#anyways really sorry. feel free to send me stuff whenever ill try to answer if its you <3

[aromanticannibal]

you haven’t talked about me in here for more than 5 days what does this mean ??? you don’t like me ?? have you tought about the kid ?? such a fool of me to think i am ur perfect puppy egirl 😔😔

(/j I just miss you a lot, you were in my mind all day.. like more than usual)

no i love you puppy i just think we have very different tolerance to not speaking to people

[the-wlw-cafe]

It’s Not That Easy (a Lena Luthor x Reader Fanfic

Request: 50 ( “we’d make such a cute couple”) and 46 (“can I kiss you right now?”) with Lena and Reader who have been dancing around their feelings since the beginning of time. Their friends keep telling them to go for it, but for some reason they always hold back. Falling in love is so dangerous in so many ways, but also so SO very good. 

Fandom: Supergirl

Warnings: /

Wordcount: 1343

There’s always been something there. An elephant in the room both you and Lena try your best to never acknowledge. There’s been gazes held for just a few moments to long, the frenzied staccato of your heartbeat whenever your eyes meet and so, so many excuses fabricated just to keep touching each other. But you don’t acknowledge it. You can never acknowledge it, because that would turn it from a safe daydream into something real, something with consequences, and you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with that. You don’t want to add to Lena’s troubles, to be just one more thing to worry obsessively about – because Lena cares, she cares so much, all the time, it’s one of the things you love the most about her. So you’ve created this elaborate dance, both of you toeing the line of what you both know is there and must never be spoken about.

All of your friends know, too. You’ve always been an open book to them, and Lena isn’t as icy and unknowable as she’d like to be once you get to know her better. And your friends also refused to listen to reason.

“I don’t get it”, Nia says between two sips of her wine. It’s Lena’s turn to host game night, and you’re all openly capitalizing on having one friend who is rich enough to afford alcohol that is expensive enough to be described as “luxurious” by sommeliers. Lena herself just left to order a second round of food after Kara arrived ten minutes early, which spelled disaster for the snacks she had already prepared, and your friends had seized the opportunity to pounce on you and heckle you for your ill-fated crush.

“Nia, I’ve told you before –“

“I know you have, but it doesn’t make more sense if you just repeat it often enough. You like her. She likes you. I don’t see why you can’t just go for it!”

You take a large gulp of your drink. “It’s not that easy”, you begin, only to have the rest of the group butt in and sing-song along with you. It’s a point you’ve brought up far, far too often.

“I think you’d be happy together”, Kara throws in. You don’t answer. In a world where Cadmus and doesn’t exist and where the name Luthor doesn’t carry a stigma with it, where you’d just be two more strangers among billions, Kara might be right. You can imagine yourself being happy with Lena. If you’re completely honest, you do it more often than you should. Giving yourself false hope probably wasn’t wise, but still, whenever you let your thoughts go you find them straying towards Lena again and again.

In the end, Lena ends up saving you from having to come up with a reply, returning with the happy news that food will be arriving shortly, before sitting down next to you. You try not to make the way you’re savouring her perfume too noticeable, but by the way you can feel the others’ eyes on you you know you haven’t succeeded. Still, as much as they like to give you grief for your ill-fated infatuation, they’d never make fun of you in front of Lena.

The rest of game night passes in a haze, with Lena and you absolutely dominating trivial pursuit, with you making up for what Lena lacks in pop culture knowledge, and Lena having an encyclopaedic knowledge of just about anything else. Alex and Kara however beat you into the ground during activity. You’re not too fussed about it, really, because watching Lena frantically trying to pantomime the word “garden gnome” is its own reward. The night slowly comes to an end when Nia falls asleep on Brainy’s shoulder, who in turn doesn’t want to move an inch in fear of disturbing her. You take some incriminating photos of the adorable pair, but one after the other your friends gather their stuff and say goodbye, until there’s only you and Lena left. You’ve effortlessly fallen into this routine, where you two are always the last to close up shop, clearing the table and doing the dishes. In the beginning, there was always a pretence of oh-you-don’t-have-tos and don’t-worry-I-can-handle-its, but you’ve come to just wordlessly accept each other’s help. Because honestly, you’re grateful for every single second you have with Lena, even if that second is spent elbow deep in the sofa crease, trying to clear out the last peanuts.

“I really hope Nia has a chance to put down the can before she falls asleep next time”, Lena says, procuring the last nut from the crevice.

“At least she didn’t spill her drink like that time at James’ place.” You supress a yawn. It’s almost 2 a.m. and you are starting to feel it. You lean back on the couch, closing your eyes for just a moment.

“But I can’t blame her, not long and I’d have suffered the same fate.”

Lena stands still, just for a second, as if mulling something over in her head, before she turns towards you, one eyebrow raised. “You would have fallen asleep on my shoulders?”

It’s an innocent question, really, but your throat still feels dry somehow. The sentence feels like more than its casual nature betrays. It feels like an invitation. The thought makes your stomach flip with anxiety.

“I-I doubt I’d look as cute as Nia”, you settle on. There, that’s easy. Neutral. Risk-free. You take a deep breath, proud of yourself for extracting yourself from this dangerous situation, but Lena doesn’t let you off the hook quite yet.

“I disagree”, she purrs, her smile widening. She’s having entirely too much fun. “We’d make such a cute couple.”

Immediately, all the oxygen seems to leave your lungs, leaving you breathless. She’s joking, right? She must be. You never acknowledge that…something…between you, that’s how it’s always been. As you frantically search for the words to say, you can see her bravado start to slip, her grin lose intensity, worry creasing her brow.

“But it’s not-“

“-that easy? That’s what you keep telling the others.” She takes a couple of steps towards you, until she’s standing right in front of you, then she drops to her knees in front of you. The sight alone makes your tongue dart out and wet your lip subconsciously. To your mortification, this detail doesn’t escape Lena.

“Or is it just what you tell yourself?”

“You were eavesdropping?”, you croak.

“I’m sorry, darling, I was. But it made me realize how long we’ve been tiptoeing around this, around us, and how flimsy our excuses for it are. I agree with Kara, you know. I think we could be very happy.”

“You make me very happy.”

The words escape your mouth before you can stop them, and when you hear Lena’s incredulous, relieved, joyful laughter, you don’t want to. It’s the truth, anyway.

“Then isn’t that all that matters?” She’s rising to her feet now, still moving closer, just inches away from downright sitting on your lap. Your eyes flicker down to her lips, you can’t help it.

“Can I kiss you right now?”, she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Words don’t come, but words don’t even matter, as you pull Lena down into your lap as your answer, sealing your lips together in an explosive kiss that speaks of all the months you could have been doing this, could have held her in your arms, could have kissed her until you’d both be breathless and panting. When your hands find their way beneath the waistband of her shirt, just resting there, she gently breaks the kiss.

“It’s late”, she murmurs, mischief in her voice. “It would be very irresponsible of me to send you on your way in the middle of the night.”

“I guess I have no choice but to stay”, you reply, managing to keep a straight face for a second before your composure breaks. It doesn’t matter anyway, because a mere heartbeat later, Lena kisses the grin off your face.

[xmalereader]

Billy Hargrove X Male Reader

|| THREE ||

-

|| Masterlist ||

|ONE — TWO — THREE

-

Summary: Reader is new to Hawkins, his parents had just moved into the new house and are trying to start over from there old lives. But what if reader can’t? He’s still a messed up kid who’s tired of pretending to be happy...and that damn mullet head of a ghost won’t stop following him around!!

Warnings: PTSD, Langauge, OCD TRIGGERING, Reader wants to know why he can touch billy!

—

Tags; @daybreakmistakes @spnfanboy777 @cypherthetransmasc @kingreidx

—

He was bouncing his leg up and down as he sat on his bed facing his door, staring at a few notes that he had taped onto his door.

“Okay!” He throws his hands in the air and shot up from his bed. “So far, we know that ghosts only wonder around when they have unfinished business, so do you have any unfinished business?” He asks, turning around to face billy who sat on his bed, staring at him.

“Not really no.”

Y/ns frown deeps as he spins around and uncaps his red sharpie, crossing out the first option or idea that he had. “Okay, next we have objects.” He says, pointing at one of his notes. “Is there an special object of yours that someone could’ve taken from you?” He holds his sharpie out to the other option was he waits for a response. “No.” He hears again, as he crosses it out he stops mid way, “wait what about your camero? You told me that was your baby or something.” He shurgs as billy rolls his eyes and sits back on the bed. “My dad only gave me that camero to keep my mouth shut whenever I had to deal with Maxine, it wasn’t anything special.” He explains with a shrug as well.

Y/n can only frown as the explanation, Turing back to his door as he crosses out the information. “Well, I have nothing else...Whatever it is that’s keeping you here—“ he’s startled by his bedroom door being slammed open, causing the door to hit him in the face as he grunts. “Hey!” He winces out and rubs his head, looking up to see his own mother looking down at him. “Sorry sweety, but I heard you spreaking to yourself again.” She says as she looks over y/n’s shoulder to see his room floor covered in papers. “What are you doing?”

“Smoking weed.” He blurts out randomly as his mother glares at him.

“Where do you expect me to get that stuff?” He adds with a bit of sarcasm and steps back, stilling wincing at the pain as he rubs his head again. He hears his mother sign in disappointment. “Anyways, I just came up here to remind you to take your meds, you know that your father can’t sleep well with all of your mumbling and talking in the middle of the night.” She sneers out as y/n narrows his eyes, before giving her a wide and fake smile. “Yes, ma’am.” He says through gritted teeth as he watches her slam his door shut and leave back to the living room.

“Your mom may be the hottest women, I’ve ever hated.” He hears billy say behind him as y/n grumbles and bends down to pick up his mess., “shes a real piece of work.” Said y/n, setting his papers on his desk as he looks over to see the orange bottle filled with pills, he stares at it for awhile before reaching over to take it and popping it open. “Are you really going to take them?”

He stares inside the bottles and scoffs. “No.” He walks over to the trash and empties the bottle, watching the pills fall into the bin as he feels the bottle become lighter. Once the bottle was empty he puts the lid back on and tosses the bottle onto his desk. “They don’t even work, they think that ill become less crazy but in reality they only make me sick.” He walks around his room, picking up his mess as billy watches from his bed. “This mental illness of yours—“

“I’m not mentally ill.” Y/n snaps back with a glare.

“Then what are you?” Billy moves over to sit at the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he tilts his head to the side. “I’m—i’m different than anyone else, I see things that no one else can and I sometime feel things too and just recently I discovered something that must’ve happened back in that mall that you don’t want to tell me.” He exclaims, gripping the sheets of paper as he spoke. “Mentally ill isnt really a good way to describe me...” he stands up and thinks, smirking a little as he chuckles. “Just call me crazy.”

“I don’t think your crazy you’re just weird.” Billy began to follow him around this time as y/n grabs a shopping bag that contained brand new shoes that he bought a couple of days ago. Billy watches him as he takes out the shoes and hums to hismelf, seeing as the other male began to replace the shoe laces. “What are you doing?” He asks in curiosity as y/n grins evilly as billy and tosses the shoe laces behind him.

“Making myself comfortable.” Said y/n as he opens up a drawer in his desk and takes out—

“Zip ties?” Billy rasies a brow.

“Mhm!” The other hums out as he puts his shoes on and uses the zip ties as shoe laces. “You are officially crazy.” Says Billy as y/n finishes adjusting his own shoes. “Okay so you use zip ties as shoe laces and now what? You pour the milk first before your cereal too?”

Y/n stays seated on the floor, slowly lifting his head up to give billy an innocent look. “Is that really bad?”

Billy’s eyes widen. “What is the matter with you?!”

He can only shrug In response as he walks over to his closet to grab a jacket.

“That is like—a sin to humanity!” Billy continues to blow up as y/n sighs annoyingly.

“Billy, sweetheart, the love of my life,” y/n says in a sweet and sarcastic voice as he turns to face him. “I’m case your haven’t notice but no human really likes people like me.” He reminds him for the millionth time before giving him a quick smile and dropping it. He grabs his Walkman and headphones, “come on.” He gestures towards the window.

“Where are going?” Billy follows him towards the window as y/n slides it open, he puts his headphones on first and then starts to play one of his favorites  cassettes’, ignoring bully’s question as he simply allows himself to get lost in the music.

I feel your heart

It's beating time with mine

But love love love is on the line

Y/n steps onto the roof as he sings along to the music.

He holds you down

But I know you want to run

You're hot hot loaded like a gun

He walks towards the nearest tree that he uses to climb down, using it to escape his horrible parents and his dumbass life. As he reaches out to grip one of the branches he sharply turns around to face billy who stops in his track to chuckle at him.

Oh you feel so trapped and confused

Start with nothing and you've got nothing to lose

“—you’ve gotta nothing to lose!!” Billy hears him sing out as he begins to dance to the music, throwing his head around crazily.

You can never never never ever hide your heart

Don't you ever ever ever ever try

If you don't give your heart wings you'll

Never never never ever fly

Y/n continues dance as he jumps down onto the tree and begins to climb down while billy only watches him go crazy to the music under the moonlight.

Break down the walls

You've got to cut the ties

There's pain pain burning in your eyes

Billy can’t help but smile at this strange teenager, he’s seen many weird teens back in high school but this one, this one was different. Y/n was free spirited and he didn’t care about what others thought of him—I mean yes, he is crazy and does so many things incorrectly but somehow Billy enjoys this unique thing about him. He thinks that the most unique thing about y/n is that he can see him and that made him feel whole. He used to be so alone and now he has someone.

It's time for tearing free

Oh come come running straight to me

Oh you know he don't love you like I do

Don't make believe that you don't feel it too

You can never never never ever hide your heart

Don't you ever ever ever ever try oh no

As y/n contiunes to sing out loudly he notices that they are heading towards the woods, following each other around as y/n spins in circles and makes weird hand gestures towards the sky.

If you don't give your heart wings you'll

Never never never ever fly

You never fly, if you want you can fly

At one point he feels y/n graze his fingers against his Billy’s cheek, causing him to gasp in surprise. Still getting used to the feeling of y/n being able to touch him. He sends him a small smile as y/n laughs at him and skips away, hopping to the tune as they mysteriously make there way back to star court.

“Why are we back here?” Asks billy as y/n takes off his headphones and turns off his Walkman. “We came here to look for some answers to our questions, pretty boy.” He winks at Billy before chuckling. Billy shakes his head as he stands in front of him, “you are not going back in there, you can get caught again and this time you’ll be getting it on your criminal record.” Y/n frowns at Billy’s words but the dead man was right. He could get caught again if he were to trespass once more.

But he can’t just give up, not like this.

“Not until I find something that explains everything about this!” He is quick to say as he runs towards the fence and jumps over, quickly he runs towards the opened hole on the door and crawls in.

“Y/n!” Billy hisses out as he reaches out to grab his arm. “You don’t even have a flashlight!”

“Don’t worry I memorized the place, I don’t need a flashlight to see in the dark.” He whispers out as he quietly makes his way around the ruined mall, making small turns as he finds the back door that billy had guided him through. “I saw something here that caught my attention.” He whispers, finding the entrance to a downstairs.

He grins to hismelf as he steps forward but is quickly pulled away by billy. “What the hell?!”

“I’m going first in case anything bad is down there.” Said billy, giving him a stern look as he goes in first. Y/n rolls his eyes and with a pout on his face he follows close behind billy.

The two male there way downstairs and through the tunnels, y/n walks next to billy as he grips Billy’s arm, not wanting to get lost in the dark or trip over something that’ll make him easily fight it or get hurt. “What the hell is this place?” He hears billy whisper out as y/n frowns.

“The mall?” He rasies a brow at his own answer, confused by everything as well as the two walk further, billy is the first to notice a light in the distance. “I think someone is here.” He’s quick to push y/n behind a wall as the two stay hidden, “Wait why are you hiding? You’re dead.” Said y/n as he turns to billy to see him shrug. “Sorry, I guess with you being able to see me and touch me makes me feel alive again.” He responds back, causing y/n to smile softly at the thought of billy feeling alive. “Maybe you are alive, but to me.” He adds quietly as he walks past billy and heads towards the light, ignoring Billy’s shouts as he makes his way towards the open room.

He peaks inside to see a couple of men talking amongst each other.

“Ворота в последнее время действуют, что-то требует, но мы не можем найти источник

Vorota v posledneye vremya deystvuyut, chto-to trebuyet, no my ne mozhem nayti.”

Y/n stays hidden behind the wall as he listens to the strangers speak to each other. “Russian...” he whispers out. “There speaking Russian.” He says to himself as he tries to remember his Russian learning from his grandmother before she died.

“The gate has been acting up lately, something is calling out too it but we don’t know where the source is coming from.”

He’s able to translate back to himself as he hears billy shift next to him. “You can understand them?”

“My grandmother used to speak Russian, as I grew up she taught me the language. One of my most successful moments in life.” He explains to billy, keeping a close eye on the Russians as they mumble to each other before they decided to walk away, heading towards a different room that lead them far away from y/n and billy.

“Lets go.” He’s crouched down as he walks past the room full of Russians, heading up a pair of stairs as he looks over his shoulder to make sure that they weren’t being followed. “You have to be careful y/n, we could’ve been caught and this time you’d be in deep sh—“

Y/n wasn’t listening to billy, he was zoning out his voice as he looks up ahead to see a strange glowing line that kind of looked like a crack of light, it wasn’t a wall and it was moving. Yes, it was defiantly moving. He steps closer, reaching the edge of the the railing as he lifts a hand up to try and reach out for it.

“Hey!” He gasps in shock as billy grabs his wrist, pulling him away. “You’re too close to the edge you dumbass!” He hisses out in anger as y/n shakes his head. “Sorry I just—I feel like...” he was feeling lightheaded and was stumbling backwards, lucky fo him billy was there to catch him in time before he could fall back. “Y/n?!” Billys voice is faint, sounding like he was far away as his vision begins to darken.

“You are the one.”

“They think your special.”

“He was able to open and close it all on his own! He’s too powerful!”

“He’s still a child!”

“Then we keep him locked away, far away from everything!”

“We all hate you.”

“Do you want to know why they call you One? Becuase your their number one prized possession!”

“You’re the one.”

He gasps awake, quickly turning to his side as he throws up his dinner. Coughing and panting as he wipes his mouth clean and slowly begins to sit up, he touches his surroundings to find himself still inside the mall and underground. “What—“

“Your awake.” He’s startled by Billy’s voice, Turing around to see him sitting across for him. “How long—“

“Three hours.”

“What—? Three—“ He was panting heavily again.

Three hours? But, it only felt like a couple of seconds to him. Everything just came rushing towards him, he remembers hearing the voices and the shouting. He remembers seeing white coats and children that were younger then him, younger by a couple of years. He could still hear his own screaming, wait—Wait was he screaming?

Y/n lifts his head up and places a hand on his temples. “Billy...” he murmurs out. “What’s happening to me?” For the first time in his life he was scared and confused. “Why am I seeing this stuff? Why do I keep getting these visions and why do I feel so lost? I feel like something is missing inside of me.” He croaks out in fright, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill out. “Billy.”

Billy was staring at y/n with a sympathy look in his eyes as the two made eye contact. “What’s wrong with me?”

[plague-of-insomnia]

Hey! Not sure if this has been asked before but I was wondering how you write fanfics? Do you write the whole thing then post? Do you have a plan before you start writing? I LOVE WDH and do a little writing myself so I’m a bit curious about your methods! 💛

Hi, anon, Tysm for the cool ask! I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. It’s been a busy week! I also am so glad you love WDH and took the time to send me this ask on top of reading the fic 💕.

OK so I’m pretty new to fan fic writing actually, but I have been writing an original serial fic that I’ve been posting online since 2012, so I do have experience with the process of serial fic/ online fic writing.

(This is kinda a long post so sorry in advance.)

Do you write the whole thing and then post?

To answer the first question succinctly, what I do varies from project to project.

I personally think it’s better to write a huge chunk (if not the whole thing) in advance, but that depends on your schedule, how productive/fast you are at the actual writing process, whether you want to be able to post on a regular schedule, how patient you are, whether you want the reader’s’ input to help drive the story or not, etc.

The obvious advantage of writing an entire fic BEFORE you post is it’s easier to revise. Bc things will change as the story evolves and you get to know the characters better. But, it can also be a lot of fun to not stress as much about that and enjoy the creative process; you can always go back later and revise the whole thing if you really want to—many fan fic authors do that.

Below, I’ve broken down how I’ve approached some of both my original and fan fic projects.

For my original work, I prefer to have multiple episodes/chapters finished before I begin posting. This way I am always “ahead” as I can continue writing while I’m posting, and that way keep a regular posting schedule (usually weekly).

However, I have experimented with writing week-to-week, but in that case it was very clear that what I was writing was a first draft and not as polished as some of my other work. The problem with that is if anything happens and I am not able to manage any time to write, I have to skip a week (or more) and then I kinda get off rhythm... but that’s a tough thing to do if you’re trying to maintain a regular posting schedule. (I was doing that every other week, in some cases I was posting the polished story one week and alternating with the “on the fly” one. That’s a LOT of work.)

For Deadly Nightshade, my plan was to either finish the story or at least get a good chunk of it done before I started posting since I was hoping to keep a regular posting schedule. But I was convinced to start posting it anyway, and after the fourth chapter, I hit a bump. Even though I had a significant portion of the story mapped out, it’s been difficult for me to get back in the mindset of the fic, so I have had to put it on hiatus. (Though I’m still working on it, albeit slowly.)

For The Vampire’s Tale, Andre and I rushed to get the first chapter out in time for the event, and plan(ned) to continue posting whenever we could... but he’s gotten so busy that unfortunately that’s on temporary hold as well.

For Where Demons Hide, I’ve done something closer to what I have for my original serial fic, In/Exhale— I have the entire first act completed, for the most part. I have gone back and reworked a few things or added stuff we’ve figured out needed to be added, or shuffled chapters around, but yeah, largely I have a huge chunk already written by the time we post each chapter. This has worked out well because bc of physical and mental illness I sometimes have stretches where I can’t create for one reason or another. It also allows me time to work on other projects or oneshots in between.

Do you have a plan before you start writing?

Not really. Not in the way some writers do, where they have a detailed outline with everything carefully mapped out. That method just does not work for me. I’ve tried it various times with different techniques and I find I’m better off using the time I would be outlining to brainstorm or actual write. (But plenty of writers swear by some kind of outlining or scene mapping.)

That doesn’t mean I just randomly type words and pray they come together. One thing I’ve talked about before that I often do is what I call “sketching.”

Similar to how a visual artist will do a rough foundation for their work as a way of planning out what they want to do so they can make it more detailed, I do the same thing with words. It can be as simple as a quick note reminding myself what needs to happen in a particular scene (since I like to write out of order), such as “Character B fights with Character A.” Other times, it’ll be more of a full treatment, complete with dialog, character emotions/body language, and even internal monologue. I’ll often make a note of POV if it’s a work that has multiple, too.

Basically, sketches are a way for me to get the essence of a scene down when I don’t have time to write it or if I don’t want to forget. Sometimes, I use it for brainstorming, so I say “maybe X happens or maybe Y happens” in my notes. I write these down very quickly, with little punctuation, bc I know what I mean and I can jot everything down before I forget/it leaves me.

I’m very visual, so I like to get the movie in my head down while it’s fresh. Then I can expand on it later.

Sometimes, I don’t write the scene down, I jump straight into writing, but in those cases I usually have either paused to envision the scene and get into the characters’ heads, or I’m seeing it as I write.

Another form of planning I do is making lists (sometimes in my head only) of what scenes or projects I want to prioritize working on a given day. If, for some reason, something isn’t flowing, I try not to dwell on it for too long and jump to something else.

For longer, more complex works, I may also keep character sheets or lists of things that need to happen, so I won’t forget. I often do the latter for my online serial, making note of what things I want to make sure happens that season, or timelines to help me assemble the pieces of the chaos of writing things out of order.

I hope this answer wasn’t too long and it helped give you a better idea of how I work. Feel free to send me other asks any time!

[vampiresmiled]

✩ kaidette

i haven’t even started it yet and i know this is gonna physically pain me … let’s go ! leggo, my eggo. update : i finished it and now i’m depresso. 

DISAGREEMENTS

who is more likely to raise their voice? odette. she is a very loud human being.who threatens to leave but never actually does? typical kai antics.who actually keeps their word and leaves? if odette says she’ll leave, then she’ll leave. sorry bout it. who trashes the house? odette’s the type to throw some glasses on the floor to make a point. loud and clear !do either of them get physical? despite his history, i don’t think kai would. but odette would definitely poke at that shit to try and get a reaction from him. he’d leave. she’d be pissed. life is hard. how often do they argue/disagree? like every day, she’s her. it’s never that serious, though.who is the first to apologize? kai. she never apologizes, not even once.

SEX

who is on top? i want to preface this by saying they’ve never had sex, they never will have sex and all that is being spoken now is totally not an accurate portrayal of the future. anyways, odette rides him like a mechanical bull.who is on the bottom? kai. she pegs him, too.who has the strangest desires? probably kai. she’s not that … adventurous. for obvious reasons. any kinks? kai shutting the fuck up.who’s dominant in bed? listen. normal circumstances, not to speak ill of the dead, but – with n*c she was the more dominant party ‘cos she got them issues, we been knew. with kai, however, the trust this girl has … he can put her in a chokehold and she’d be like, haha cute. is head ever in the equation? if it wasn’t she’d leave. if so, who is better at performing it? kai. ever had sex in public? no and they never will.who moans the most? you really gonna make me out my girl like this.who leaves the most marks? odette. if she’s gonna rid herself of her morals and smash this giant man, she’s gonna make it clear he’s OFF-LIMITS. who screams the loudest? eye-who is the more experienced of the two? kai. obviously. one hundred percent. do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? no matter what she says, no matter the circumstance, it’ll always be the latter. rough or soft? depends on how pissy she is.how long do they usually last? like, way too long. send ava away to camp long. is protection used? yes, she doesn’t want another one of THOSE. does it ever get boring? probably not. they’ve known each other since they were YOUTHS, if they aren’t bored by now they never will be. where is the strangest place they’d have sex? reality. 

FAMILY

do your muses plan on having children/or have children? i know kai does but with odette i am unsure ™ ! i think she’d want a kid if the opportunity presented itself, but she’d never actively plan for one.if so, how many children do your muses want/have? fucking no more than two. counting ava. who is the favorite parent? kai. like he already is.who is the authoritative parent? odette. like she already is.who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? kai. he’s the cool dad. the funky dad. who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? you think i’m gonna say kai ‘cos he’s more lax ? no. odette can’t cook, you think she’s gonna deprive these kids of poptarts if they so desire it ? fuck no. who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? kai. honestly, odette can’t really be bothered ‘cos kids doing shit is … BORING. but kai would drag her along. who goes to parent teacher interviews? kai. odette threatened to beat up ava’s math teacher once and the rest is history.who changes the diapers? kai. who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? kai. truly, he’s giving his all here folks.who spends the most time with the children? also kai. maybe odette is just a deadbeat. stay tuned for more at six.who packs their lunch boxes? please don’t make me say kai again.who gives their children ‘the talk’? definitely fucking kai. odette never got the talk herself, she just caught her mom smashing some drunk once and that’s how she was introduced to the world of sex. who cleans up after the kids? also kai.who worries the most? like about trivial shit ? kai. homework, soccer practice and what not, that’s his territory. odette worries about the social stuff. like first boyfriend, meeting new people, sending ava off to college. that’s scary. a shitty grade is not. who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? odette, big oof. 

AFFECTION

who likes to cuddle? both. but odette has a tendency to initiate it, ‘cos he’s a big ass pussy.who is the little spoon? most of the time, odette. ‘cos she’s wittle. but bad mood kai is definitely getting spooned the fuck out of.who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? * insert the lap hc i sent you many moons ago * “ what if he gets a hard-on ? ” “ she’d leave. ”who struggles to keep their hands to themself? odette. how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? like a good while. she’s not that affectionate in general but kai’s more like an extension of her. odette’s emotional support teddy bear, you know. who gives the most kisses? kai. what is their favourite non-sexual activity? reluctantly watching star trek and cuddling on the sofa. fuck off. if beer is involved all the better. hanging out with ava is just like a good time, too, for whatever reason. where is their favourite place to cuddle? bed. couch is very chillaxed and they hang there most often. but bed … when she sneaks into his room ‘cos hers is cold and its his fault and she puts her cold ass feet on him and wraps herself up next to him in his blanket like a wittle burrito – that’s soft antics. who is more likely to playfully grope the other? odette. how often do they get time to themselves? not that often now that ava is grounded, but otherwise, pretty often. 

SLEEPING

who snores? no one, but sometimes odette.if both do, who snores the loudest? who ya think.do they share a bed or sleep separately? depends on the day.if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? i mean, when she does sleep in his bed it is to cuddle and ‘cos they’re in a good place. but sometimes, she’s there even when she’s mad at him. so, really, it’s fifty/fifty. okay, more like eighty/twenty. who talks in their sleep? neither.what do they wear to bed? she snags his shirts, might as well be nightgowns the length of them. when he knows she’ll be in there he is clothed, and by clothed i mean pjs and a tee. when he doesn’t, he’s just all about freeing the nipple. she prefers the latter but you didn’t hear it from me. are either of your muses insomniacs? i feel like kai has some issues sleeping. and odette, to a degree. she will wake him up for late night convos which mostly are just whining and her poking fun at him. sometimes it gets deep and borderline ‘ what if ’ … she pretends it never happened in the morn. can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? they’re kais, odette likes them with her wine.do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? side by side. who wakes up with bed hair? both.who wakes up first? kai, no doubt.who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? also kai.what is their favourite sleeping position? she likes being the little spoon. she also likes having her head on his chest with him holding her like the small baby she is. who hogs the sheets? odette.do they set an alarm each night? kai does. can a television be found in their bedroom? nope. it’s they-time. i say as if it isn’t his bedroom. truth is, they’re too poor for it.who has nightmares? not so much anymore but odette. who has ridiculous dreams? i feel like kai doesn’t dream. he’s too grounded for it.who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? odette. which is impossible ‘cos she’s a baby.who makes the bed? kai, ‘cos it’s his.what time is bed time? whenever odette crawls in there.any routines/rituals before bed? not that i can think of. check back again in 3-4 business days.who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? odette, no doubt in my mind. she’s always pissy. more so in the morning, though.

WORK

who is the busiest? kai, probably. but his schedule is also more predictable than hers, so.who rakes in the highest income? odette. breadwinner right there.are any of your muses unemployed? nope.who takes the most sick days? no one. odette’s got a tendency to skip shit ‘cos she’s lazy but when she’s sick she powers through ‘cos she’s not WEAK.who is more likely to turn up late to work? odette.who sucks up to their boss? kai.what are their jobs? he’s a nurse bitch and she’s a bounty-hunter. in connecticut. yeah, that pays … who stresses the most? kai, probably.do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? i think they both enjoy them.are your muses financially stable? hell no.

HOME

who does the washing? kai, he’s so powerful.who takes out the trash? kai.who does the ironing? kai.who does the cooking? kai.who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? odette ! it’s a wonder she hasn’t already in my opinion.who is messier? odette. literally … without him and ava she’d be lost. who leaves the toilet roll empty? odette. she’s just a fantastic roommate, isn’t she.who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? also odette.who forgets to flush the toilet? ava.who is the prankster around the house? kai’s more fun but odette likes to mess with him. pranks are a-okay if she started them, but don’t you dare put flour in her blowdryer unprompted. who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? odette, every single time. kai has an extra set of keys for literally everything.who mows the lawn? apartment people.who answers the telephone? kai. odette pretends she doesn’t hear it ringing.who does the vacuuming? kai.who does the groceries? also kai.who takes the longest to shower? still kai, m’dude. who spends the most time in the bathroom? the answer might surprise you … it’s kai. odette takes ten minute showers and blowdries her hair and then she’s out the door. kai takes styling his hair very seriously. it’s an art form ! and also he shaves and gets hair everywhere which adds like 15 minutes. 

MISCELLANEOUS

is money a problem? more like is money ever NOT a problem. they figure it out, though, but shit’s tight. so no skateboards for the kids.how many cars do they own? used to be one before they got to town. now they got two. good for them.do they own their home or do they rent? rent.do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? literally i don’t know where sheffield is stop asking me this.do they live in the city or in the country? downtown apartment.do they enjoy their surroundings? no, they miss california and they really have got no reason to stay except ava’s inevitable bitching if they move again. what’s their song? rocket man by elton john. no one but luna gets to know the story.what do they do when they’re away from each other? odette got no hobbies and honestly, does kai ? so nothing. they do too much together. odette hangs out with jack and emma but that’s literally it. where did they first meet? the streets ™ honestly, i dunno. probably some youthful hangout underneath a bridge in chino. there was a burn barrel, kids were doing coke and they bonded. how did they first meet? is that not the same as the first question. they met being homeless and annoying. odette thought he was too tall and he thought she was too bitchy. the rest is history.who spends the most money when out shopping? odette. she’s cheap, but she also has no concept of money. she throws dollar bills at walmart like it was a strip club. who’s more likely to flash their assets? neither. they were homeless and in the foster care, they don’t like braggarts and the rich. who finds it amusing when the other trips over? odette laughs every single time. sometimes she trips him, she’s mature like that.any mental issues? too many to count.who’s terrified of bugs? i feel like odette has a distaste for them but she doesn’t really give an f. kai doesn’t like spiders, though. she likes getting those toy ones on halloween and put them in his bed. who kills the spiders around the house? odette because : see above. their favourite place? his shitty car. sometimes they ride around and do fuck-all, like they’re back to their youth. sometimes they sit in the front-seat, parked on some remote spot in the woods and they smoke. cool, thanks. who pays the bills? both.do they have any fears for their future? not really. they’re pretty solid, honestly. not really worrisome people at their cores. who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? kai, honestly. just ‘cos he can cook and she fucking can’t.who uses up all of the hot water? odette. her showers might be short but the water’s scorching. if it doesn’t burn the skin off her body, she doesn’t want it.who’s the tallest? you come into my home … who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? we have never encountered this scenario before and we absolutely will not, ever, ever, ever. but odette 110%. who wanders around in their underwear? odette. and i’m not sorry about it.who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? kai * cue the scene in the last song w miley & liam *what do they tease each other about? everything. nothing’s off limits which is absolutely stupid as hell. i mean, obviously they don’t mention ~ the things ~ but, a lot of it has to do with parenting techniques and their past as street rats. odette likes to mock his height, he tries to do the same but she smacks him when he does. who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? odette. she wears like neutrals and blacks, there’s nothing to make fun of. kai on the other hand …do they have mutual friends? do emma and jack really count ?who crushed first? you want me to say kai but odette is the truth, so back the fuck off.any alcohol or substance related problems? i mean … they both got their respective histories and that’s messy and odette really can’t handle her liquor sometimes but they got it under control, thanks.who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? odette, duh.who swears the most? this is not a question i will validate with a response.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT 2

A/N LISTEN UP BEACHES I EDITED THIS WHILE EATING SKITTLES AND DUPLINGS SO YOU KNOW I WASNT NORMAL WHILE EDITING I HOPE I EDITED EVERYTHING IF NOT I’LL CORECT THIS LATER

Genre:Fanfiction/Romance/Erotic Romance

Type:Rated-r(later chapters)

Word Count 5,084

PT.1 , PT2 PT.3

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seoul. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Kwon Jiyong has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Hyo-Rin didn’t give me a brief biography

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Hyo-Rin’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Min Hyo-Rin! I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating Brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Kwon’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, y/n, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want. We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Gangnam-gu, close to the Gangnam campus of GAU. I’m lucky – Rin’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Hyo-Rin is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview. “Y/N! You’re back.” Rin sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little kittens, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.” “Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her. “Y/N, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Min Hyo-Rin, Inquisition. I struggle to answer her question. What can I say? “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.” Rin gazes innocently at me. I frown at her. “Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Hyo-Rin clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-eight. Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”(a/n let’s imagine that this store is in korea ok?!) “Y/N, you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started atGAU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Gangnam area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Kwon Ji Yong. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me. “y/n! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Hyo-Rin is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with… him. “You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/N. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look. I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Rin doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription. “I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks. “Um… no, I didn’t.” “That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush. “I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. “Oh come on,Y/N – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that,Y/N. Come on , he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen. “So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something – quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts. I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Y/N, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me? Now Hyo-Rin’s being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Kwon Ji Yong that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Rin and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Hyo-Rin has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday. I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and Brown eyes. For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Hyo-Rin is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-kittens PJs. I call my mom in Jeju to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Y/N?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.” “Y/N? Have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Y/N, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Hyo-Rin and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Mino, (dont hate Me)clutching a bottle of champagne. “Mino! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” Mino is the first person I met when I arrived at GAU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Mino’s Father were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Mino is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Mino has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me. “The Gangnam Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Hyo-Rin beams at him too. “Way to go Mino! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins. “Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Mino looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Rin. Mino and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Hyo-Rin often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven’t met anyone who… well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.(a/n ME THO) But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kwon? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely? I watch Mino open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Mino’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Mino looks up and smiles. Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold Brown gaze of Kwon Ji Yong who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Kwon,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr.Kwon?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Y/L/N. A slight frown mars Kwon’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning. “They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me – because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Gangnam? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head. “Are you in Gangnam on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Y/N! “I was visiting the GAU farming division. It’s based at Gangnam. I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts. “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease. “Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny? Funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, Brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Y/L/N! “Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Kwon says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium. “Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. “What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord… ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.” Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife. “Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Kwon.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing,Y/N?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Y/N, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks.(A/N BOIIII!!!!) “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Rin is. Miss Min. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Kwon raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off. “You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Hyo-Rin will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous… “Hyo-Rin will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position. Oh my. Kwon Ji Yong’s lost look. “Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Hyo-Rin is going to be thrilled. “Y/N!” Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Kwon, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Y/N, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Y/N, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Kwon Jiyong, he’s watching us like a hawk, his brown eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant. “Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Kwon’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Paul, this is Kwon Ji Yong. Mr. Kwon, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Ji Yong holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Kwon,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up – not the Kwon Ji Yong? Of Kwon Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kwon gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?” “Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Y/N.” “Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Kwon?” “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Kwon, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his brown eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Y/N.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh – and Y/N, I’m glad Miss Min couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay – I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Hyo-Rin and organize a photo-shoot.

boi i swear he...ugh he as a rich ceo....just yasss,also i didnt change the paul name because its the only time he appers in the book so yeah tommorow i will upload another part!!!!

[olliethealright]

Three Steps From Home - Novel Update #2

Hey everyone! Today, I’m going to do my second update on Three Steps From Home. This should be the last update with more than 1-2 chapters, after this I’ll be pretty much caught up to what I’m writing now. This update will cover chapters 5-8, and together, these chapters add up to 4361 words. Warning, this is going to be long because I like these chapters, sorry lol. 

Disclaimer: These are all my original thoughts and words, please do not steal them.

Trigger warning: Mental illness, mentions of suicide and self harm, homophobia, conversion therapy

chapter five - rest stop monsters - 1571 words 

theme song - the village - warbel 

This chapter is maybe the most chaotic in the book. We get the first taste of Jude being a bit unhinged and unreliable as a narrator. 

summary: Jude’s mother threatens to send him to conversion therapy, which causes a massive fight between the two. Jude packs a backpack and hits the road, making it a few miles on foot before he breaks down and calls Aaron from a rest stop.

Excerpts: 

Jude’s mother trying to send him to conversion therapy:

Mother clicked the TV off so hard, the rubber button got stuck in the plastic base. Her knuckles crackled as she shifted, turning the hard, unblinking stare of concentration usually reserved for priests on me. The reverence she used when looking at someone who spun God’s words like steel ribbons was gone, replaced by the look of someone who has found a dead thing in their house

“Father John and I have been talking,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Nothing good ever started with that phrase. “We’ve been talking, and we think you’re beyond our help. Beyond… normal help.”

No shit. I had been ‘beyond help’ since I was a kid, it was a miracle it had taken her so long to come to the same conclusion I had. “Okay… so what now?”

I knew the answer before I formed the words, but I wanted to hear her say it anyway. I wanted it to sting, I wanted a reason to blow up in her face. She fed my fire, she would watch as it burned me.  

Jude having a breakdown at a rest stop:

I brought my knees in closer to myself and shivered, my chest collapsed in on itself and my lungs emptied. The rest stop monsters closed in; I didn’t look at them. The minutes I spent waiting for you felt like hours.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot in your used blue pickup, I was half asleep, the start of a nasty cold already coursing through my blood. You parked next to me and got out, silhouetted against your headlights so you looked like someone else.

chapter six - Duo of Trespassers - 1266 words

theme song - mars - YUNGBLUD

Chapter five is definitely kind of a downer, but don’t worry, this book likes to play with your emotions so chapter six is weirdly... upbeat? This one is kind of hard to me to describe because the mood is very back and forth. It takes place the morning after chapter five. 

Summary: Jude wakes up at Aaron’s apartment, and they are now on a mission to break into Jude’s mother’s house and steal his stuff. 

excerpts:

Aaron talking about his past and then changing his mind and saying nothing:

“Good idea. When I moved out, my folks…” you trailed off, but it was enough to make me turn around. You had talked about your family just enough for me to know that you had one, and you probably weren’t adopted, although even that was foggy for me. Whenever I asked about them, you clammed up, changed the subject, complimented my eyes or the new sticker I had put on my laptop. I had stopped asking.

You waved me off like it was no big deal, but something about you had shifted already. You moved like a sparrow, ready to take flight at any second. You had paled a shade, your hands wouldn’t stop moving; adjusting the string at the waist of your shorts, then to your hood, putting it up, back down again, raking your fingers through your hair as if you were trying to pull it out by the chunk.

“It doesn’t matter,” you lied to my raised eyebrows. “Today’s about your bullshit, not mine. Now let’s get moving before we lose our nerve.”

“Aaron…” I should have stopped thinking about myself then, should have told you to go to work while I sorted my shit out, should have grabbed your hands and demanded you tell me something real about your life before I met you, but I didn’t. My tunnel vision didn’t include your distress, it barely included mine.

Jude and Aaron breaking into Jude’s old house:

My mother’s car was thankfully absent from the driveway when we pulled up. I slouched down in my seat and scoured the street for snoopy neighbors, determining after nearly five minutes that there weren’t any.

You boosted me through the same window I had used to leave the night before, left wide open, as if she had wanted me to return so she could trap me inside. Your fingers were freezing as I pulled you in after me, a duo of trespassers in a room that was still mine.

seven - high on nothing - 1011 words

theme song - peanut butter waffles - ryan caraveo

Summary: This chapter takes place three weeks after the events of the previous chapter. Jude gets a call from his mother for the first time since they fought and he moved out, and agrees to take Aaron to meet her over brunch. Aaron spends the rest of the chapter assuring Jude that he isn’t afraid of Jude’s mother, and he does want to meet her. Essentially, the whole chapter is Jude having an emo moment and Aaron eating his spaghetti and begging Jude not to worry.

Beginning paragraph: 

It was three weeks before my mother finally called me. Three weeks of being high with glee when I remembered she wasn’t waiting for me when I got home, ready to tear into me like a bear tears into its prey. Three weeks of feeling like I was looking into the chasm where her anger bubbled just under out of sight, ready to swallow me whole if I got too close to the edge.

Jude speaking with his mother on the phone:

“Jude?” she finally said, her pronunciation just a little off. My mother didn’t speak the language of apologies, but she stumbled through one that night. Her voice was hard as a brick wall, she was going against her better judgement, some part of her probably regretting it already. I let her talk.

She didn’t ask me to move back in, she didn’t ask me to change, she didn’t even ask me to go to church with her, which must have been a first. Instead, through gritted teeth, she said the words I never expected to hear from her. “Will you at least bring… him around the house? If you’re going to be dating, I deserve to meet him, at the very least.”

More of Jude being afraid of his mother...

I rolled my eyes and tried not to think about what my mother would say when she met you, how she would probably go after how you dressed first, and then the slight crookedness to your nose that I always thought made you more beautiful. Next, it would be: ‘does he even speak Spanish?’ And after that would come the obligatory: ‘I loved a white boy once, and do you know what it got me? An ungrateful son like you and a high mortgage.’  Then, she would pick you apart by the personality trait, by the star sign; tear you up and leave you in a heap on the floor.

 Jude explaining to Aaron why he’s afraid to see his mother

“My mother is… well you’ve heard the stories. My mother isn’t nice, she’s kind of a nightmare, actually. She doesn’t have a kind bone in her body, and she hates sinners more than anything. And she’ll probably insult everything about you. She’ll definitely try to shame me into marrying a Guatemalan girl from the next town over and having ten Christian kids and sending them to church school and having a dysfunctional family that looks perfect from the outside and then dying sad and alone.”

chapter eight - black and white - 505 words

theme song - untitled - EDEN (yes I've used this song before, but it’s one of the theme songs of the whole book and also its so pretty lol)

This is the shortest chapter in the book, and it’s definitely way underwritten, so I’ll be coming back to it. 

Summary: Aaron takes Jude to a drive in movie the night before their brunch with Jude’s mother to cheer him up. Aaron falls asleep, Jude drives home and reflects on his life.

Jude and Aaron being cute on the way to the movie:

You taught me words of the french you had learned in school as you drove, laughing when my pronunciation sounded more like ‘sad Spanish’. Eventually, I crossed my arms and spent the next ten minutes speaking only my mother tongue, which came back to me faster than I would have imagined after avoiding the language for years.

“Not bad, not bad,” you admitted when I finally got bored and switched back to english. “I mean, it doesn’t beat my secondary school French, but you’re getting there.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. I had learned Spanish and English at the same time, and until elementary school, I mixed them like they were one. I was smart enough to know the difference as the words rolled off my tongue, but not smart enough to understand that not everyone spoke that way. It took my kindergarten teacher kneeling in front of me on the second day of school and explaining that his classroom was for english only for me to realize that I was different.

Aaron falling asleep at the end: (I had a picture for this one but it got corrupted so RIP)

I’m not sure exactly when you fell asleep, it was somewhere between the last (and only) good jump scare, when you swore like a sailor and then laughed until there were tears in your eyes, and the end of the movie. 

Half the cars had already packed up and left before I slid your head onto one of the pillows and pulled a blanket to your chin. You shifted in your sleep, but didn’t wake. I shoved all the blankets into the passenger seat and then shook you just enough so one bleary blue eye opened. You were stretched out in the backseat, asleep before I could say anything.

Okay, there it is! I hope you enjoyed this update, because I had a really good time making it! As always, feel free to message me if you have any questions! Thank you for reading if you made it this far.

-ollie 

[wannaonescenarios]

rest.

this is going to get kind of long so i’ll try my best to shorten it. 

maybe you have an idea from the title and im pretty sure people have followed me for a while probably saw this coming, but i am most likely leaving this blog. 

i was initially going to compile a document full of my unfinished works and go but i feel like explaining myself because i couldn’t find it in me to leave without saying anything. honestly, i saw it coming and maybe you guys did too. the gaps between when i published my works and empty promises. not only that, but school has been kicking my ass and its probably not a valid excuse lol because other writers produced some vvvv great works while juggling with other activities and im amazed because they are constantly releasing stuff and here i am with constant writers block lol 

with that aside, i just don’t feel the same happiness liked i used too. in the summer, i was so excited with this blog, and every note or reblog i got made me extremely happy. of course, notes and reblogs don’t mean much to me but i can’t help but get happy when i see people like my work. but now, i guess, its not the same. 

now, i write whenever and i force myself too. i feel bad that i have all these requests in my inbox and i force myself to write because it’s just going to sit there and never be written lol. but posting something that i forced myself to write only makes me dislike writing even more if that makes sense haha.

and,,,another thing it has to do with this is mental health wise lol. this year started out great but it slowly went downhill and even now, i still find myself unhappy because of what is happening around me. i don’t know when ill get out of this, but i hope its soon. 

i don’t know if i’ll comeback, maybe in a few months ill come back and be like ‘’siKEEE you thought you’ve seen the last of me’’ but honestly,,i don’t see myself doing that. but if i do, i guess it won’t be on here.

anyways, ik i have lots of stuff unfinished so ill probably compile that in a doc and leave it up for view if anyone wants to see what i wrote and if it made it or not lol. but if you’re curious, send me an ask and ill answer anything really. ask me why im leaving. ask me why i lost inspiration idk. ill probably answer most things. 

moving on, feel free to ignore this but i want to address some people before i upload the doc and leave. also,,ill probably add more when my heads clear lol 

@wannaonestars my fave!! the og!!! queenie, i’ll miss you very much. you mean a lot to me and im very glad that i met you!! you make me very happy and even though we don’t talk as much anymore, im so glad to have these memories with you and talked as much as we could. i hope senior year is going okay for you!! you can survive college prep, i believe in you!! also, i love scrolling through our old messages because it brings back all these memories of summer and im just??? crying but it’s totally fine :))) i love you lots, and i hope to read more of your writing hopefully!! 

@singingmyreverie im sorry i never reply,,,you deserve way better than a shitty friend i am lol but im very thankful that i met you and im sosos thankful to have a caring friend like you. you make me happy and really happy!! i love looking back at our convos, and even though we suck at replying to each other lol, im glad that we even managed to talk despite the time gaps lol. thank you for being here. 

@wanna-one-scenarios !!! my fellow girl group stan,,im so sorry i never reply. i love talking to you about gfriend (aka my ult bias group) and im forever thankful that we managed to talk even though i suck at replying lol im so glad to find someone who loves girl groups as much as i do, and ill never forget your tinder profile ‘rowley’ smh !!!!!1!!1 i still have your wanna one album,, that i’ll one day send LOL

@jjeehoon my man,, i never reply to you and im so sorry. even tho you ‘stan’ seongwoo, we all know u stan jihoon smh!!! i love when you talk to me about hello counselor bc thats my fav show!! and i never watched that one w daniel im so sorry,,but maybe one day!!  also, im still looking forward with that witch au,,you better pull through LOL but thank you,,, an og!! im so glad to have talked to you and im so glad to see your account grow to what it is today. 

@imagineproduce101 carina,,,i’ll miss you lots. and ik we don’t really talk at all lol but im super glad to meet you through the gc!! i get so happy seeing your blog grow to what it is today. i remember reading your oneshots like that woojin one about prom and asking for help in the gc nffknk i also remember contacting you outside the gc because i was so shy jnfsdfjnf and im just super happy to see how far you’ve grown,,with tons of followers now?? like wtf u go carina,,,im sososo proud of you!! even though we don’t talk at all, i’ll be supporting you!! thank you for giving me help when i need it, and i hope you’re super successful from now on!!

@onlyjihoons !!! zelia!! a cutie!!! im so glad to have write you,, and i’ve always meant to reply but i feel like its too late,, i hope it is TT but thank for!! i’ll really miss reading your writings and im super glad to have met you!! i remember when you told me when you went to a w1 fanmeeting and im still smiling remembering that. thank you for bringing so much happiness and hopefully it isn’t too late to reply to your kk message,,im such a bad friend TTT thank you agian. 

[legendsmag]

Working in the Legends office, with that majestic laminated press badge, often puts you into the heart of the action. This has proven itself a few times over my decade long career under the Legends Magazine press circuit. None of my simple hour-long interview assignments, however, have ever yielded such unexpected and high-density results. That's exactly what happened when I sat down with four-piece Pop/RnB group PHASES, to discuss their new place on the Top Ten chart, their poor reputation as a band, and the future of their work.

Let this be a warning that should you ever approach a group of twenty-somethings with the reputations that a Punk fifteen-year-old might look up to, they will quickly derail any conversation into sexually transmitted diseases, murder, and namedropping the celebrities that they'd like to sleep with.

PHASES just recently experienced it's first-ever Top Ten single, despite having been releasing quite regularly. How does it feel to have finally made it into the top of the chart?

Marco Right: “I’ve spent a lot of time calling out the chart and how little it means to the people on it. So it seems really backwards for me to then say ‘this is so important to us, it means so much’ but the truth is that it does for us. We’re still a pretty small band, especially in comparison to the other people on that chart. So having that kind of recognition helps us by allowing us to continue releasing music.

Ace Lafleur: “It really gives some sort of validation that I didn’t think I needed. We enjoy the music we create and we know our fans do as well but to finally be getting recognized for it on a bigger scale is something I, personally, never expected. But it’s great. The more people that hear our music, and like it the more we can do in the future.”

M: “I mean, Essence Woods - uh, Penny Lane: they’re gonna keep releasing music anyway. Whether they get into the top or not. But it really makes a world of difference to us.”

Bowie Hendrix: “I agree with [Marco]*, on the whole, calling out the chart thing--it really just seems more like a popularity contest most of the time more than anything, but [expletive]**, being on it? Finally being /apart/ of the popularity contest? Feels pretty amazing, because like Ace and [Marco]* said, we’re a small band and this isn’t something we expected, but it means exposure, it means more people knowing our music and perhaps connecting to it, and honestly that’s huge.”

Are there any reservations about being in the Top Ten?

A: “Other than the pop stars of the world sending their hitman out to get us? No. Not for me at least.”

B: “I’m a little worried that Austin Harper is going to slit my throat in my sleep now, but otherwise, nah.”

Ezra Addams: “I feel like just saying that is going to make him sic a hitman on us.”

M: “Not if I get him first. Austin Harper: square up.” †

A: “Bowie and Ezra would like that too much. Those Camisado fangirls.”

B: “Yes, actually, being murdered by Austin Harper is my kink.”

E: “Now Essence Woods is gonna kill us, too.  Thanks for that.”

M: “That happened in a dream I had. She can call me if she wants to, we can chat about it.”

A: “Now that’s a terrifying thought. Having to interact with Essence about anything ever.”

E: “I like being played on the radio so love you Austin and Essence and Penny! Don’t listen to them.”

A: “Suck up”

B: “I mean, if Austin would let me, I’d [expletive] something of his, if you know what I mean.”

A: “Maybe after Essence steals all his money and ruins his life you can have your way with him. Just wait like six months.”

M: “If they’re ever feeling adventurous, I’m on call.”

E: “I can’t wait to see who husband number three is gonna be after she sucks this one dry of all the money and runs.”

M: “I’m broke as [expletive]  but I got a great life insurance policy. Let’s give this a shot.”

E: “What he’s trying to say is /Essence/ - whenever you’re looking for husband number three Marco is here and ready. We love attention.”

The band seems infamous for the lyrical content of your music, with protests happening outside of some shows. Which of course is amplified because of the kinds of reputations that each of the band’s members has. Do you ever feel like you're glamorizing drug use and casual sex?

A: “We’re not your cookie cutter boy band looking to become the next role model. We write what we know and what our fans know and if other people relate to it that’s great. But as far as glamorizing it? No. I don’t think that’s what we’re doing at all.”

E: “If people take it as glamorizing, then there is very little we can do about that. We're not telling anyone to actually do drugs. Most of our listeners are adults who are more than capable of making their own decisions.”

M: “In order to glamorize it, we would have to be talking about how cool it is. We don’t do that. We’re too busy talking about other shit that just so happens to involve that stuff. I think there have been quite a few lines where we straight out say that it’s a bad idea. So I don’t know how we would be glamorizing it.”

B: “What’s that Love, Actually quote? “Don’t do drugs, become a pop star and they give them to you for free”? I feel like that would be glamorizing. We’re just writing about what may or may not be our own personal experiences with those things, not telling other people to go out and follow our leads. Which, to be honest: 3/10, would not recommend.”

What would you say to people who protest at your shows or Twitter users who think that your band is "problematic"?

A: “Thanks for the free publicity? No, seriously. The people who protest, they’ve heard the music clearly or they wouldn’t make the signs with our lyrics on them with those giant x’s. So whether they like us or not, they’re still adding to that total spin count. So thanks to the haters. We appreciate you.”

M: “I personally enjoy the entertainment. It’s a lot of fun to have a huge group of people outside who are ready and willing to stare you down and have it out, face-to-face. How many people can say that people travel all sorts of distances to protest them? But as far as what I would say? Probably thanks. And also: [expletive] you.”

A: “I thought you weren’t just [expletive] whoever anymore Marco?”

M: “It’s a different kind of [expletive]. It’s like a hate [expletive], but more loathsome.”

B: “What the [expletive] is more loathsome than a hate [expletive]?? But listen, okay, protests just draw more attention, and I don’t really give a [expletive] what some bored mom on Twitter thinks of us. Bad publicity is still publicity, babe, and it’s still giving us views and listens and putting our name in people’s mouths. At the end of the day, I feel like it does us more good than ill.”

The last single was "NUMB TO THE FEELING", and this new single is "LIKE A ROCKSTAR". Both of which are still heavily describing drug use as a coping mechanism for things like anxiety and depression. So what exactly is the lesson that you hope for younger listeners to take away from these releases?

A: “I didn’t start creating music in the hopes of guiding the youth of tomorrow.”

B: “I would be terrified of you as a role model, honestly.”

A: “What? I’d be a great role model!”

B: “Kids, don’t listen to your uncle Ace, okay. Just don’t ever do the [expletive] he does.”

M: “I hope that they learn an important lesson, which is: stop buying the pop [expletive] and just buy our record instead. It’s cool as [expletive]. Your friends will love it.”

B: “Listen, people deal with shit in their own way, right? And sometimes that way isn’t [expletive] healthy or whatever, but it’s still a coping mechanism and you do what you have to do to get through tough [expletive]. We’re not, like we said, glamorizing drug use - but if this is what works for us, then who the [expletive] are any of you to tell us differently?”

M: “On a more serious note, I do think that there’s probably some misconceptions about how kids begin to take an interest in just checking out. Music isn’t really the thing that does it. Most of the time there are some really serious things going on and for whatever reason, they’re not being offered alternatives. I would hope that if people are actually listening to pick this [expletive] apart, then they’ll pick that apart, too.”

B: “Thank you for putting that much more eloquently than I could, you extreme show-off.”

E: “On another serious note - we’re not your babysitters. Talk to your kids about drugs if you don’t want them to do drugs.”

Because so much of PHASES comes from personal experience, what will the band sound like once you get married, have kids, or "settle down"?

A: “Oh [expletive]. Sorry, Ezra. I didn’t realize you got divorced”

E: “I’m married, not dead. We sound the same because being married doesn’t mean you’re suddenly boring.”

B: “Did you forget that Ezra is married? Because that man is married as hell. And we still sound like this. So, I feel like that’s part of your answer, right there. Ace is like half-dating MJ Kirsch all the time which would mean they’re basically settled down. We’re gonna sound like this all the time, my dude.”

A: “[expletive] off Bowie. You’re practically married to what’s his face.”

B: “Excuse you, we’ve been broken up for a year, we’re just casually [expletive] at this point.”

M: “Casually [expletive] or not, there’s a very big chance that Bowie will be married and have six kids before the next record hits. And I think that record will sound exactly the same as this one, but hopefully with more references to sex.”

B: “Why am I the one who’s gonna have six kids?? That sounds like my personal hell.”

These singles lead for the next album, but what exactly will come next?

B: “Oh, you know, we thought we’d do a cooking show next. Like a real-life Breaking Bad, show kids how to make drugs. No, I’m kidding. It’s [going to be] more music.”

A: “Rehab.”

B: “Oh, wait, I forgot that Ace and MJ are going to make a Disney album together. He’s Prince Eric, she’s Ariel.”

A: “Excuse you. I’m Prince Charming. Get your facts straight”

B: “Yeah, okay, babe, whatever you say. That would make MJ Cinderella, though, and that [expletive] is boring as [expletive]. Let your girlfriend be a cool princess!”

A: “You know what’s boring as [expletive]?”

B: “The fact that you’re still talking?”

A: “[expletive] off.”

M: “They wanna kiss each other so bad, look at them.”

B: “Ace, come here, let me kiss you!!”

A: “Anyone have some mouthwash? I can’t kiss him until he’s been thoroughly disinfected.”

B: “Wow, rude. I currently have no STI’s, thanks.”

A: “That you know of.”

M: “I can confirm for him. He’s clean like one of those little white glove test things.”

B: “You’re my favorite, Marco.”

(At this point, Ezra looks up from his text messaging, which he'd been doing a lot throughout the interview.)

E: “Are you guys still [expletive] talking?”

B: “Ezra! Pay attention to me!”

E: “/Bowie/, [expletive] off.”

A: “Any more questions?”

E: “I have one.”

A: “Then I guess we’re done here.”

E: “That is so mean. I’m nothing but nice to your dumbass.”

A: “Ugh. Fine. What do you want to add, Ezra?”

E: “Where are we going to eat when we get out of here?”

A: “I thought that’s what you were doing on your phone this whole time! You weren’t ordering us food? [expletive]!”

E: “If I was ordering food it’d just be for me. I don’t like you guys that much.”

The new single from PHASES, "LIKE A ROCKSTAR" is out wherever digital music is sold or streamed July 6.

* Multiple times during the interview, Bowie Hendrix made the decision to call Marco Right "Marcus", which may be fundamentally confusing for readers.

** The band cursed almost as much as they provided responses. The uncensored interview in its entirety can be read in the printed issue.

† Legends Magazine does not agree with or condone any speech, threats, or actions taken by any person interviewed or featured within its publication.

[just-shower-thots-responses]

Bar Fight ((Underswap Drabble/Open Starter))

Papyrus was smoking out by his sentry, as usual when he got the call. Muffet usually didn't call during business hours, so he had a slight sense of concern when he saw her name on his phone, yet he didn't seem to rushed to answer. “Hello?”

“Papyrus, it's Muffet.”

“Muffet, I have caller I.D. on my phone, I know it's you. What's up?”

“Could you keep an eye on the shop for me for a little while?” That definitely got his attention, forcing him to remove the cigarette from his teeth as he sat up, suddenly leaning on his shed. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes yes, I just need to take Danish to the Vet ER.”

“What?!”

“He's fine, he just swallowed something he shouldn't have. Normally I'd just leave the shop to my spiders, but it's getting close to night hours, and I need someone to keep an eye on the place.” “Why me and not Sans?”

“Do you really want to leave your brother that close to the sweets, unsupervised?”

“Point taken.” He sighed, putting the cigarette back in his mouth. “Can you please do this for me, Paps?” Muffet begged on the other line. Paps pulled the cigarette back out, puffing out the smoke.

“I dunno, I did kinda have plans...” Said plans merely consisted of harassing his brother online by sending him puns to his ask. Always a good time. “I'll give you free alcohol for the rest of the night.”

“Wait, seriously?!” “Yes, but you need to come as quickly as possible.” “Alright. It's a deal.” He nodded. “I'm on my way, but I gotta text Sans so he doesn't freak out.”

“Alright. I'll get everything set up for you to serve the alcohol. See you soon, Muffin Top.” Papyrus couldn't help but blush at the nickname.

“Muffet.” He whined. “We talked about this.”

“You're still my adopted son. I can call you whatever I want, deary.”

“Goodbye, Muffet!”

“Ahuhuhuhu!” She giggled before Paps hung up. He stood up, breathing in the last of his cig before throwing it on the ground behind his station. He started walking towards Muffets, texting Sans as he traveled through Snowdin.

“going to watch muffets for a while. ill be home whenever.” It didn't take long for Sans to text back.

“PAPYRUS! YOU CAN'T LEAVE IN THE MIDDLE OF WORK!!”

“she asked me to bro. she has to go to the capital for a bit so she wont be able to keep an eye on things during the night hours.”

“WHAT? TO THE CAPITAL?  DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?”

“danish apparently swallowed something bad for him but hes gonna be alright. she just has to get him into the vet er today.”

“OH MY GOD!!”

“ill be home whenever. ill keep you posted on danishs status tho.”

“OKAY. BUT JUST BE CAREFUL PAPS.”

“will do”

By the time Papyrus had gotten to Muffet's, the night hours were just about to start. When he walked in, Danish had already been whining in his cage, while Muffet's spiders were helping her bundle up. “Pappy, dear! Thank you for coming on such short notice.” “Hey, Muffet. What all do ya need me to do?” He asked, sitting kneeling down to look at poor, frightened Danish. “Hey buddy, you alright?” He asked, noting how the poor pet didn't have nearly as much energy and zeal to try to escape as he usually did when he was placed in a cage. Danish merely whined a response, prompting the skeleton to reach his hand in the cage and comfort the pastry pet. “There's not much for you to do. I've already gotten everything set up for the most part, and the spider's will take care of everything for you.” “Then why do you need me here?”He asked, removing his bony hand from the cage.

“All you need to do is watch over the people here, and make sure nobody gets into fights, the place doesn't catch on fire, etc. Just make sure nobody gets hurt and nothing gets broken.” She informed, grabbing her purse. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

“You may have one drink while I'm gone.” She told him, holding up an index finger, as if to stress the point.

“Just one?! But you said-”

“I said I'd give you free drinks for the rest of the night. That starts once I get back to supervise you!”

“Muffet, I'm twenty-four! I-”

“Yet you still can't drink responsibly.” She scolded. “Sweetie, you need to keep your wits about you when you watch over the shop. I don't want anyone getting hurt, least of all you!”

“Alright, alright, fine.” He conceded, not too happy about the limitation in drinks.

“One drink. That's it. And trust me, I will know if you have more than that.” She warned, picking up Danish's cage. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Muffet.” He said, giving her a quick hug. “Be safe, okay? Don't get too cold out there.” Muffet gave the skeleton a quick peck on his cheekbone,before heading out the door.

“I won't.” She reassured as Papyrus handed her the scarf she nearly left on the table. “I'll be back in about four hours if the elevator's working. Five if the ER is busy.” She informed as she walked out the door.

As soon as she left, Papyrus slumped down into his usual spot at the bar. It was too early to drink, so he just sat at the bar with his honey, sipping away at the squeezy bottle, eyeing and considering the drinks that he'd try later. One particular bottle that he'd had been meaning to try for almost a year now. Paps watched the costumers fill in, getting their drinks from the spiders, which wasn't too uncommon, Muffet usually just took the orders and washed the glasses during these hours. He had to admit that he was incredibly bored without anyone to talk to, so he shot a few texts to Undyne, but he got no response. It didn't take him long to shoot a text to his brother.

“this is boring.” He took another sip from his squeezy bottle, but only to find that it was empty. He started to consider having that drink when a spider gave him a new bottle of honey that was shaped like a little teddy bear. He quickly recognized this particular spider, and him a smile. “Thanks, Gerald.” He said, holding out his hand for Gerald to crawl in, affectionately.

Although, he got scared and ran away when Paps' phone went off when Sans texted him back.

“HOW CAN YOU BE BORED, BROTHER? YOU LOVE MUFFET'S.” He sighed.

“you scared gerald.” He sent, already working on his explanation. “and im bored because theres no one to talk to. i love talking to muffet but shes not here and im boooorrreeeedddd!”

“OOPS TELL HIM I'M SORRY!” Sans texted back, sending another text as soon as he got Paps' other message. “DO YOU WANT ME TO COME OVER? I'M WITH ALPHYS RIGHT NOW, BUT I CAN HEAD OVER AFTER MY LESSONS.”

“nah bro. i know how much your show means to you and I wouldnt want you to miss it. but I wouldnt mind the company after napstons show.”

“ARE YOU SURE, BROTHER? IT'S A TWO-HOUR SPECIAL.”

“then forget it. muffet should be back by then anyway. ill see you when i see you.”

“OKAY...”

“i promise you its fine bro. ill tell reginald you said hi.”

“OKAY. SEE YOU TONIGHT!” Well that bought him some entertainment for a few minutes.

He checked for new messages from Undyne, but frowned when he saw none. It worried him.

“hey fish face you okay?” She could have just been busy, but there had been days were she'd seemed a bit hopeless... He checked the clock on his phone. Eleven thirty.

“Alright. It's as good a time as ever, I guess.” He grinned. He decided to try that bottle on the top shelf. “Hey, Gerald. Can you hand me that bottle up there?” He asked, pointing to the desired booze. The spider happily scurried up the wall and carefully slid the bottle down the web, letting Papyrus grab the heavy bottle about half-way to the counter. “Thanks, pal. Now let's see the alcohol content.” He said, with every intention of heeding Muffet's orders. He squinted his eyes, trying to read the fine print on the bottle,but to no avail. If he wanted to read the contents, he'd need to wear his glasses. 'Not worth it', he thought. He grabbed himself a tall beer glass, and put his hand on the top of the bottle, ready to twist it open, when a spider waved his arms for Papyrus to stop. “What's the matter?” He asked. The spider shook an arm, as if to say no. “Oh lay off, Reginald. You're such a buzz kill.” He says, twisting the cap off, and pouring the bottle's contents into the glass. Muffet said he could have one drink, but she never said what size after all. “I'm sure it can't be that bad.” He smiled, bringing the glass in close to drink from it. He'd had a high alcohol tolerance from drinking so much since high school. “Oh, and Sans says hi.” He took a sip, and his eye sockets widened, he nearly choked, feeling the alcohol's strength. “Wooo boy, that's a bit stronger than I expected.” He admitted, but it tasted really good. A bit more on the bitter side, but it was surprisingly tasty in his opinion, as someone who liked sweet drinks much more. He couldn't help but take another sip, a bit bigger than the last, and a bit more satisfying as well. He gave a drunken chuckle, the effects of the strong booze already taking effect on the skeleton, who hadn't eaten since lunch. Even to someone who hadn't grown up with the spider, anyone could tell that he face palmed.

Shortly after, a figure came over and sat next to Pap.

“So, you still hang around here?”

“Oh, hey Crash!” He chimed, clearly drunk, otherwise he wouldn't have greeted him so happily. Crash was an old friend of his in high school. More specifically, he was the lead guitarist in their old band. But they had a huge fight two months before they graduated, and Paps quit the band, leaving X Bones without a drummer, or a skeleton.

“Wow, you seem pretty drunk. Can I get whatever the fuck he's got?” The spider visibly sighed, almost deflating as he grabbed the glass that was intended for such a drink, an average shot glass. “No way, I want it in that glass.”

“Ooooh boy, I wouldn't buddy. This stuff's really strong!” Papyrus warned, already slurring his words. “In fact, you can just have the rest of this.” He said, sliding the half-empty beer glass his way. Normally he wouldn't give up such a good drink, but he was just barely sober enough to remember that he needed to be just a bit responsible.

“Wow, thanks, old buddy. How's it taste?”

“Oh my God, it's so good!!” He praised, seemingly forgetting why exactly he stopped hanging around Crash, who quickly took a gulp of the drink.

“Holy shit, you weren't kidding about the strength. But this shit is good though.”

“Right? So how's Mae? Last time I saw you, you guys were dating?” Papyrus slurred.

“Mae's just as beautiful as she was in high school. Why, still jealous?”

“Nah, dude. I'm content with my family.”

“Hahaha! Right. You still a virgin?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“And how's your stupid brother? Still a wet blanket?” Papyrus suddenly gave the other a glare.

“Sans is not a wet blanket.”

“Oh, so he's drinking now?” Papyrus was quiet for a second.

“Lemme rephrase. He never was a wet blanket. He was just smarter than the dumbasses who decided to start smoking in the first place.”

“Wow, you really haven't changed have you?” Crash laughed. “So my guess is that you've quit? How fucking lame.” Paps blushed, absolutely humiliated at the fact that he hadn't.

“Sh-shut up! You're the asshole that got me addicted in the first place!”

“Ahahahahaha! So you haven't yet?! And you're getting mad at me?” He took another gulp of his booze. “And is your brother still an idiot who doesn't understand this world?”

“Shut the fuck up! My brother is not stupid!!”

“Paps, c'mon. I've seen your brother. He is a complete dumbass.” Paps stood, forming a small bone bullet in his fist, but did nothing else. However, he kept the bone in his hand. It was all he could do to stop himself from firing the Gaster Blasters.

“Listen to me: My brother is not a dumbass. He was smart enough to not get addicted to drugs, or to smoking, or to drinking. He probably has more intelligence in his phalanges than you do in your entire body.  Now, if you're as smart as you claim, you'll get out of this bar.”

“Are you threatening me?” Crash growled. “Because your brother is not as smart as you think, whether you like it or not. After all, he did have the cigarette in his hand.”

“That's it. It's not an option anymore. Get out of the bar. Now!”

“Heh heh heh heh heh! What are you gonna do about it, hm?” Papyrus grabbed Crash's wrist, very forcefully, and started dragging him towards the door. Crash, didn't take too kindly to this, and used a magic attack to scratch his skull, grabbing the attention of everyone else in the bar. “Let go of me! What right do you have?!”

“The right that I am the owner's son. And she left me in charge. And I'm kicking you out!”

“The owner's son?! That's a laugh! She's not your real mom, and you know it.” Paps grabbed his other arm forcefully, and tried to put them behind his back, but Crash merely broke free, and punched him in the chest, knocking the skeleton over. Papyrus quickly stood up, angry and fueled by the whiskey. He was through playing around. He threw a punch to his shoulder, sinking nearly all of his weight into his fist, hitting his shoulder. Crash, who was clearly much better at fighting, threw a direct punch to his spine, forcing Paps to keel over. He spawned three bones, and hurled them at  Crash, who couldn't get out of the way in time. Crash merely threw out a needle attack, several of the syringe bullets piercing Papyrus' bones, forcing him to yelp in pain. Whether he liked it or not, Crash was a heavy hitter, so Paps quickly realized that he couldn't take anymore hits like that. He pulled the needles out, ignoring the blood that the pricks left. Bones lined up behind him. “Get out of this bar, jack ass!” He screamed, flinging the bones his way.

“Make me!” Crash snarled, showing his fangs, as he ducked down on all fours, lunging at the skeleton, and letting his bone attacks hit and destroy the table behind him. Paps made a row of blue bones, and stepped out of the way, only hurting Crash more, as he was unable to stop in mid air. “How did you-”

“Last warning. Get. Out.” Paps warned, spawning another bone in his hand. Crash suddenly lunged at Paps again, pinning the skeleton he knocked over to the ground. He began repeatedly punching him, almost mercilessly, before Papyrus managed to grab a hold of the bone he dropped, and knock him in the side of the head. He quickly stood, panting and feeling the cuts and bruises on his skull. He looked down at his hand, noting the blood on his hand, which only freaked him out, reminding him of his final moments in Judgment Hall. He quickly looked down at Crash, who he'd just knocked out. “...Shit...” He felt really bad. About everything that just happened. “S-sorry guys...Muffet's gonna be pissed.” HE said to the Spiders, who'd all gone into hiding since the fight began.

Crash suddenly stood, pissed as hell. “Just get out of here, okay. I don't want anyone else to get hurt!” Crash growled, bleeding heavily from the head. Saying nothing he punched Papyrus dead in the face, knocking him out. Once he was on the ground, he finished off his whiskey, and stumbled out of the bar, taking the glass with him.

The spiders quickly scurried around, panicking as they tried to rush everyone out and close the bar. They wouldn't be able to contact Muffet, and they couldn't speak on the phone, yet still they tried to call Sans in the hopes that he would realize something was wrong and come over.

[fiftyshadesofdimmadome]

Book 1; Chapter 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Kate didn’t give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the 1-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic as if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate’s questions ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occa sion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating gray eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s more like a man double his age.

Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting expe rience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1 -5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky Kate’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is go ing to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Ana! You’re back.” Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini disc recorder at her.

“Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even and young. Really young.”

Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

“Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry I didn’t think.”

I huff.

“Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?”

“Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject.

“Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in grati tude. I check my watch.

“I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”

“Ana, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. We’re busy it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Ana! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.”

“My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.”

“I’m real pleased to see you.”

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task.

When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with... him.

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcrip tion.

“I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks.

“Urn... no, I didn’t.”

“That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some origi nal stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

I flush.

“I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

“Oh come on, Ana even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.

“You probably would have got a lot more out of him.”

“I doubt that, Ana. Come on he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something quick.

“He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant scary really, but very charismatic. I can un derstand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all.

“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face.

“Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrass ing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory.

“Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.”

“It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.”

“Oh, Ana, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.”

Taken with me? Now Kate’s being ridiculous.

“Would you like a sandwich?”

“Please.”

We talk no more of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten,

I’m able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accom plished so much for a Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Kate is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final ex ams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week.

She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob her relatively new but much older husband is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

“How are things with you, Ana?”

For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention.

“I’m fine.”

“Ana? Have you met someone?” Wow... how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.

“No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

“Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.”

“Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy.

Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coax ing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

“Jose! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.”

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Jose has a great eye for a good picture.

“I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

“The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.”

“That’s amazing congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him too.

“Way to go Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins.

“Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Jose looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven’t met anyone who. . . well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expecta tions are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.

Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers.

NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful inter view. Are you gay, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Jose’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick -the two other part-timers and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up. . . and find myself locked in the bold gray gaze of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

Heart failure.

“Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke.

“I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

“Ana. My name’s Ana,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Tak ing a deep breath, I put on my professional l’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years fagade. I can do this.

“There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused.

Cable ties?

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery.

Get a grip, Steele. A slight frown mars Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s rather lovely brow.

“Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.

With my heart almost strangling me because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beauti ful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

“Are you in Portland on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Ana!

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based at Vancouver. I’m currently fund ing some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See?

Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet.

“These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

“Is there anything else?”

“I’d like some masking tape.”

Masking tape?

“Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?

“No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me.

Am I that funny? Funny looking?

“This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

I glance behind me as he follows.

“Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, gray eyes con centrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me?

I feel like I’m fourteen years old gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Steele!

“Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

“I’ll take that one,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him.

Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

“Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly.

“Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky.

“This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope... twine... cable cord... ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow.

“I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.”

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot gray gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth!

“Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

He arches a brow.

“What is your thing, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Ana, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

“Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing!

I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.

“What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it.

“Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject those fingers on that face are so beguiling.

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?”

What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?”

He nods, gray eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans.

“Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.

“I could always take them off.” He smirks.

“Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW.

“I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly.

I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans.

“Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls.

He ignores my inquiry.

“How’s the article coming along?”

He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk... a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty.

“I’m not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she’s the writer.

She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome raises an eyebrow.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps... ” he trails off.

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Kate will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought of all the silly, ridiculous...

“Kate will be delighted if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

Oh my. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s lost look.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wal let. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.”

“Okay.” I grin up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.

“ANA!”

Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest broth er. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today.

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome frowns as I turn away from him.

Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise.

“Ana, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes.

“Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?”

“Yep. You’re looking well, Ana, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, he’s watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else someone cold and distant.

“Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

“Er, Paul, this is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more.

“I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m bab bling... Stop, now!

“Mr. Clayton.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up not the Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? Of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Wow is there anything I can get you?”

“Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words... it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling.

“Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Ana.”

“Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn... have I offended him? Tak ing a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem?

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

“That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his gray eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving.

“Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card.

“Please, Anastasia.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic.

I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh and Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quiver ing mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth.

Okay I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Kate and organize a photo-shoot.

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