was slightly tipsy. „We ran a very thorough background check on you when Sal said he's interested. We know what happened in Perth.”

„Well done, Haze.” Louise said calmly, setting her glass down. „That was that one thing we agreed to not talk about.”

For some reason, the realization her secret was no longer a secret didn't make her feel anything. The other shoe had dropped; the truth was uncovered.

But it didn't bother her. After the initial shock had passed, she realized she's actually feeling... Glad. Like a great weight was lifted off her shoulders.

„Who else knows?” she simply asked. „And what... Exactly do you know?”

„We know your husband stole your fortune after the wedding.” Esme said hesitantly. „We know your parents... Are gone because of it. We also know you spent a long time trying to get everything back. We don't know exactly what happened between losing it and getting it back – you covered your tracks well – but we got the police reports. We know there was an... Accident when you finally tracked Harry down.”

(harry staring at her in shock pure fear in his eyes he was on his knees and he begged her forgiveness and she only shook her head and drove the cold sharp metal through his neck his blood on her hands his short scream ringing in her ears her love dead)

„There was no accident.” she finally admitted, for the first time. „I killed him. In cold blood.”

„Well.” Esme said after a long pause. „Now I kind of feel bad for asking you to be our mole in Wayne's life.”

„You are not using me though. You asked. I just... I'd rather avoid being used ever again, you know? Didn't feel great.”

(For a moment, her mind wandered off. For a moment, she thought about Oswald, about his failed attempt at getting his fortune back, about every time he offhandedly mentioned being determined to eventually get back what's his. About him being a great manipulator.)

„I'll be right back.” she said, getting up. „Time to befriend Bruce Wayne. How do I look?”

„Bomb.” Louise said, without looking up from her phone. „Do give him my regards.”

„Won't do.”

She approached Bruce Wayne, who looked bored. He was doing something on his phone; he briefly looked up and turned it off as soon as he recognized her.

„Miss Schiller-Aberdeen! Always a pleasure.” he said, smiling in the most blandly pleasant way possible.

(„Always a pleasure” Oswald once said as she entered the room where he was trying to choose between two nearly identical ties.)

„I figured it might be a good occasion to get to know the face of Gotham.” she said with a smile, wondering if Misty is already taking photos. „Last time we didn't have time to chat.”

„Last time you had some truly... Intimidating company.” he said with a nervous chuckle.

„You and Louise... You don't see eye to eye, do you?”

„We don't.” he admitted. „But it's an old thing. We don't have to like each other personally to appreciate our efforts in making Gotham better.”

She shot him another smile and the conversation – somehow – went on.

She didn't ask him about Oswald Cobblepot, his childhood friend who then beaten him to the pulp on live tv; it was a polite conversation about nothing and everything. She asked him about his butler. He asked her about her plans. She asked if he ever thought about running for mayor.

„Goodness, no!” he said, shaking his head and laughing. „Maybe I thought about it once or twice, but after what happened to our previous two mayors... I don't think it's a good idea. Penguin's still at large, after all.”

(Her neck suddenly itched in a place where Oswald once left her a bite mark she had to cover up with makeup.)

He doesn't sound like a bad person, she decided, watching him. He didn't sound like a bad person, and he wasn't to blame for what his father did – but she understood what Oswald felt.

(Something in Bruce Wayne reminded her of Harry Spencer.)

He eventually had to leave; but before doing so he asked if she can perhaps give him her phone number as he'd love to get to know her a little better, to chat away from prying eyes.

Smiling lightly and giving the prying eyes and viewfinders everything they wanted she wrote her number down on a paper napkin, turned around and returned to where her friends were sitting.

„Any good shots?” she asked visibly more sober Misty, who nodded.

„The gossip column will love me for what I'm about to send them. You don't mind them publishing your name, do you?”

„No, they can publish it, as long as they don't imply me and Wayne fucked.”

Louise's phone was buzzing constantly, informing her of a constant influx of new texts.

„Aren't you going to at least read them?” Charlie asked and Lou shook her head with indifference.

„Nah.”

Her own phone buzzed and she glanced at a screen; Oswald. Of course.

Busy?

kind of. fish says hi

Can I see you later?

She closed her eyes for a moment. Did he know? Was he the one running her background check? Was it all a part of his giant manipulative plan?

„Hooking up with our boy?” Esme asked, shooting her a devilish grin and her wife groaned.

„He's been acting really weird lately, you know.” Misty eventually said. „I think something's eating him.”

(Or maybe it was a lack of certain someone. Maybe it was simply the necessity of using a replacement that was eating him.)

„Maybe he's just tired of Peperoncino.” she said instead, texting him back, saying to meet her at her place in a few hours. „He's kind of... Caged there.”

„Well, for him it's either Peperoncino or Blackgate.” Louise said, finishing her drink. „And I'd choose Peperoncino as well. Nygma's ginger boyfriend has a Netflix subscription.”

Just as she was getting ready to leave, Harvey Bullock appeared by their booth.

„Charlie? A word?” he asked and he seemed and sounded incredibly tense; she wondered if maybe he was in charge of getting all the dirty details of her past.

„I'm sorry, Harvey, but I have a date.” she said, shaking her head with genuine remorse. „Can we talk tomorrow?”

„Yeah, I suppose it can wait a bit...” he sighed, scratching his head. „Wait. Did you say date?”

„Chill out, old man, it's just... Our friend.” Esme said mockingly, patting him lightly on the shoulder.

„That's true.” Charlie added, slipping her phone into her purse. „So don't worry. I promise I'll be home by ten.” she added with a smile; it was midnight.

Bullock scoffed, shook his head and left; turned around he really looked like her father.

Oswald was already there when she got home.

„Are you mad?!” she asked him, frantically looking for keys in her purse. „Someone will see you!”

„It's middle of the night and your nearest neigbour would have to use a spyglass to see anything in your garden.” he calmly pointed out, still leaning against her front door, his arms crossed. „I have an idea.”

„Yeah?”

„Give me a set of keys, so next time I won't have to wait outside.” he said with a grin and she fought off the urge to hit him with her purse.

„Step aside.” she said instead. „I found my keys.”

„Or maybe remind me to start carrying my lockpicks with me.” he went on as she opened the door, turned the lights on and stepped inside. „I love breaking and entering. I could visit you unexpected, you know.” he added, lowering his voice seductively. „How would you like this? A thief, not after your wallet, but after your sleep...”

„Are you done?” she asked, taking her heels off and wincing slightly at the sensation of cold wood under her feet.

„Oh I'm never done.” he assured her. „Also, you look beautiful tonight.”

„Flatterer.” she muttered, still turned around, hiding the sudden redness on her cheeks.

She went to the kitchen and he followed.

„Are you feeling better?” he asked, as she was pouring herself a glass of juice which he then took without even asking.

„I know, I know.” he said and winked. „The list. I remember.”

„I'm much better, thanks.” she asked, giving up. „Whatever you gave me actually helped.”

„See? Told you I'm competent.” he said with a smug grin. „How was your night?”

„Is this why you're here?” she asked, sitting on the table, as he leaned against her fridge. „You could've just called me.”

„Oh, but I told you already. Having you in person... Is much better.”

Months of work, almost... Almost gone. All because Cobblepot couldn't jerk off like a normal person.

(She saw pictures of Vicki Vale and she could see certain similarities between herself and the journalist turned tragic villain. The general softness of features, eye shapes, noses; it wasn't much, but it was there. And maybe it was just enough.)

When he came closer and leaned in to steal a kiss from her, she closed her eyes and gave in, deciding to give him what he needs – for once. She decided she's fine with being a replacement, a proxy, a substitute if it means being anything at all.

She did shed a tear or two that time – but he didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care. She let him do whatever he wanted, to not see her as herself; with his hand between his thighs and his lips on her breast she'd let him do anything.

(She didn't crack. She didn't tell him she loves him. She only pulled his hair and scratched his skin and kissed his jawline.)

She pretended to be falling asleep as he was dressing up and leaving, planting a goodbye kiss on her shoulder. Only after she heard the front door closing she finally let herself cry.

***

Next few days were relatively unpleasant.

She never found out what Harvey wanted to talk about the other night, at the Waterfront – first he wasn't picking up his phone, and then, when she finally got him, he said it's not important and that it resolved itself. He did a piss poor job at calming her down about that mysterious matter, but fine – his game, his rules.

Gotham Gazette gossip column did publish a – slightly blurry – photo of her writing down her number for Bruce Wayne. They namedropped her, and alluded she might soon be seen somewhere around the Wayne Manor; seemingly the person responsible for that one wasn't aware she's practically Bruce's neighbor.

(They talked about it over brunch once; a casual, absolutely non-committal thing; he laughed it off and said this is probably the eleventh time Gotham Gazette alone appointed some unfortunate young woman a future mrs Wayne. The way he said it made her think there probably already is someone he actually sees in this role – someone who doesn't want it.

Is Gotham filled with people looking for replacements for people they care about? Is this what this city is about? Replacements and sadness?)

Oswald probably had seen the tidbit as well – but he never mentioned it. In fact, their encounter after her night at the Waterfront was the last time she saw or heard him before everything went to hell and back.

After first few days of no contact, she decided maybe it's for the best – maybe he grew bored of her. Maybe he decided she's not worth the hassle.

For a short while, she considered following into his footsteps and finding herself a suitable replacement; but ultimately ended up abandoning the idea. She didn't feel like inviting anyone new into her life, into her bed, into her body; plus there was no one like Oswald Cobblepot, who seemed to instinctively know just how to play her body to make it sing the loveliest songs.

One morning Louise called her, to ask if she'd be up for getting some drinks with her and Fish. She agreed – it's not like she had any plans at all.

(She wondered how and when exactly Louise – a relatively well known attorney – became friends with Fish Mooney, a crook with some ties to mafia and obvious fondness for Gotham's most wanted criminal.)

They met at the Waterfront, which was flourishing, as Fish proudly announced, leading them to their table.

„People had missed this place, it turns out. Now they'd do anything to get in... Meaning it's probably time to invest in a slightly better bartender. Do you think Jacques would be up for this gig?”

„It seems like he'd rather die than abandon Peperoncino.” Charlie replied, sitting down. „And I don't think he can be in two places at the same time.”

„Oh, but maybe a change of surroundings would lift his spirits a bit.” Fish said jauntily. „He's perpetually in a bad mood, thanks to our mutual friend.”

Silence fell. Fish glanced on Louise, who avoided her eyes. Fish cleared her throat. Louise didn't react.

„What?” Charlie asked finally, feeling uneasy. „What?”

„For the record...” Louise muttered, nervously playing with her hair. „It was... Not my idea.”

„What?!” Charlie repeated her question. „What is going on?”

„We want to talk about you and Oswald.” Fish said finally, giving up on trying to get Louise to start the conversation.

„There is nothing to talk about.” Charlie protested faintly. „Really.”

„Is that so?” Fish asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

Her piercing gaze touched her skin and something in her cracked.

„Fine. I have feelings for him.” she admitted angrily.

„What feelings?” Fish asked, relentlessly pursuing the topic. „Feelings is an umbrella term. I have a lot of feelings for the Ventriloquist and none of them good. I also have a lot of feelings for detective Bullock – most of them good.”

„I think I love him.” she said slowly, her thoughts a racing mess. „Alright? I think I love him. He makes me want to stay. When I was visiting New York recently, I... I met someone who knew me damn well. Someone who encompassed all that I used to be. An embodiment of a second chance waiting for me in New York. And... I'm here. You know why.”

Fish and Louise remained silent, so she only sighed and went on.

„I know he's... Terrible. I know. I'm not blind. He's a murderer and a thief and a con-artist and god knows what else, but I think... We're just compatible. I feel safe around him. I feel like... Fuck, I don't know. But I know it's one sided.” she said with a forced, nonchalant shrug. Louise furrowed her brows.

„What?”

„It's one sided. I know it. I think... I think he's either after my money – I'm rich enough to get him away from Maroni and Peperoncino and buy him a new life – or uses me as a... Replacement. I think he and Vicki Vale... I think they had a thing.”

Fish Mooney turned her head and covered her mouth, visibly trying to hide laughter building up inside of her. Louise covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply.

„You dense motherfucker.” Louise said finally, her voice muffled by her skin. „Fish, where do I start?”

„Let's start with Vicki.” Fish replied, still avoiding looking at them, her shoulders trembling slightly.

„Vicki Vale is a lesbian.” Louise said finally, moving her hands away from her face and sternly staring at confused Charlie. „I would know. We used to date, before... Before all that bullshit happened. Vicki Vale is a stone cold lesbian and would never have anything going on with Oswald. Which brings us to-”

„Have you noticed how quiet he is recently?” Fish interrupted Louise, calm and collected once again. „No texts, no calls, dead silence... Have you noticed?”

„Of course I noticed.” Charlie said slowly. „I was sure he... Got bored. Had something better to do.”

„He tried to rob a bank.” Louise said shortly and Charlie's heart skipped a beat; hell, several beats. „We got to him before anyone noticed him, and we've been keeping an eye on him ever since.”

„What do you mean he tried to rob a bank?!”

„Well, he figured out he knows why you got so distant all of sudden and was determined to prove you that he's not like your dead husband.” Louise said quietly. „Of course he knew about Harry. He found out on accident and after everyone else – but he did. He knew for quite some time.”

„What are you trying to say?” Charlie asked, feeling like she's about to pass out.

„You really can't figure it out, can you?” Fish asked with genuine curiosity and Louise laughed quietly.

„God, she's so blind. I almost don't want to tell her.”

„Please stop fucking with me, I'm about to have a heart attack!”

„He's in love with you, you idiot!” Louise finally blurted out. „Ever since he met you in Peperoncino before the storm. Do you even remember?”

„Of course I remember.” she muttered, wondering if this is what heart attack feels like. „I was looking for someone and I somehow ended up there... And then he showed up.”

(She thought about their night together many times during following weeks. The way he asked her if she's alright, the way he looked at her, the way she almost felt bad for sneaking out in the morning.)

„He told me about it.” Louise continued. „Well, he did skip the spicy details, but what matters is that... You sneaked out of that bedroom with his heart in your pocket – but he only noticed it's missing when he found out you're back.”

„That's so fucking pretentious.” Fish muttered, looking to the side. „Are you quoting him right now?”

„Of course I am. Don't ruin the mood.”

„What do you mean he's in love with me?” Charlie finally asked, her brain playing the words on repeat. „What... What do you mean?”

„Charlie, can I ask you a question?” Louise asked in response and Charlie slowly nodded, still not fully comprehending what was going on.

„You were... Married. How the fuck did you not notice Oswald being in love?”

„I just assumed he's manipulating me!”

„This is the saddest thing I've heard this month.” Fish said, her face expressing pure joy.

„He's not manipulating you, you ginger idiot, for once in his life he was being honest!” Louise lashed out, waving her hands frantically. „You two truly are a match made in heaven, for fuck's sake.”

„Can I see him?” Charlie asked finally, wondering if this is all a very strange dream. „I think... I think I should talk to him.”

„We can deliver him straight to your doorstep to give you two some privacy.” Louise said, calming down again. „And for all I care, we can leave him there. I don't want to see or hear him ever again. He's been insufferable.”

Her insides were burning and she had troubles swallowing and breathing. She couldn't see straight; she was so shocked her body almost gave up on functioning.

And then she started crying. There was no sobbing – just tears streaming down her face.

„Oh come on!” Louise groaned, handing her tissues. „I know he's an obnoxious ass, but he's not so bad!”

„I'm sorry!” Charlie stammered in response, shaking her head. „I don't know what's going on!”

„Your emotions are finally letting go, that's what's going on.” Fish said calmly, putting her warm hand on Charlie's shoulder. „Cry all you want. I'll get you some water.”

Once she calmed down, Louise and Fish sent her home in a cab – and shortly after her driver took off, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts, rapidly beating heart and shaking hands Oswald showed up. Eddie Nygma dropped him off – he was the only person with a license who was free during the day and wouldn't arouse suspicions if spotted.

„Charlie?” Oswald Cobblepot asked hesitantly, entering her home, closing the door behind him and looking as beautiful as he did when they first met.

„I'm here!” she called out from the living room, where she was curled up on the couch. He noticed her and came closer, furrowing his brows angrily at the sight of her tear-stained face.

„Why were you crying?” he asked sharply. „Did something happen?”

„I talked with Fish and Louise.” she said, for the first time in weeks finally looking him in the eye. „Oswald...”

His anger at whoever potentially caused her tears disappeared without a trace and he smiled nonchalantly.

„Did they tell you about what I almost did?”

„They also told me why you almost did.”

„...fuck.” he muttered, suddenly looking unnerved again. „Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

„Tell me it's true.” she asked, her heart beating rapidly. „Please.”

„But I already told you.” he said after a brief pause. „Multiple times.”

„What do you mean?”

„I thought it's obvious. I thought you know and just don't care.”

Her mind suddenly filled itself with memories; of him asking her to be there when he wakes up, of him calling her love, of him saying something as she was falling asleep at Peperoncino, of him constantly giving her what she wanted and of his tense, anxious posture when she first met him after returning to Gotham.

„I'm an idiot.” she finally said. „An idiot. There is no other word to describe it.”

She covered her face with her hands and didn't budge as he slowly sat down next to her.

„Charlie.” he said softly. „Look at me.”

„No.” she muttered in response. „I'm never looking at anyone ever again.”

„Then uncover your face, at least.”

„I'm red!”

„And if I close my eyes?”

„...fine.” she sighed, giving up.

He was sitting with his eyes closed and a dumbfounded grin on his face.

She hesitantly planted a kiss on his cheek. He didn't react.

She planted another kiss near the corner of his mouth – and he opened his eye.

„You're red.” he stated. „I can barely see your freckles.”

„Help me calm down then.” she muttered, closing her eyes.

„Only if you'll say those magical words, love.”

„Pretty please?”

„As much as I love hearing you say that... That's not what I meant.”

This time they confessed using actual words, instead of half-truths and understatements. As he was helping her calm down – slowly and gently, so slowly and gently she almost forgot about blood on their hands – she kept gazing at him from under her lashes, following his movements.

He made her sing, like only he was able to. And this time it felt different – this time it felt honest, with no one's spirit between them. It seemed like finally they put their dead loved ones to rest, at least for some time; and as he was helping her calm down, as they were tangled together in her living room, as her forgotten phone was quietly buzzing under the couch Gotham just kept on living. Someone was receiving the best news of their life. Bruce Wayne was joking around with his butler. Harvey Dent was wondering if anyone even remembers him.

As they were caressing each other, the seemingly cursed city kept on living, blissfully unaware of an affair between a young socialite and a wanted criminals. They were together and they were in love and all was good in Gotham City and not a thing was out of place.

[herriblog]

Addy

I was chatting on yahoo chat probably 11 years ago. I had chatted with a guy called Adeel, Pakistani who was working here. He seemed cool and he stayed in Hillview (I think lah, cus he was staying in the West and I was in the East). He insisted that we meet. I refused multiple times during the chat. And he reassured me that we were not going to do anything and that we will be meeting in a public area. Girl was obviously scared. I've watched Oprah Winfrey Shows and I've seen some bad shit there. He reassured me and even suggested that since I am so scared, I could bring my friend along. He was willing to come to my housing area. I called my best friend, Ruby, and asked her. And she was like I'm down if you are. Then I agreed to the meet up.

Boy, was I nervous. I barely could sleep that night. We picked him up at Tanah Merah train station and we walked to one of the coffeeshops near my place. And we all chatted for hours. We clicked instantly. It was the best thing ever. But in my head, I liked like him. I mean he was the first guy I met and he was so charismatic and he had a mousy look but thin. He worked as a ...wait I forgot. All I recall was he worked in shipyards and he had to be away for a couple days. And whenever he got back, he always made time to meet me. As we started to meet up more, I realised that, "Nah... he ain't my type. First of all, He was Muslim...Ma was always against them. And if she knew I dated him, she would come back from the dead just to skin me alive. And as time went by, I didn't see him as a crush.

And one day, three of us had just finished watching a movie. We were standing outside the lift and Ruby said, "You guys should totally date. You look so cute."I was like me? date him? you kidding me? I barely can stand him." and He said, "With all due respect, she is a beautiful girl. But I cannot date her. She isn't Muslim and we can't marry non muslims and she wouldn't convert if I told her" And I nodded in agreement. Ruby always wanted to see us together. I glared her and mouthed the words 'what the fuck, babe!'And she just shrugged her shoulder and smile. She came over and whispered to me, "You may never know he has a thing for you. I was just checking."

And I was like right. You should ask me first before you blurt that out.

He used to surprise me at work and we used to go for makan. And I was always wondering what was he trying to do. But I liked the attention. I loved it. Haha...loved being pampered. But we didn't hold hands, hugged or anything. Just as friends.

Addy was very nice. He knew that I was moving house. I introduced him to my parents. They were alright. They didn't ask if we were daring or anything. That's one thing I loved about them. They never interfered. So anyways, he helped me moved boxes into my new flat. And he was a smoker. And we had this strict rule of no smoking in the house. So he used to go out to the corridor and smoke. He helped organised the house. And one day, we were hanging out by the living room window and he received a phone call. And he just said he had a urgent matter to sort out as his roommate is giving him some issue. I was like, No worries, Addy...You settle it. If you need anything, you can let me know. So probably a week went by and I didn't hear from him. I decided to call him and we met.

Jeez, Addy was a mess. He had a stubble beard, hair messed up with real bad eye bags. And he shared with me what had happened. He was dating a girl and she messed up his life. And he couldn't get over it. She kept on asking him to marry but he wasn't ready. He kept on saying that he hadn't made enough money. She wrecked up his place because she found out that he was helping me move house. She thought that he was dating me. He had explained that he wasn't. But she wasn't ready to listen. So from the entire thing, I thought she was a horrible person to do such a thing to him. How can you not trust him. He was shattered.

And I couldn't stand him being shattered. Why? Cus he fucking annoyed the fuck out of me. He used to always come by my house every night and stayed till 1/2am, using my laptop to stalk his ex. I got sick and tired of his behaviour. I tried to tell him come on, Addy...there are so many chicks in the world better than her. But he didn't listen. After about a month of spoiling my sleep and peace, he called up and said they patched back and they are planning to marry. I was like uh! What. Okay...Congrats!" Before I could complete my sentence, he wanted to introduce me to her. In my mind, Chutiye, you said so many things about her and now you want me to meet her. I literally fucking hate her.

So we all met up. And the first thing she said was, Wow, you are pretty. I'm surprised that Addy didn't date you. I thought you guys were dating. Anyways, too bad for you, I got him to myself. I looked over to Ruby and we both rolled our eyes. So we hung out at Bugis, shisha-ed. And they asked me to be their photographer. I almost choked on my blue lagoon. I coughed and pat my chest, "Wait. What! ME? Be your photographer? Don't you have your own?" And they said they wanted to save costs. So they just wanted a simple photographer. Me and Ruby both stared at each other in disbelief. I knew that I wasn't that great. I told her that I wasn't a professional and the pictures may be horrible. But She still insisted that I do it. And I caved in. So I went ahead. Took some shots. And sent her the pictures.

After the wedding, I tried to meet him up or call him. He always rejected my call. And once, he told me not to call him as she is a very suspicious lady and he wanted peace with her. And I was like okay...sure. You know where to find me.

So he would find me every few years once to ask about what medication to treat his brother with kinda thing and that was it. And I was like bro...I was there for your shit and you don't even ask me out for makan or anything. F-you, bro. She invited me for their son's first birthday  etc. I refused to come so Ruby went with her fiance. I just rolled my eyes. And Ruby said that I should forget all my anger and forgive her. I wasn't gonna do that. So I just quit talking to him. Lost a really good friend.

Haiz. yep... my first chat friend I met

[thejourneyofthehero-mh-blog]

October 11 (Thursday night)

It’s actually close to 4 am on October 12. But this post was about last night. I feel pretty miserable right now. I feel pretty rejected and sad and like I want to take a break from game. I definitely don’t want to go out Friday night.

I was at work today and got lunch with some coworkers, including one pretty cute coworker. I feel my behavior was pretty good overall but kind of off because of her presence. I think I just wasn’t socialized with girls properly growing up. Pakistani culture separates boys and girls pretty heavily, and to top that off my mom told me not to talk to girls growing up. In fact I’ve mostly always had male friends pretty much exclusively. Even worse so, ever since I moved to San Diego I pretty much only interact with men unless it’s to game. As I’m writing this I think I’ve come to the ephiphiny that I’m pretty fucked up as a person because of these weird childhood circumstances, and I should probably see a therapist. I realize that most of my interactions with females i am trying to impress them in some way shape or form, even ugly girls im not trying to date (although it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to an ugly girl unless she was the ugly friend of a girl I was trying to game or I was trying to distract her while my friend games her friend). As I’m writing this I realize how fucked up all this is.

Anyway back to the infield. It’s lunchtime, I’m with my coworkers at Panera. See a cute girl outside. My mind wants to approach and if I was not with them I think I likely would’ve approached. I hate the duality between my work life and home life. Either way I’m feeling pretty good this day even though I’ve been running on a few hours sleep for days on end. Leave work late to meet up with my wing joey and his business partner at Starbucks. I don’t know if I trust her or if she’s trying to scam me. She’s cute, very nice. But I feel like she’s trying to sell me on her business, and the more she explains that she needs quality people and isn’t looking to take everyone - the more it feels like a tactic. Perhaps I could learn something about that and apply it to my game. Leave Starbucks at 8. It’s too late to do daygame anywhere nearby.

Me and joey head to pacific beach. Joey is exuding charisma btw. He’s been approaching a ton and he’s the one who inspired me to do this 30 day challenge. We get to the venue and I sort of want to follow joeys lead - this was my first fuck up because it kept me stifled, beta and prevented me from approaching the first set right away. We approach a few sets and I’m acting kind of needy and beta. Joeys acting dominant, fun and alpha. He gets one girls contact pretty much right away. I get none. Although I didn’t even attempt to and didn’t put my intentions out there. Perhaps that was mistake number two - not using any statements of intent. We venue hop and I sort of want to do daygame but it’s late and I’m still following joeys lead and letting him take control. He’s doing well and stopping girls even one on a bike. I think he got so good by approaching everything and not thinking. I finally approach one girl and can’t get her to stop. My energy is falling rapidly. Joey goes inside a restaurant to approach and I look for more sets - I think I don’t like going in set with joey because I always feel like the beta friend. This is sort of how I felt with Aaron but Aaron would lift me up a lot. Not hating on joey, just Aaron was an awesome teacher and joeys just a wing not technically a teacher - though I have learned a lot from him. I don’t see any girls for awhile. I’m thinking my bad energy is for the lack of alcohol. I go to backyard and get a shot of vodka. Joey doesn’t drink or want me to drink so I have to hide it from him. That was mistake number three - hiding it and relying on alcohol. I don’t approach right away at this venue and look for wings. Even talking to guys my energy feels off - I’m too in my head and trying to be the cool guy rather than just have fun. One guy even comments that. I go to Mavericks to meet Joey. He approaches a set and I don’t follow. I approach an Indian and white girl sitting down. I forget what I open with but the interest from them is there right away. I’m feeling better slightly. The interest does off almost fairly quickly. I think I was being too try hard. The Indian girl tells me she has a boyfriend even though I didn’t ask. I’ve had my most success with Indian girls, but they have a way of harshly rejecting me when they reject me. I also feel worse when they reject me, maybe because I feel more entitled that they should like me because my past history of Indian girls liking me. Who knows. The actual words of ‘I have a boyfriend’ aren’t so bad as her tonality. Not necessarily mean, but patronizing and condescending. I hate that. I ask her friend if she has a boyfriend and get some hesitation. Her friends slightly more into me but I think the Indian girl gave her a signal as if to say ‘no not him’. Who knows maybe I’m reading too much into this. The white girl says she’s juggling 3 but not looking to add in more. I say we could be friends and they should remember me if they see me. They say they will. I leave them and look for more sets. No “easy” sets but another night where I’m not feeling so shitty I wouldn’t have minded and approached anyway. I leave Mavericks to do some street game.

I approach a few sets on the street - pretty direct. First thirty seconds for all 3 separate sets go pretty well then quickly die off.

Call Joey and ask him to grab my bag from his car. We walk back to the car and he’s forcing me to approach on the way back. That’s fine, I’m used to wings forcing me to approach and I actually like that. But for the past few days I haven’t needed a wing to force me to approach. I think I realize as I’m typing this that I might be better alone than with a wing. Unless maybe I have really good chemistry with my wing - there’s a few people like this (my best childhood friend <redacted>, my boot camp wing <redacted>, my teacher Aaron, and my other wing <redacted> sometimes). I like solo game because I’m in complete control and I can force myself to approach on my own. I’m glad I’m writing this down because I wouldn’t have realized that otherwise.

Anyway none of the street game on the way back to the car is sticking. We get close to the car and I’m all out of energy and done approaching - Joey says to do one last one. He’s a good influence. We walk to a small bar and I approach a two set right away - maybe the first good thing I’ve done of the night. I use joeys opening line ‘sorry I’m late’. The hot girl starts cracking up, and the ugly friend looks confused and soon enough upset. I find this happens often. We chat for a bit and the interaction is fine, but my hands are sweaty so I hold off introducing myself. I think that caused the interaction to die a bit. Who knows, I also sort of got the feeling the girls just weren’t the receptive - that happens sometime and I’m okay with it. But if my hands weren’t sweaty I would’ve stayed in set longer and introduced myself. I say I’m going to the bathroom (I don’t tell them it’s to dry my sweaty hands). Go to the bathroom dry my hands. I see joey talking to a stunner at a table while the stunners guy friend just sits there. I talk to the guy in order to wing man joey and let him continue talking to the hot girl. The guy is clearly drunk. He starts shitting on joey without realizing that I know Joey ( I only opened him and not the girl or joey, and I just said ‘nice jacket bro’ or something along those lines). I want to get the dude in a better mood so he doesn’t cockblock joey, so I shit on joey with him. We’re talking about how Joey has no game and is too forward (even though I can clearly tell the girl is loving joey). We laugh and he gives me his Instagram to go meet up later, he says he has hot girl friends. I’m done that night anyway. I go reapproach the two set with the intentions of introducing myself this time. Too late, they already seem done me and probably think I’m chodey for not introducing myself earlier. The ugly friend definitely dislikes me, but the hot one is turned to her friend so I can tell body language wise that it’s off too. I decide to stay in set for a few more seconds, but joey comes to save me. Clearly they’re not into him either. The hot friend laughs at joeys opener too. I think she must’ve just been getting hit on all night or all her life and she’s in super abundance where she just laughs at Guys creative opener. The ugly friend says ‘atleast he (joey) introduced himself. We talk for a moment, and the hot girl signals her guy friend to help them ditch us. I want to dip, joey holds his frame. The guy, who I believe probably works, at the bar tells us to tap out. He seems genuinely kind of nice.

We walk back to the car and I tell joey why I approached the chode friend of the hot girl he was talking to (the guy with the cool jacket). I tell him how me and the guy were shitting on joey. Joey laughs and compliments me on my wingman skills. This isn’t the first time I’ve been told I’m a great wingman. I feel pretty good about that. Maybe that’s another form of ego that will come to bite me in the ass later. Joey tells me he was fingering that girl - what a baller to do that right in front of her friend.

I go home, and can’t sleep. I break no fap, partially to sleep and partially to release the bad energy in me. But I don’t watch porn. I don’t know if I’ll regret breaking no fap in the morning. I was going to go no fap through the whole course of the month and usually I don’t do any approaches the day after fapping. Fapping to me, and even more so watching porn, feels like admitting defeat and saying you need a break from game (which might be why I don’t do approaches the day after fapping - or maybe I’m just brainwashed by the no fap warriors ~ that I’m more dominant and naturally girls will like me more due to the extra testosterone.) I still have to approach anyway because there’s no off days on this challenge.

Overall this felt felt like a shitty night in terms of action and my mindset but I realize a few weeks ago this was a very average night and I’ve just gotten better inner game from going out more over time - or maybe it’s the alcohol, who knows. Well tbh I used to drink quite a bit of alcohol going out with wings even. So I guess it’s not the alcohol and I actually am starting to develop good behaviors.

Side note: I feel like Neil Strauss aka style when I’m writing these field rapports sometimes.

Edit: as I’m re-reading this I’m realizing that I suck with some wings because I don’t want to fail them. When I entered that first venue with joey, I wanted to approach direct and confident but I followed his lead because I thought he knew better and I didn’t want to ruin his sets if I failed because girls loop you in with your friends. I now realize that joeys a cool enough guy that girls like him regardless of me being a chode.