#even if you do insist on putting your watermark all over them

[ssho197]

school modern au xiao??

dw guys i would credit the og tiktoker but tiktok already has the username as a watermark

HEAVILY HEAVILY inspired by the tiktok above (i just really want friends like this☹️☹️)

school friend xiao who you would beg to have some notes on the exam you have tomorrow but to no avail :( xiao just says “dude go do your own notes”

school friend xiao who is the quietest at the lunch table but when engaged in conversation, could be the most unhinged one.

school friend xiao who is usually buried in some book or homework trying to ignore everything around him. why not ignore all the sounds you hear at a busy ass school by putting in some noise cancelling headphones? (zhongli bought him brand new airpod pro maxes i forgot what they’re called but they’re like $900 where i live)

school friend xiao who although seems like he dislikes the friend group, he cherishes them deeply and feels overjoyed than anyone would even bother including him in the first place.

school friend xiao who would reluctantly accept your invite to go to the shops or city after school but you’d defo have the time of your life (dude i’d kill to have friends that want to go out with me at all)

school friend xiao who would be dragged to play claw machines with you when you go out, the machine would drop the toy and then you’d make puppy eyes at xiao to make him spend another god knows how much until you win a mediocre plush you but he enjoys how happy you are. your other friend with you takes a photo of you and xiao together with the plush toy

school friend xiao who would insist on paying for the snacks you two got. you two would fight over the card reader but xiao ended up winning because he pulled the plush away from you to keep you distracted

school friend xiao who would go all the way home with you, he’d take the train, he’d take the bus and he’d walk with you until he knows that you’re safe at home. he wants to make sure he can still see you at school tomorrow

school friend xiao who would roll his eyes and swear in mandarin everytime you get an answer wrong while he’s tutoring you. he channels his inner asian parent and scolds you.

[grayfullbustermybeloved]

@natsubeatsrock I was going through your posts from a while back and I came across this cool anti-gruvia prompt and thought I had to write it. I can’t find the post now (I accidentally closed the tab) but it was about how if Juvia played hard to get, Gray would ignore her. Anyway, here it is. 

-------------

Juvia didn't know what to do.

She had tried everything.

Baking treats in the shape of his face, following him around everywhere to convince him of her love- even dealing with potential love rivals!

And despite it all, she was no closer to Gray Fullbuster’s heart then the first time she had confessed her love to him. It was infuriating- no, more than that.

It was confusing.

What was she doing wrong here? What was she missing?

“Cana,” Juvia said suddenly, “What am I missing? Why is Gray-sama not moved by my love?”

Cana swore, startling loudly from where she had been reclining on her couch. She had probably been surprised by Juvia’s impulsive burst through the door, but there was no time to lose. Gray-sama was out there, attractive and single without her to scare love rivals off. This was important.

“Juvia!” Cana greeted with a slight grimace, swinging her legs around and twisting to face Juvia. Strange. She didn't seem to be that thrilled about Juvia’s presence, but Juvia was sure it was simply that she was trying to work on the best advice for Juvia.

When Juvia had first arrived at Fairy Hills, all the girls had made it abundantly clear that she could come and ask them anything.

Of course, Juvia had made quick work after this rule had been laid down, knowing the advantage many of them had with knowing Gray-sama’s likes and dislikes, and requiring some help in making up for lost time.

Cana knew this as well, but despite that, was a little slow on the uptake. The brown haired card mage frowned slightly. “You want advice on Gray? Why not go to Mira, or Lisanna, or… literally anyone else who isn't me?” 

It was a valid question. Juvia already knew the answer, of course.

“I’ve already tried!” She wailed in despair, coming in and sitting on a leg of the couch as Cana got up and hurriedly closed the door- perhaps trying to prevent watermarks from spreading around the building once more. 

“None of their advice worked! Mirajane suggested chocolate, which Juvia has already tried several times, although Gray-sama rarely accepts food from Juvia anymore-” 

“I wonder why,” Cana muttered, obviously remembering some of Juvia’s more famous failures with a love potion. Juvia carried on regardless. Now was not the time to ruminate on her failed attempts at love.

“And Lisanna suggested I knit him something personal, like a scarf, but Gray-sama lost it immediately!”

“Yeah,” Cana winced, snorting slightly. “Clothes are probably not the best way to get to Gray’s heart.”

Juvia nodded sagely. She knew all about Gray-sama’s little clothing habit. Some of his discarded shirts were hung in pride of place in her room. “So you see, you are my only hope at ever trying to find true happiness!”

Cana raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure there are plenty of other girls in Fairy Tail who have advice for you, though, apart from the Strauss siblings. So why don’t you hop on over to their rooms and leave me to drink- I mean relax in peace.”

“Ah,” Juvia said, because she had anticipated Cana saying something like that. “But you have what the others do not- you have known Gray-sama for the longest!” 

Juvia presented these words to Cana dramatically, watching her expectantly, if not a bit jealously. When she had first heard of it from Mirajane, she had immediately singled out Cana as the new number one love rival, replacing Lucy.

However, through much careful information gathering (read: stalking) Juvia had come to the unexpected but welcome conclusion that maybe, just maybe, Cana had no interest in Gray-sama romantically.

The idea was a confusing one, because Gray-sama was perfect, but Cana had proven herself to be quite content with her involvement with (and her Juvia blushed just thinking about) multiple guys. And some girls, as well.

Therefore, Juvia had done the unthinkable, and deemed her “safe”. 

“Wow,” said Cana, taken aback. “I guess, I have, huh? Damn, time flies bye. He was such a bitch when he was younger.”

Juvia ignored that comment, because she was sure Gray-sama had always been perfect, and smiled at Cana. 

“So you’ll help then?” Juvia said cheerfully, leaning in closer to the card mage and making her eyes wide. Gajeel always said that the expression made her look like a kicked puppy, and Juvia wanted to hurry this exchange along.

Cana sighed, glancing at the clock in her room sadly. Strange. Maybe she had an appointment to keep? “Aww, yeah, whatever. It’s not like I was gonna do anything important today anyway. So, what have you already tried?”

It took around two hours for Juvia to list every advance she had made on Gray-sama since she had joined Fairy Tail, which she had alphabetically categorized and listed onto a piece of paper, but Cana was an attentive listener. She had even put on dark shaded glasses to help her focus better on Juvia’s attempts for love, saying that the sun’s glare was giving her a headache. Truly, Cana was a good friend.

Just as Juvia hit the two hour mark, and the sun was getting lower in the sky (it had been early afternoon when she had come to see Cana) she finished listing everything and looked up at the dark haired girl sitting next to her, curled into the couch.

“Well!” Juvia said brightly, looking expectantly at her companion. “Do you have any ideas?” 

Strangely enough, Cana didn't respond. It took Juvia poking her several times for her to startle and take her glasses off. She must have been truly in deep thought. Juvia was shaking in excitement. 

“Right,” Cana said after she had blinked several times, running a hand through her hair. “All of that was, uh, good. But not what Gray needs, I think.”

Juvia frowned, surprised. “But I got most of the ideas from very credible sources!” She said anxiously. 

Cana picked up the list and scanned through it. “I’m pretty sure this one is the beginning of one of Lucy’s trash romance novels. You know, the ones she loves but pretends to hate at the guild?”

Juvia did in fact know, and flushed scarlet, sinking into the couch. She had been forced to look for inspiration in some unconventional places after the first couple of times of confessing her undying love to Gray-sama did not garner results.

Cana continued on without judgment, however. “You’ve tried basically everything under the sun. Bar one. ”

Juvia leaned in closer, eager to hear what she had been missing. She had a feeling, deep in her gut, that this was the moment. This was the moment that changed everything. No matter that she got that feeling everytime she started out on a new plan to woo Gray-sama.

Cana nodded, her face the picture of solemn wisdom. “You, my friend, need to play hard to get.”

“Hard to get?” Juvia questioned, puzzled. She had not heard the term before, but it sounded intriguing.

Cana did an awfully good impression of a witches laugh. “Oh, my young padawan, let the master tell you all…”

---------------

Juvia was slightly unsure about playing hard to get, but Cana was insistent. And persuasive. 

“This will work!” she insisted. “You’ve tried everything else, anyway!”

It was a good point, Juvia had to admit.

So Juvia nodded, and played hard to get.

--------------

Four months later, she was still playing hard to get.

Gray-sama would break soon, she just knew it.

[ill-skillsgard]

The Gloaming Hour - Alex Hogh Andersen

Title: The Gloaming Hour

Characters: Alex Hogh Andersen x ambiguous fem

Warning: No real warnings. Just angst and feelings!

Note:  In honour of @flowers-in-your-hayr​​ birthday, I wrote a little imagine inspired by one of her wonderful moodboards! Thank you @maggiescarborough​​ for organizing this fun event and asking me to take part <3

The concept of this piece isn’t based on the moodboard directly, rather an idea that popped into my head from the collection of images. Hope you like it! Kisses!

+

Excitement drained from Alex's face ounce by ounce, leaving his jovial smile deflated, his bright eyes a lifeless blue. As the curator flipped through his collection of portraits, scrutiny notched a wrinkle between his eyebrows that deepened with each turn of the page. Though a facetious mustache hid the curator's top lip, Alex recognized a grimace and the discontent infiltrating the air between them.

The older man closed the portfolio and sighed. He took off his glasses, polished the lenses on the lapel of his jacket and replaced them on his nose to better assess Alex's mood.

"Alexander..."

"Please, just Alex," the photographer insisted.

"Alex. It... It just—it breaks my heart to see your passion shrivelling."

Struck as though the curator had set his work on fire before him on the desk, Alex took a half-step back to prepare for harsher evaluations. "Shrivelling? I'd have to disagree."

"This isn't up to par with what you've brought to me in recent times. There's no trace of emotion. At least, nothing genuine. They're good photos, Alex, but they're stock photos at best. Destined for a watermark."

Alex gestured at the portfolio. "They're not the worst. I made do with what I had. There's only so many angles of Copenhagen I can give you before it looks postcard-ish. I took these at the height of the panic, while the entire world held its breath waiting for answers. I feel I reflect this in my work. Did you see the one of the little girl on the swing?"

The curator pushed the folder across the desk, a final swing of the axe. "I can't put these in the show, Alex. It's not my reputation I'm worried about, it's yours. I don't want to be the rope that ties your young career to the stake. My patrons wouldn't piss on these if they were on fire. Now, your winter series... If you brought me something like that, then I'd sing a different tune. Those were raw. Unfettered by trivial surface emotions. These are rather college-level, just-got-my-hands-on-my-first-DSLR quality. We've seen much better from you."

"What about the photo of the old woman?" Alex gave one last push.

"I'm looking for a coherent series. Something that tells an ongoing story. One diamond in a bed of zirconias just won't cut it, Alex," said the curator. "But we like you here. I want you to be part of the show."

Alex nodded in agreement. "So do I."

"You have five days to put together something that will wow me. I need to be awe-struck. Do you think inspiration will strike in that amount of time?" 

"If I knew when inspiration planned a visit, I'd do nothing but schedule my time around it, trust me," Alex said.

"Five days, Alex, you have less than a week to put something stirring on my desk. I believe in you. Now, I must ask that we get a move on. I have another appointment."

Alex took his portfolio, tucked it under his arm, nodded at the curator and left the gallery. It wasn't until he stepped onto the street the numbness in his face gave way to the severe weight of rejection. He remembered walking into the studio but fifteen minutes prior, brimming with confidence, but that zeal had melted, leaving Alex dispirited and ready to give up his dreams. How could he capture a full series in a few short days? No great work of art had ever been executed in such a minimal amount of time. Alex sighed, lit a cigarette, and walked in no particular direction.

His camera hung around his neck as it nearly always did, but it only served to remind him of his shortcomings. When he passed over a canal of rushing water, Alex thought of ridding himself of the padded noose and chucking the device into the river below. Yet he clutched the camera's zoom lens, running his fingertips over the rubber grip for comfort.

Sequestered in grey daydreams, Alex's feet took him to the walking trails before his head caught up. He left the din of the city behind, and when he snapped from his ruminations, budding birch trees and new foliage surrounded him. Alex had walked the trails many times before, but that day a golden hue drenched the atmosphere and had him appreciating the landscape with eyes afresh. He wandered this way and that, losing himself in the thicket on purpose as he watched for rare birds above. 

He came to the river's bend where an arcing walking bridge connected one side to the other. A woman was standing on the apex, looking out over the water with her back turned to Alex. She paid no attention to anything but the rapids below as the gentle wind carried pieces of her hair, abandoning the strands to float about her pate like a strange halo. From afar, Alex studied the slopes of her profile, but without his glasses, he couldn't make out the subtleties that made her eye-catching. The woman didn't notice him step onto the walking bridge.

The closer Alex came to the woman, the stronger his urge to photograph her became. He uncapped the camera lens, turned on the device and adjusted the settings to compliment the evening glow. From a distance, Alex relied on the power of the lens to bring her closer. He snapped some photos, then approached another four steps, fixed his frame, and captured a few more.

Alex cycled through the newest photos and noticed something about the woman's face he hadn't before: she was crying. Below her left cheek, a small stream glimmered, the setting sun illuminating a teardrop hanging off her jaw. This discovery made Alex's heart sink. He went a little closer, snapped another picture with his proximity taken into consideration, then studied the image. Her sadness tainted the entire frame, a beacon of black and grey on a gilded backdrop.

The woman turned just as Alex clicked the shutter again, and her melancholy transformed into indignation. She swiped at her incriminating tears in hopes the stranger wouldn't see them, but it was far too late. Alex already had evidence of her mournful spell.

"Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing taking photos of me?" The woman yelled, approaching swiftly. "Did I give you permission to take my picture?"

The photographer took a step back, abandoning his camera near his chest to display open palms. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother. You just looked so... I'm sorry. I'll delete them, I promise."

Redness swallowed the whites of her eyes. Now that she was within slapping distance of Alex's face, it was clear the woman had been suffering there on the bridge for a long while. Though all traces of her dreary expression fled, he got the sense something terrible had happened to her, and he had taken advantage of her private moment for his benefit.

"Why would you do that? Take pictures of people without them knowing?" She demanded to know.

"I'm a photographer. I swear, I'm not some creepy guy that goes around taking photos of women."

"Pfft," she hissed. "I bet you have loads of disgusting pictures on that thing because you're a man, and all men are absolutely disgusting!"

Taken aback by her accosting, Alex realized her hurt ran deep and fresh. Her tears dried up, leaving behind nothing but scorn and red, puffy cheeks. Whatever internal wound she bore still bled, and he apologized again in hopes the woman might forgive him.

"Honestly, I'm just a photographer. Not a weirdo. Here, I'll even show you what I have on my camera roll. It's nothing but portraits and pictures of trees, I swear on my life. I was just walking and saw you on the bridge, and you looked... Um."

Her anger lessened, curiosity taking its place at least in her eyes. "I looked what? What did I look like?"

Alex chewed his bottom lip and toed a plank of the walking bridge. She met his silence with another step forward.

"You looked so sad... And beautiful," whispered Alex.

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as a sarcastic laugh punched the air. "You're so full of shit."

"I'm not lying!" Alex defended himself. "Look for yourself."

The photographer turned his camera around, but the woman stepped back. Alex sighed, waited for her to build up enough trust to approach him, and let her come to his side when she was sure he wouldn't lunge. She looked at the display and the photo he'd captured of her hanging her head, one lone teardrop on her face alight with the diminishing aura of day. 

"Well... It's not terrible, I guess," she said.

"I'll still delete them," assured Alex

The woman shook her head. "You're a real photographer? Like a real, professional one?"

Alex fetched a business card from his pocket and passed it to her. She scanned the piece of cardstock and then his face.

"I've had my work displayed in art galleries if that helps."

"I guess it does."

A silence leavened the tension between them. The warbling water below clashed with bird calls above, and the sun slipped away, leaving them in deepening twilight. After five long minutes of quietude, the woman finally sighed.

"You don't have to delete them. They're good. You're obviously talented, and who am I to stifle your art?"

Surprised by her revelation, Alex chuckled nervously. "You sure? I don't have a problem getting rid of them."

"No," she shook her head. "You somehow made the shittiest day of my life look... Beautiful."

There was something about the woman's change of mind that told of understanding and kindness. Alex suddenly wanted to comfort her further. He slipped his camera behind him and spread his arms open. She flinched at this but realized what he meant to do.

"Would you like a hug? You look like you could use a good hug," offered Alex.

She bit the inside of her cheek as a bubble of a sob fought to escape her throat. Nodding while her eyes brimmed with another crop of tears, she stepped into his embrace and crushed her face into the collar of his denim coat. Surprised by the strength in which she clung to his torso, Alex matched it and held the girl tight until her tears dried up once more. 

[hwallout]

our little secret (iii) - csy

summary: as a CEO of one of the country’s most powerful companies, you had your secrets to success. no one ever gained power without ruthless, filthy and unfair play, it’s all okay if no one knows right? well, what happens when your little secrets fall into the hands of someone you can’t get rid of that easily?

words: 7,6k

genre: angst, drama, future smut

warnings: language

early an: feedback really appreciated! please let me know what you think of this! THERE IS A READ MORE BUTTON

[part one]

 [part two]

[part four]

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How could speculations like that arise so fast? How could someone write such a scandalous article without knowing the truth? Shouldn’t they know it’s harmful to both sides, including their own agencies?

There were so many questions that you weren’t sure anyone had the time nor bothered enough to answer. What you were sure about though, was that money can and will once again shut all of this down.

Without any more thought and effort to check the picture sources, you turned to Eunha in a panicked manner. The female still had her head hanging low, hands nervously shuffling and pinching the material of a tight black skirt. You frowned, dissatisfied with seeing the assistant like this. Eunha had a name, high position, and pride to withhold, so it wasn’t exactly clear as to why she was so affected by a pitiful heir.

“Eunha, make sure all of-” Your voice was loud and clear, with no hints of doubt or hesitance. Seungyoun still stood towering over your sitting form, but his broad frame didn’t succeed to daunt this time. Maybe it was because you’ve been so shocked by the news or determined to get rid of them, that the existence of the other didn’t quite matter at given moment.

Although, you somehow forgot something just then. Seungyoun was Mr.Cho’s descendant. He learned how to be a step ahead of the opponent.

“Eunha?” Seungyoun’s authoritative voice echoed through the room. It managed to overpower yours and the male smirked upon realizing that. With a scoff you leaned back slightly, watching the male avert his gaze on the assistant. Eunha immediately turned to face the heir, flinching slightly after hearing her name called in such a tone. Seungyoun continued.

“Out. Leave” He pointed towards the door and you weren’t quick enough to stand up and stop the female from leaving. It was as if Eunha waited for that exact command, already up and storming out of your office. The tablet fell out of her shaking hands, but she didn’t dare turn around to pick it up and just left it laying in place. The door closed with a loud thud.

“That’s not a way to talk to my employees!” Finally alone, you suddenly yelled at Seungyoun. You stood up and mirrored his pose, arms straight and palms outstretched on the expensive desk. There were evident anger and annoyance on your face, but the other seemed not to care. No, Seungyoun turned around, his hooded eyes locking with yours, eliciting a burning fire.

Without a word, the heir held your gaze intently and walked around the desk, coming over to where you were standing. He leaned against the strong object, crossing his legs. Seungyoun’s composed and calculated demeanor once again reeked of dominance and situational control. You felt pressured to listen to what he had to say next.  

“You’re not shutting any of those down, darling” Seungyoun said, never once looking away from the target. His breath was calm, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. Same couldn’t be said for the female, irregular heartbeat causing shorter and inconsistent breaths. If human ears could produce smoke, yours probably would.

“We’re going to do this properly” As if Seungyoun expected the upcoming burst, his hands silently intertwined with each other, resting on his thighs. With head slightly cocked to the side, the male took a deep breath as you moved.

“Oh, we are” You insisted, walking just two steps so your feet were almost touching his. The tension was thick but with a reason. It was unusual; having Seungyoun so calm next to a fuming figure, his cool and composed self, next to a hot and bothered female. “We’re going to do this the best possible way”

“But first off, let me repeat myself. That was not the way to talk to my employee. My assistant at that. As much as I’m informed, she could be more qualified than you” You began. At that point, it was possible to feel burns of the poisonous words. Seungyoun’s lips twitched something that almost resembled a frown before they were back to their previous position.

“I have never once been involved in a scandal of any kind, let alone one that concerns my love life. I’d like it if stayed that way, or at least if I had your name wiped off my record” Continuing, you watched Seungyoun’s cool demeanor slowly break down, especially through the way his jaw clenched.

“This” You turned around and finally picked the little device up, scrolling down where the three pictures were displayed. Tapping a nail on the screen as if to gain his attention, the speech resumed. “This right here...wait”  

Your eye managed to catch onto the little watermark in the bottom left corner. With white and navy-blue stylized letters, it showcased the initials of StarLight. You looked at Seungyoun in pure disbelief.

“I should’ve known! How fucking dare you!” Although wanting to throw the phone away to the other side of the office, you controlled the overwhelming wave of emotions. Putting it down on the desk slowly, you breathed steadily, eyes closing for a few seconds. It was too much to take at once, all while having too little time to think.

StarLight, one of the main press photo agencies of the country. In fact, StarLight was the 2nd on the list and estimated to move to the 1st spot in the next couple of months. It hired only the best of people, those flexible enough and even able to sneak into dangerous situations to get enough content for the press/news articles. It wasn’t surprising that they paid extremely well, considering the circumstances they put their employees in.  

StarLight, also one of the most powerful agencies that Cho enterprise managed to acquire a year ago.

“Listen” Seungyoun interrupted the silence, along with your calm state of mind. Your eyes opened and there was another, new fire burning inside. You felt defeated but still had the awakening willpower to continue fighting.

“What’s there to listen to? You just keep wanting to ruin me, don’t you? Then go on. Go show everyone what a good boy you are and-”

In the middle of your blabbering, Seungyoun distanced himself from the desk and in one swift motion pulled you in for a kiss. One of his hands latched onto your waist, while the other moved to the back of your head. Holding on lightly, he didn't put on much pressure. Just like before, the male was allowing freedom and control of movement. Seungyoun smirked when he felt you kissing back.  

The feeling of his lips on yours was intoxicating, the touch of his hands burning even through thick pieces of cloth. Seungyoun’s smell of expensive Gucci perfume filled the small bubble of air around you, probably sticking to the material of your blazer too. You wouldn’t mind, but never admit wanting to smell like the heir.

Just when your hands were starting to move up, Seungyoun took a step back, effectively breaking the kiss. He turned around and strolled towards the leather couch not so far away. That way, the other spared you from witnessing the confident and cocky smirk on his lips.  

With thoughts all over the place, the sensation from before was still present. A hand instinctively came up to brush at the soft skin of your lips, trying to cool away the burning patches. Silence.

“If I knew that’s all it takes to shut you up, I would’ve done it sooner” Seungyoun’s tone was monotone, without any specific emotion lingering on his words. He sat down on the couch, legs immediately crossing and hands neatly placed on his lap.  

“Now be a good girl and listen, okay?” His commands, although said without much authority, set something off in your head. Nodding obediently and approaching to sit across from him, you watched the heir with utmost attention.  

“This isn’t a joke. In fact, it’s an important chance I’ve made for you to take. I’m a calculated and precise man. Although it’s hard to admit, I’m sure you’re aware of that” Seungyoun started, slowly introducing the whole topic in a way that many businessmen did. He attempted to make the whole ordeal sound trustful, while also trying to label it as a one-of-a-kind situation.  

“Cho enterprise and INVICTA have their shared, as well as own partners. By those, I mean experienced, powerful and well-known agencies that both establishments seek for. I’m sure that your company, as well as mine, strives towards increasing the number of associates day by day. Am I right?”

Seungyoun spoke carefully and slowly, aware of the fact that your mind might still be a little cloudy. Receiving a nod, he continued talking.

“A lot of eyes are following our steps meticulously, watching over the development of our project. Once it’s done and our companies prove their power for the nth time, we will be swarmed. I’m speaking hundreds of possible partners knocking on our doors”

“They’re always trying to find a way to contact and work with one of us, most are scared to be caught in a crossfire. Imagine if that crossfire didn’t exist, just imagine what we could do together”

The male shifted and leaned in, elbows now resting on top of his knees. With such posture, Seungyoun seemed much more serious. His breathing quickened and words seemed much lighter.

“Think about how many agencies we could have a chance to work with through this. You’d get to meet new people through the somewhat open meetings Cho enterprise organizes, I’d take you there, and you could bring me to the parties INVICTA throws. That way we show them that both of us are open for cooperation at any time”

Throughout the whole speech, you nodded along, agreeing with everything said. Alas, there was always that slightest bit of hesitance in your being that you weren’t able to get rid of. And maybe you really shouldn’t. The whole deal was too sudden, yet it seemed that the heir was expecting an immediate answer. Was there even an option to think about it? Or to deny? Acting impulsively was never the right thing. You needed time.

“Now, of course, there’s the gossip media and people wanting to constantly invade privacy. They’ll only help make this whole thing more believable” That only rang another alarm in your head, one more point that had to be argumented to the other.

“That means we have to show in public together...”

“Not for long. Let’s make a deal. We’ll go out occasionally, to Halo Garden or Angel Den, we own those don’t we? We’ll choose a secluded corner and from there you’ll be able to focus on your work, I won’t bother you. I can even leave to another table, they won’t see” Seungyoun’s voice sounded different at the last part. Almost as if having to say that somehow affected him. You thought it wasn’t a big deal – one could always use some work time in a relaxing environment with indie music and a caramel latte.

“You could also visit my home” The heir blurted out, once again capturing full attention. Gulping, you looked at the other hesitantly, not sure how to react. Seungyoun’s lips pulled into a smile.

“Don’t think too much of it, you’ll only make it awkward for yourself”  

Silence. You relaxed into the leather seat and threw your head back. With eyes locked on the white ceiling, you sighed out loud. The other wasn’t saying anything, probably because there wasn’t anything more to say. He patiently waited for an answer.

The door of the office opened but shut only a second later. Eunha’s heels sounded over the tiles outside.

“I need time to think”

“No”

“Then I can only refuse your offer” Tired eyes met with another expectant pair. It was only the beginning of a workday, yet you felt exhausted way over the limit. It was impossible how one person can drain so much energy from someone.

“That’s not going to happen” Seungyoun replied, annoyance bidding its hello through an undertone. It appeared that the male was easily worked up, which of course, you’ve been proven many times in the past.

“I planned this whole thing out perfectly? Why do you need to think about it?” He questioned. You stood up, cracking your fingers one by one while walking around the broad office. When right in front of the window, you overlooked the whole territory, allowing the beautiful view of a waking city to relax you. Seungyoun’s questions finally processed properly and for whatever reason, they happened to hit a certain spot.

“Because unlike you, I run my own company. I’m the CEO. I’m the head that has to think about the consequences. There’s no one behind me, or let alone above me. Someone who can pat me on the head and say ‘Don’t worry darling, daddy will take care of it’”  

You moved to face him, but your legs didn’t take a step away from the previous position.

“Seungyoun, everything needs time to be thought about. Many ideas were believed to be great before they were put into action. World war one is a great example. I’m sure your education is high enough for you to understand that”

Seungyoun laughed with a pitiful face. From the moment he entered, maybe even from the day he hired a reporter to follow your interactions, Seungyoun knew how his plan would end. Just as mentioned, the male was a step ahead, purely because he was the one controlling the game. Sometimes, you’d be allowed the benefit of doubt, but all this time, Seungyoun was the one moving the pawns.  

That thought was always forced in the back of your mind.  

“It’s silly of you to think I came here to be rejected, sweetheart” Seungyoun stood up and approached you in three quick strides. With low voice, almost a whisper, his finger once again came up to hold your chin. Seungyoun hadn’t moved at all afterward, just watched your cheeks turn a bright shade of red. It was exceedingly hard for both to stay calm and composed, not lean in and feel the special sensation just once more.  

The two faces started moving towards each other at an extremely slow pace. Then, as if hit by electricity, when only a breath away, Seungyoun stepped back, sighing and running a hand through his back hair. The movement effectively ruined his hairstyle, a few strands falling over the man’s forehead and making him just a tad bit more attractive.

Seungyoun took hold of a random paper from your desk, not caring that it just so happened to be an important list of your monthly profit, and scribbled something on it with a pen.  

“I thought we’d come to an agreement easily, guess I was wrong” He tsked, already backing away from the desk and heading towards the exit. “Expect my call, or better, call me yourself. Don’t make me turn the media’s focus on Kang Byungho again”  

Seungyoun didn’t leave any time for replies, for he was already out of the office, slamming the door behind with a wicked grin on his face. You approached the desk, throwing a peek at the scribbled set of numbers, immediately labeling them as a phone number.  

Sitting down on the comfortable chair, you leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk and fingers gently massaging aching temples. With closed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, you tried to think about everything that led to this point in time. Everything that you managed to fuck up to end up being controlled by a pathetic heir.

This was actually the first time you’ve been threatened. Seungyoun wasn’t dumb, for he knew how to play and which information to use against you. If things weren’t going as planned, Seungyoun would unleash a piece by piece, never the whole story. He would want to see you break down slowly, to watch the country’s most powerful woman on her knees, trying to put a shattered glass back together. At least, that how you envisioned it.

Exactly why the male mentioned Kang Byungho was because he knew how much hassle you had taking care of the second theft. How much money went into hitmen and associates that were of high positions in courts, as well as police. Seungyoun saw it all, from the hidden receipts of money transferred between the source and the recipient, to the documents of illegally manipulated trials saved for possible blackmail.  

As much as everyone in the industry, he was aware of Byungho’s importance as the main assistant of RELAY enterprise. The company had great potential and was doing astonishing work, slowly but surely climbing the chart. They were expected to someday reach first place – well, at least until that happened.  

Byungho’s unexpected and clean murder that was thrown under the mat, managed to horribly disturb Lee Yuna – RELAY's CEO and also Kang Byungho’s long term best friend. The woman stepped down in a matter of two days, reasoning it by feeling unsafe and not mentally stable enough to continue her job.  

It was morally correct to feel bad for her and the enterprise that crumbled down, but somehow you just didn’t care. As long as your own empire was safe.

Seungyoun knew that it only took two hours for you to locate the man, organize and execute his murder, call all the associates with authority and have the case closed before it was even opened. Still, that information was just one tiny piece of everything you held secure in the hidden database.

That’s how much potential the young man had. That’s how much his father owed him. Seungyoun would prove that all the degrading words thrown his way were never genuine. Seungyoun had raw power even over the most powerful.  

Although there really wasn’t any reason, except for maybe extreme pity, the young man was up for negotiations.

And that’s exactly why there was no other choice than to save the numbers on the paper as a new contact.

As the day passed by, bits and pieces of free time allowed the mind to think about everything. At least, that’s what you thought.

The probability of Seungyoun expecting a call the moment he left your office was high, although that never happened. He probably envisioned you following his orders like a ‘good little girl’, but was unfortunately left disappointed. The heir didn’t insist though. There was no more pressure added to the already existing one, for he was well aware that you’d eventually follow his commands. If because of nothing else, then out of pure fear.

Somewhere around an hour before the work was completely done, you stood up and paced around the office, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable ache in your feet. The varnished heels were becoming a problem and you looked down, not quite understanding why they were still on.  

Taking one, then the other off, you enjoyed walking barefoot on the cold floor. Pleasant change in temperature had you skipping around, seeking for new colder patches of the ground. Still, that wasn’t what intoxicated one’s mind the most, rather the still lingering scent of a Gucci perfume. Although it had been hours since the male left, Seungyoun still managed to overtake your senses and occupy your mind.

Looking out of the window seemed to only arise more worry. Seemingly under your feet, down on the street, formed a crowd of about fifty people. There were three black SUVs and loads of rushed humans chasing after the ones coming out of your company. Squinting, you managed to catch onto men carrying heavy cameras.  

A huge gulp echoed throughout the room.

After hurriedly walking over to the desk, you picked the little phone up and dialed the recently saved number. It only rung twice before the person on the other side answered.

“Well hello th-”  

“Seungyoun there are reporters outside and I don’t know how to engage them” You spat out quick, and in fear that the male hadn’t caught onto a single word, you were about to repeat. The heir suddenly spoke up.  

“Okay, calm down. I can come pick you up” He seemed to have understood everything, which made you sigh in relief. There was shuffling on the other side, a chair squeaking and fingers working on a keyboard in an even rhythm. It took just a moment too long to process his words.

“Seungyoun I have my own car. I just don’t know what to say to them while I’m making my way towards it. They’ll fucking swarm me like wasps”  

“Doesn’t INVICTA have an underground parking lot?” The male continued, now with decent amounts of surprise and confusion in his tone. It was true, this building, like many others in the area, had an underground parking lot serving its employees only. It was free, which the workers greatly appreciated, and it meant that public parking wouldn't be occupied all the time. Everyone used it, well, everyone except for you. Money wasn’t a problem and you didn’t want to lose time getting out of the underground, therefore you usually parked outside.

“I’m glad you know the blueprint of my company better than I do. I don’t park my car there, kind of disappointed you didn’t notice” Although it probably wasn’t the greatest time for it, you joked. Still, the man on the other side laughed, obviously entertained by the little remark.  

“Oh, so the white Porsche was yours...” Seungyoun trailed off, hands once again back to working on the keyboard. He let the silence drag on for a few moments; unintentionally or not, you wouldn’t be sure. Tapping on the hard keys stopped; he resumed speaking. “Just rush through them. Get the security to follow you out and just don’t say anything. They’ll get their answers soon enough”  

With a brief okay and goodbye, the call ended. Numerous papers on the desk suddenly became too much work and you sighed, turning around in the chair and looking out at the clear sky. A huge advantage of this office was that one of the walls was just pure glass. At every moment of the day, it offered a beautiful overlook one could really get lost in.  

There was half an hour more to spend and your mind once again wandered off towards a certain tall and broad, black-haired man.

The next day, Eunha seemed reserved and shy, only talking when being spoken to or ordered around. She was hesitant with staying around for a longer period of time and even excused herself a couple of times for unknown reasons. Her behavior was completely different than before and it wasn’t a hard thing to notice. You expected the assistant to speak up alone, but when that didn’t happen, you decided to take the matter in your own hands.

“Eunha sit down” The voice you used wasn’t the one usually used on the smaller. The female stood up to leave for the nth time that day without saying anything and you had to do something. Upon hearing the command, Eunha stayed seated, hands immediately intertwining and gaze falling onto her lap.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, and the sudden change to a much more adoring tone seemed to surprise the other. She looked up to find you leaning forwards, soft gaze not meaning to intimidate.  

Eunha has always been one of your most appreciated and hardworking employees, someone who you had deep respect and huge amounts of love for. Throughout these few years, she grew to be a close friend before everything else. Therefore, seeing her face full of discomfort deeply worried you.  

The assistant took her time gathering every single thought before saying anything. She looked around the office, at all the decorations, the huge TV no one ever used, then papers on the table. Everywhere but the eyes of her boss.

“Eunha is it about yesterday?” You questioned again and that’s when she looked at you and nodded. Eunha sighed out loud as if a huge weight was taken off her chest, and the words were able to finally freely flow.

“I feel as if I’ve let you down. I should’ve known about the visit, and I should’ve warned you, I shouldn’t have been quiet about the news and I shouldn’t have been so easily controlled by your respective boyfriend an-”

Through the sudden clench of her jaw, it appeared as if the smaller was about to cry. It wasn’t often that the female became so self-critical and it had you jumping up and crouching right in front of her.

“Eunha! You didn’t disappoint me! Nothing is your fault. Really, everything is okay, none of us could’ve predicted any of this. It was all unexpected so please don’t blame yourself, you’ll never be able to disappoint me, okay?” You reassured the other, hands coming up to take hers. They were clammy and you only frowned at that. All of this really affected her. To lighten up the atmosphere, you laughed before continuing.

“And he isn’t my boyfriend”  

Eunha looked shocked after hearing that. Her eyes reached the size of avocado seeds, while her rosy lips were left parted. The sight amused you quite a bit.

“But the visit, the news-”

“It’s all fake. Media and business play. Clout. Call it however you want” Although given a clear and simple clarification, the assistant still seemed taken aback. She blinked a couple of times, leaning back into the chair and furrowing her brows. You stood up and returned back to your own seat, expecting Eunha to ask for a better explanation. Of course, that happened not even three seconds later.

“How did that come to be?”

So instead of returning to work that was left to pile up yesterday, you leaned back and started the telltale from the exact beginning. The assistant listened with utmost attention, making sure to suck in every piece of information, every little detail you offered, growing more dumbfounded as seconds passed. Minutes fled by fast when such an interesting story was being shared and soon enough it was time to leave. Still, the other stayed seated until the very last word left your lips, apparently not caring about the time.  

You appreciated that, it felt nice being able to talk about the whole situation with someone who wasn’t labeled a fake boyfriend. Then, even if you wanted to talk with him, Seungyoun probably wouldn’t be so invested in understanding your emotions and viewpoints like Eunha was. At the last point, the assistant gasped.

“And that’s exactly why I have to go and meet with him at Angel Den in approximately half an hour”

The white Porsche came to a stop right outside the big café in center of the city. It happened to be just in the right time because an expensive black Maserati was also pulling up right beside. When the door lifted up and opened, dressed in casual attire, Cho Seungyoun stepped out. You thanked his outfit choice, for you too weren’t dressed formally at all. The heir wore a caramel long-sleeved button-up and black pants with black vans. He seemed to unexpectedly match with your outfit. It consisted of a beige cardigan and loose shirt of the same color tucked in black ripped jeans – truly something the media weren’t used to.

There was a genuine smile on Seungyoun’s face as he approached you, completely ignoring all of the flashing lights around him. For whatever reason, the reporters were already there, with set up cameras and annoying interviewers, ready to capture every possible move of the new couple.

Honestly, why the fuck were they so bothered? The two of you weren’t celebrities, only successful business people; when did the lives of those become gossip-worthy?

Seungyoun offered a hand, which you took without any evident hesitation. His palm was warm as he took you inside, not trying to hide the admiration that danced around his irises. The sudden amount of emotion was surprising, cheeks immediately flushing as the two of you walked upstairs - to the secured designated spot.  

A couple of reporters tried following but weren’t allowed on the second floor by the staff. This was a café Cho enterprise owned, therefore ordering to keep the upper floor off-limits for an hour or two wasn’t hard at all. They were given a bonus anyway.

The reserved seat was all the way in the back, hidden from outside view and decorated in most beautiful ways. Your eyes immediately caught onto the black wall, one that was (almost) completely filled with different drawings and words. There were numerous jokes, pick-up lines, and cheeky caricatures, all of them bribing a smile out on your face. Suddenly, Seungyoun took your hand, turned it around and put a white stick in the opened palm.

“Go on” The male cocked his head to the side, motioning towards the black wall. You were taken aback, needing a moment to cherish the privilege of writing something down yourself.

“They wipe them off every three days so don’t be too happy about it” Of course, Seungyoun always had to ruin the moment. Instead of the lovely look he gave you just a few minutes ago, there was an assured smirk on his face. It only served as a reminder that all of his ‘obvious’ emotions were a play and a façade put on for the media.  

For whichever reason, it hurt.

The chalk felt soft against your fingers and hard against the surface. With elegant moves, your name was written down, a beautiful heart just above the last letter. Although unoriginal, it was the thought that mattered and you laughed, finally having left a trace of INVICTA in Angel Den.

It wasn’t long after the waitress took the orders, that your drinks arrived. Seungyoun went all out, ordering their fanciest (and at the same time most expensive) drink that you remembered the name of - Flash. It ended up being a black cocktail with red streaks that changed shapes every time the little umbrella was swirled in it. Seungyoun’s drink greatly contrasted yours, a simple oreo milkshake.

For the first few minutes, you expected the other to begin some kind of a topic, yet unfortunately, that never happened. Seungyoun’s gaze was locked outside, on his phone, the black liquid in a fancy glass, but never on you. The male didn’t look happy though, there was a slight frown on his lips, and his brows looked slightly furrowed. You pondered asking about it, but decided not do. It’s for the better to keep to your own work.

With laptop opened, you slowly worked on important paperwork, fingers swiftly moving over the keyboard and eyes carefully scanning all text. In such a concentrated state, you missed the way Seungyoun’s eyes stopped observing the outside world and switched to you. He was relaxed in the seat, taking slow sips of his beverage while watching the female on the other side. Something inside his chest ached upon not being noticed.

Then he remembered.

Turning on the little device resting on the table, Seungyoun tapped a few times on its screen and opened the newest gossip article. Of course, it featured the two of you.

“You look so ugly here” Seungyoun mocked, expecting a large reaction in return. You looked up from the bigger screen, taking a quick glance at the picture, before returning to work. Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with the picture; maybe taken from an unusual angle, but you for sure didn’t look ugly.  

Without any verbal answer, Seungyoun felt defeated, but he wasn’t going to give up so easy. Annoying, that was probably one of Seungyoun’s main personality traits.

“I hope that not all of the articles feature that shot because damn, I’d want that taken down” He continued, hoping that another one of those stupid remarks will have you answering. Fortunately for him, it did.

“I literally couldn’t care less. But if it affects you so much, go and cry to them about how ugly your girlfriend is, boohoo” You didn’t look up from the screen, but smiled. It wasn’t genuine, almost a show of teeth and a warning to the other. Really, you didn’t care and you didn’t understand why he was so bothered about it. None of the two agreed to media being all up in their face, so was it really important how they looked like in those shots? Hilarious.

“Damn, thought you have some pride to keep” Seungyoun answered, hands raised in the air in defense mode. Still, his heart didn’t fail to miss a beat at your mention of being his girlfriend.  

“Just being with you here destroyed even the smallest pieces of pride I had left”  

Seungyoun’s pride was probably what should’ve taken the biggest hit there, but it turned out to be his heart. It stopped for almost two whole beats, allowing the mind to become fuzzy, thoughts flying all over the place. The male felt, but didn’t understand and refused to show.

Seungyoun was well aware of the fact that you were slowly getting under his skin, but it wasn’t clear as to why. What was it about you that had him wanting to be in your company? To be around? What was it that made his stone heart quicken its pace when you're around?  

And did he really need to play like this? If he gave up on using knowledge to his advantage, were you going to turn your back on him? Probably. If he didn’t set up this dumb ultimatum, would you still be up for getting to know him? Probably not.  

But that’s exactly where Seungyoun’s thoughts clashed together and contradicted each other. Was all of this an ongoing process used to show his father that he wasn’t a failure? Because Seungyoun wanted to back up his parent in succeeding as an even bigger businessman? Or because without it, would you ever think of him as worthy enough?

From the beginning, there was a much simpler way to do all of this. Alas, the heir was greedy and wanted to kill two flies with one hit.

Seungyoun looked away and refused to let his hurt be shown.

Second meeting was scheduled on the weekend; Sunday to be exact. You were the one who proposed a walk through the park, which Seungyoun needed a minute to think about. In the end, an agreement was settled.

Both thought that Sunday night was the best option for a date of an open kind. There wouldn’t be as many reporters (if any), which meant you’d be able to walk around more freely. Also, many real couples chose said day and time for their own outings, so that way you’ll be able to camouflage with them.

Once again, although this time planned, Seungyoun and you managed to match outfits. Both were dressed in black comfortable outfits with masks covering generous amounts of the face. There was a suggestion to pair up caps or beanies with the overall look, but the heir was quick to shut the offer down. He said that you looked like an idol couple already as it is, and adding hats to raise more suspicion wasn’t at all needed.

The park was crowded. Kids ran around, screaming and playing, while their parents carefully watched over their little devils. Young couples were crowding the place, holding hands, laughing, goofing around and enjoying the presence of their partner. Some were sitting on the wooden benches, arms thrown over shoulders and heads resting against each other.

For a moment, you felt like one of them. Walking hand in hand with someone who others would label as your boyfriend. Others. But would you?

Unexpectedly, your mind crossed that point out and allowed itself to just enjoy the moment. Relish the feeling of having someone right beside.  

It was too long since you’ve engaged in a relationship. Work proved to be way too big of a fuss, never allowing enough time to focus on someone the way a girlfriend should.

What ended up ruining the perfect picture and warm feeling bubbling inside of your chest was a sudden realization. Seungyoun’s hand felt cold in yours, although the grip was strong. There was no warmth you expected to find and the sadness bid its hello. You sighed.

From behind one of the trees in the distance, there was a flash. That little action made you freeze in place and look around. The hold on your hand tightened and Seungyoun was quick to address the situation. When the heir turned around, he saw the surprise in your eyes.

“StarLight”

Disappointment overtook your features and your shoulders slumped forward. Then again, there was another bright light, coming from a completely different direction. Your eyes tracked the position.

“Cascade”  

At the mention of another gossip agency, your head snapped in his direction. Seungyoun caught onto the dismay in your irises and immediately stepped back, letting go of your hand. It suddenly felt as if he wasn’t qualified enough to hold it anymore. But was he ever?

“How many of them know about this meeting?” You whispered, hurt almost dripping from said words. Inside of your chest, the heart was beating with a delay, blood pumping slowly through veins. Seungyoun looked back, chest tightening in a certain indescribable way.  

“Just them” Seungyoun answered, trying to control his voice, scared that it might just break if he said more. You nodded and your gaze lowered, focusing on a small rock on the ground. Kicking it away and watching it reach the grass, you picked Seungyoun’s hand, feeling once again just how cold it was.

“Let’s go home. It’s enough for tonight” The conversation was cut short there, no one saying a word until the very farewell. Throughout the whole walk home, Seungyoun’s head was a mess, thoughts incoherent for god knows which time that week.  

He thought that there was no way out of this. At least a way that would end up positively for both of you. Whatever Seungyoun tried; one wouldn’t be satisfied. He was in a crossfire, feeling guilty.  

The warmth from your own hand was slowly disappearing in his.

As per usual, you were on time.  

Once a big iron gate opened, a beautiful property came into view. The tall and fancy building Seungyoun lived in, shone bright, illuminating a broad territory around it. Outside, on the parking lot, there weren’t many cars, despite the building’s housing potential. Every single vehicle turned out to an expensive brand - from Porsche, Aston Martin, Bentley to Rolls-Royce and Bugatti. All those fancy cars were secured by tens of cameras and laser control, making you completely dumbfounded and intimidated.  

Indirectly, you got the answer to why it wasn’t completely inhabited – money probably became too big of a problem.

If the counting was done right, it had twelve floors and an open balcony on the top. Thankfully, it appeared to have a set of elevators that would be taking you to the last floor – just exactly where the heir lived.  

The entrance was locked, it operated through an intercom that took some time to figure out. Seungyoun seemed to be expecting your visit just then, for he immediately opened the door.

Walking inside felt like entering an expensive hotel. There was a reception in the middle of the wide hallway, a cute girl with a surprised face working behind the counter. Two guards were positioned at the different sides of it, their eyes suspiciously tracking your every movement.

Well, this is something you’ve never experienced before.

Walking towards the female felt strange, the looks of the other two only an added pressure. Fortunately, upon noticing your nervous appearance, she smiled and appeared more cheerful than a few seconds ago. This was a casual building people casually lived in, but for whatever reason, you felt like the visit had to be reasoned.

Thankfully, the conversation didn’t last long, for she happened to recognize you ‘from the news’ and carelessly allowed a free pass. The ride to the twelfth floor didn’t last long. A familiar song that played made time pass by quicker. The elevator opened with a barely audible ding. Your eyes immediately caught onto the fact that there was only one door.  

The guard that appeared out of nowhere startled you, but only for a blink of time, for you were already used to the area to feel as intimidating as ever.  

Knocking onto the hard surface, you waited for Seungyoun to come and open, but that never happened. Trying the second time, you feared looking like a burglar to the man beside the elevator. Suddenly, something that barely sounded like ‘come in’ was heard from the other side. That was the only que to come in.  

“It’s me” You chirped, taking the heavy coat off and looking around, searching for a hanger. Finding it in the corner of the hallway, you hung the clothing piece on it. It was expected to find a thousand pairs of shoes on the floor, but there were only two – a pair of dress shoes and black vans. Your own pair of white Converse seemed to perfectly break the melancholy.

From the hallway, which appeared to be the center of the apartment, it was possible to go four different ways through four different doors. You contemplated which ones to open first, scared to barge in uninvited to whatever was on the other side. It didn’t have to be a form of unexpected activity, rather something Seungyoun wouldn’t want others to see. Like his untidy bedroom, for example.

Therefore, choosing not to move just yet, you anticipated the host to appear soon – seeing as someone has entered his apartment. Minutes passed and no one came out.

Suddenly, your ears picked up on a quiet and calm melody. It was coming from behind the door on your left. With slow and careful movements, you pushed the door, opening them without any effort.  

The room was rectangular but divided into something that looked like an upside-down letter U. It was huge, almost like a suite all by itself. The aesthetics were something similar to your own apartment – white coffee, beige and white with a few black decorations here and there. From the entrance, you were met with expensive furniture and a huge TV screen that resembled a dark void on a bright wall. There were shelves filled with books of different genres and authors; the most worn-out ones were related to music. Family portraits filled the walls, making you stop and observe for a few moments.  

Most of them were when Seungyoun was little. They looked happy.

On the other side of the wall, Seungyoun seemed to have a built-in home-cinema, for there was a huge projector on the ceiling and a screen that could be pulled down from above. Many squishy beanbags were thrown around in front of it, offering maximum comfort while watching movies. Behind, but placed to almost kiss the wall, was a long bar. On the wall, there were bottles of random, colorful drinks you supposed only the upper class could afford. Glasses hung from above while bowls with fresh fruit were placed all around. Right beside was a football board Seungyoun probably loved playing with his friends.  

Apart from any basic furniture you’d expect in a living room, there was a small place filled with cat stuff. Scratchers, food bowls, a huge circular bed and all kinds of toys. You never knew the male had a pet and for some reason, you felt happy to see it.

The door to the balcony was open, and that’s where the quiet melody was coming from. Deciding to check it out next after (not so secretly) observing the whole room in detail, you stepped outside.

“Seungyoun?” You questioned, startled and surprised to see him. Seungyoun was sitting in a comfortable black chair, one arm leaning against a glass table. On it was a glass full of wine and a black bottle that appeared half empty. His breathing was calm, almost too calm, while his eyes were focused on an invisible dot, irises dark, but emotionless. Seungyoun heard your voice but reacted with a bit of delay.

“Heh, didn’t expect you to come here” The heir replied, words slurred, but not due to alcohol. No, Seungyoun looked tired, exhausted. Maybe you’d even dare say he looked numb.  

His eyes only moved to make sure you really were there, but he made no effort to tease or bite a remark as per usual. Soon enough, Seungyoun's hand reached out to grab the glass and lift it to his lips. With three quick and audible gulps, it was almost empty.

You walked around and took a seat on the other side of the table. Naturally, you felt worried, anxious, confused. Still, there was that unexplainable amount of hesitance you always felt when the other was in question. Therefore, you approached the subject in a certain, nonchalant manner, not wanting to show too much emotion in fear of being misunderstood.

“Uh... is there something wrong?”

Seungyoun’s head turned slowly, eyes appearing glassier due to the light that reflected off them. His head then shook, a frown painting his features. It took Seungyoun a few moments to gather his thoughts and allowed it, ready to hear whatever whenever. Then, the male spoke, with a small and almost broken voice.

“You know...I have no clue what I’m doing this for”

A/N: hello! if you’ve made it this far and are reading this, thank you so much from the deepest depths of my heart! i love you! 

i’m so sorry i wasn’t able to get this out earlier, a lot has happened and affected me lately, the biggest problem being the death of my uncle and my mental health not being good. i hope you can understand.

thank you and see you soon hopefully!

[imaginesmai]

Steve Rogers-Photograph

For this fic, Steve doesn’t fall to the ice, neither Bucky is dead.

This is just, beautiful. And sad. And beautiful. Really, really beautiful

Inspired by the song Photograph, Ed Sheeran

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes

The wind was making the last leaves of the autumn move around, and with it came the harsh cold that made him shiver. He had never liked the cold; but that winter, without any doubt, was the coldest one he had yet to live. Steve Rogers sat in the swinging lounge that hung on the front porch of his small cottage, still wearing the black tuxedo and war medals that he was adorned with. Bucky had to put them on his suit that morning, because he hadn’t found the strength to do so.

But it’s the only thing I know

Steve Rogers still remembered being carried into the medical tent, a bullet lodged in his chest, blood seeping into his shirt and eventually into the shirt of Bucky, who was carrying him. His eyes clenched shut from the white hot pain searing through his veins, eventually passing out.

He woke up to a pale yellow light seeping through the small plastic window in the medical tent, and a young nurse peering down at his chest. A sharp pain hit his body, and he made a small noise that sounded too much like a whine.

“Ah, you’re awake” a lithe British accent graced his ears.

You were beautiful, and with that simple look, between the smell of disinfectant, cheap alcohol and the sound of moaning and being, Steve Rogers created his first memory with you.

He soon learned that your name was Y/N, but while he was recovering from the bullet hole, he insisted that you had to be called, Miss Y/L/N; it had been a lame strategy to find out if you were married or not, but it stuck.

For days on end, Steve and you would talk about the war and about life back home. He learned that you were a studying nurse living with your cousin who was also studying the same field. You learnt that he was part of a big project who intended to end with the war, and laughed when he told you he used to be skinny and small.

“What?” he asked, laughing along with you. “Miss Y/L/N, are you making fun of me?”

You looked down at Steve between giggles, and tried to calm your breathing. The head nursing called your name, and you quickly moved from where you were sitting beside him.

“Of course not, Mr Rogers. I would never”

You checked his bandages quickly before excusing yourself to go and ten to the other patients. As usually, he recieved the special treatment he had become used to love. A quick kiss to the cheek and his arm wrapped around your waist, pretending there wasn’t bombs going off out there.

The friendship grew stronger and stronger every day, just as Steve was growing healthier and healthier.  

When it gets hard

You were brought in a patient that had stepped on a landmine, separating his leg from the rest of his body. The man was delusional as he had lost a lot of blood and was in and out of consciousness due to the severe pain he was in.

So you didn’t notice the shy solider who, with a small frown and tight lips, hid the bouquet of flowers behind his back and stepped out of the tent. You were too busy getting a hot iron from the camp fire.

Keeping the men away while you cauterized the wound, you felt a piercing stare on your back, and you turned around to see the blonde soldier smiling at you. Just a short smile, and you were back on your business.

You tied strops of sheeting just above the knee where the leg had been blown off before giving the patient two strips of bedding in his mouth to bite down. The man groaned loudly in pain before screaming in pure agony as the glowing iron was placed against the bloody flesh, sealing it shut quickly. After the third press of the iron, the man passed out, not before being sick all over himself.

You know it gets hard sometimes

Nothing was the same after that man died two days after the incident, and not even the handsome soldier following you could cheer you.

“Will that be all for today?” you said, as a routine. Each time Steve tried to talk to you, you listened until he nodded confused at your question, and left.

“Please, talk to me” he begged one day, and reached to take your hands in his. “What’s the matter? I’m here, you can count on me”

It was then when you broke down to tears. Steve gently sat up, wincing slightly at the still sensitive wound. You sat on the other side of him and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I had my first death the other day. I did – I did everything right, everything as the book says, and he still died” you sobbed, as if he had just opened the deepest door in your soul. “I have his blood on my hands and I can’t stand it”

Your tears left dark watermarks on his bandages and bed sheets, but also on his heart, as hearing you cry was worse that having a thousand bullets shot at him. Probably, he should have been planning the new attack to the Hydra camp next to Bucky, a few tents away. Probably, he shouldn’t be getting so involved when he knew that his line of life could meant not getting to say goodbye.

Steve Rogers held your chin up so that you were looking into each other’s eyes, and whispered comforting words.

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

“You saved me though, and I will forever be in your debt” Steve said so quietly that you thought that you had misheard him; but when his lips touched yours in a sweet kiss, you knew that you were home, and that no matter what the war brought, you were safe.

You felt at home in that warzone

We keep this love photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Steve let out a sight as he pulled out the picture of you and him at the returning soldier’s ball; Bucky at the background doing silly faces.

You were dressed in the most beautiful pale blue collared dress, which had short sleeves and a small bow that sat just above your belly button the same shade of blue; and when you spun around, the dress flared up into a neat circle.

He remembered as your crisp white heels clicked against the hardwood floor, and the way it hurt when they accidentally hit his feet. The night, pain apart, had been wonderful; you had laughed, he had almost drooled at the sound. Steve knew then what the meaning of true happiness was, and for the first time in forever, he even thought about leaving the war.

About starting something new, with a house and a mutual plan to build. His dream of dying for America became blurry when he was with you.

When he finally slowed down the spinning and dancing, and pulled you closer to him, you couldn’t break eye contact. The world disappeared, the sounds minimalized and all you could see was each other.

You kissed right there, in the middle of the dance floor, without a care in the world to who was watching and between some cheers from Steve’s friends. You pulled away from the kiss, and looked deep into Steve’s eyes. There was no one else around you at that point in time, just the two spinning in a slow circle, dancing to your own song.

It was as if time had stopped, allowing you to cherish that moment shared between two young people in love.

So you can keep me

Steve remembered your face when you saw the photographer in the corner of the room taking photos for a dollar. You said something about never having one taken, and he couldn’t just say no to your excited face.

You practically glowed as you pulled him over and presented the kind man with a clean and shiny one dollar coin out of your purse, which matched your dress. Bucky whispered something to him about being whipped, he didn’t care.

Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Your smile made the world smile. You were the prettiest woman there, and you were with him.

He remembered a bright flash of white light and then a squeal. You ran over to the man to look at the photo and waited for it to develop almost bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement and impatience.

Once the photo had developed, the smiling man handed the small slip of paper over to you. You giggled your appreciation and ran back to him, to show him the result.

Steve kissed you on the cheek, sliding the photo into his soldier’s jacket breast pocket, and thanked the man with another gold coin before returning to the dance floor.

Holding me closer till our eyes meet

You rocked back and forth slowly, your head resting on his shoulder and your hands wrapped around his back. Bucky had left a while ago, with some blonde girl who had talked his ear off all night.

Years ago, he had been jealous of not having as much as feminine attention. Years ago, he would have gone back to his apartment alone.

You closed your eyes and slipped into a peaceful mindset where everything was perfect, and now was could touch you from there, no one could take you away from each other.

Truth was, not everything was perfect, and Steve learnt the cruel reality that waited for him maybe a little too soon. You had barely time to see each other,  and between rushed hugs and quick kisses you built a love together that he was sure nothing could break.

He heard them talking; the soldiers, the other nurses, his family, his friends. All of them tried to make him see what a madness it was to fall in love with someone between bullets, death and horror. But he didn’t mind, just squeezed you tighter those nights he had to leave. 

He remembered; not only the good, but the bad too. There was once, when he was missing for a month. A mission gone wrong, that got him stuck in an Hydra base for 29 days and 28 nights. They wanted nothing but to experiment with him, to create another super soldier; and it scared Steve, what the world would do with more like him. Too busy with their meds, they didn’t take Steve’s uniform away. So Steve Rogers kissed your face in the photo, then stained with dark blood, every night before he went to sleep. 

You won’t ever be alone

Against everything, Steve did get his happy ending. The war ended, the soldiers went back to their houses and he felt the luckiest man because he had you hanging from his arm, as he carried both of your bags to your new aparment. The sun shone bright, people laughed. Steve couldn’t stop smiling, and he pulled you closer when the train finally stopped.

Steve did get his happy ending, just not the typical one.

He remembered, what his neighbour said the first time she saw him with his new ‘body’.

“You’re a curse! Nothing that comes out of science can be good! Monster! Abomination!”

He didn’t listen, but sometimes he thought it was true.

Because Steve Rogers got his happy ended. He walked through the park with you, he made you laugh until you cried, and had two beautiful sons that managed to make him even happier. 

But he never aged, and you did. He watched your hair turn grey, while his was neat and blonde. He watched you moan about back and knees pain, and had to help you get up when you could stand on your own. He held your wrinkled hand and kissed your cheeks until you closed your eyes, and then he cried.

Wait for me to come home 

As Steve sat on the porch, remembering that night at the ball, he let tears escape and roll down his cheeks, remembering the words whispered to him when you fell sick.

That he would never be alone.

That you would always belong to each other, and will always have a place on his heart.

He swore, on his heart, that he would never forget you, too. That you were more than a photograph, inside the pocket of his ripped jeans.

[nadjaofstatenisland]

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1719

Rating: Mature

Category: F/F

Fandom: Riverdale (TV 2017)

Relationship: Penelope Blossom/Alice Cooper

Characters: Penelope Blossom, Alice Cooper (Archie Comics)

Additional Tags: parentdale, Riverparents, palice, Drabble, No Plot, Light Smut, cherry slushies, god can i write one thing that doesn't involve people eating or drinking?, no no i cannot, Femslash February

Revisiting an old favorite ship. For @penelopeblosscm

Tequila burns all the way down.

Alice doesn’t ask her what she likes, it’s not her style. Instead she takes a long sip from the cherry slushie she insisted they stop for and pulls a bottle of tequila from under her bed. She fills the plastic cup to the brim and stirs it sloppily with the straw, unbothered when a few drops spill to the cheap carpeting of her room. She licks cherry slush from the palm of her hand and raises the cup.

“Bottoms up.” She gives Penelope the second straw, the one tucked behind her ear. It’s pink, same color as Alice’s, even though she knows the gas station they bought it at keeps them in an array of colors.

Alice’s tongue - shameless piercing and all - is already waiting on her straw by the time Penelope sticks hers in. She smiles as they sip at the same time, a few beads of condensation dripping to the floor between them.

Penelope takes the cup with both hands when Alice shoves it at her. It’s cold and she sneaks a another sip as Alice shrugs her jacket off and plops onto the bed. The tequila is cheap, harsh, but it mixes surprisingly well with the sugary drink.

“Thanks for the ride,” Alice mutters, kicking her heavy boots off. “Turn the stereo on if you want.”

Penelope’s eyes comb the room until she spots it. The stereo is no more than a radio with a single cassette deck, but she hits play and delicately sits on the edge of Alice’s bed. A rock song she doesn’t recognize fills the small room. She’s pleasantly surprised when she realizes the jarring music is being sung by a woman and not a man.

“I like your room.” Penelope regrets the words immediately. Alice snorts and pushes herself up on her elbows.

“You don’t need to be nice.” There’s no malice in her voice for once, just amusement. “Just say you’re shocked I don’t live in the trailer park.”

A lump catches in her throat. “I just mean it - it isn’t what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, you were expecting a trailer.” Alice’s voice is lined with a tease. “Believe it or not, the Southside is more than just Sunnyside Trailer Park.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “But it is nicer than I thought.”

Alice looks to the watermarked ceiling. “You must have been expecting a real shithole then.”

Penelope takes another sip, unsure if Alice didn’t mix it well enough or if she’s just getting used to the burn. She clears her throat.

“What I mean is, your room is - it’s lived in. Comfortable. It belongs to a teenage girl.” Her eyes travel, taking in a small stack of tapes and books, the posters on the wall, a contraption that looked like a bong or perhaps an incense burner, although neither seemed Alice’s style. “You can come in here and kick your clothes anywhere, jump on the bed, not worry if you need to put anything away.” In a mesh laundry bag she spots a few pieces of Alice’s unmentionables and swallows. “My room is nothing like this.”

Alice shifts her weight between her elbows and pulls her feet onto the bed. “What’s your room like?”

“A museum,” she blurts out. “Always ready to be shown off. I decorated it myself, but there was a very limited number of things I knew I would be allowed.” She slides her feet out of her Mary Janes and wonders if it would be too forward to lay down as well. “No posters on the wall. Nothing on the floor. Clothes hung in the closet or put with the laundry after each wear.” She holds up the slushie. “Definitely no food or beverages.”

“Your parents sound like real pains in the asses.” Alice is smiling again. “Is there where you got it from?”

Penelope laughs in spite of herself. “Yeah maybe.” She finally turns and looks to the other girl. “You can come over one day.”

Alice feeds her a sad smile. They both know it’s an empty offer. “Yeah maybe.” She blows a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Thanks for today by the way.”

Penelope feels the heat rise to her cheeks. “It was nothing, please do-”

Alice sits up all of a sudden and places her hand on Penelope’s arm. “No, really. Thanks.”

“It was just a ride.” Penelope’s eyes go down to the carpet. She can’t even tell where the slushie dripped anymore. “I am never in a rush to get home from school.”

“Not just the ride home. Defending me.” Alice lets go of her arm but Penelope’s skin burns where her hand was. “To Hermione and your other cheerleader pals.”

“Oh, they are not my pals.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Trust me. They are just as nasty to me. They don’t consider me a friend.” She stretches her legs out straight, wiggling her toes through her stockings. “I don’t think I have any real friends.”

Alice touches her arm again, the burning sensation coming back. “It sucks not having friends.”

When she looks her way she realizes it’s not a barb, but Alice speaking about herself as well. Penelope looks to Alice’s soft hand on her skin and mutters, “We could be friends.”

Another sad smile. “Friends. Yeah, maybe.”

And another empty promise.

Their eyes meet. Alice juts her chin towards the cup. Penelope holds it out to Alice but the other girl just puckers her lips. She moves it slowly until it reaches Alice’s mouth and watches as she takes a slow sip, their gaze not breaking.

“It’s tasty, right?” she asks slowly when Penelope finally pulls the cup away.

She nods curtly and turns her head. She looks at the bookshelf, the clothes hanging from a rack in the corner, the fishnets balled up on the floor, the open pack of cigarettes on the desk. Anything to avoid looking back at Alice.

“Surprisingly so.” Penelope takes another sip, this time out of the straw laced with Alice’s lipstick. She licks it off her lips and hopes the other girl doesn’t notice. “I never - I don’t believe I’ve ever had tequila.”

Alice laughs. That loud, contagious, throw-your-head-back kind of laugh she was famous for. Penelope feels the mattress shake as Alice lays back down. A rush runs through her at the thought of Alice flat on her back. Her thoughts wander to laying on top of her, pinning her down, leaning over her, but she shakes it away.

Another sip from Alice’s straw and she puts the cup on the bedside table. She lays back so she’s next to Alice, both their socked feet hanging sideways off the bed.

She turns to look at her, to really look at the loud-mouth girl from the Southside of town. The one with the leather and the curls and chewing gum and the clothes that showed just the right amount of skin. The one who licked her lips ever so slowly to show off the tongue stud Penelope fantasized about when she was alone.

Alice stops laughing but the smile stays. She turns on her side to face her and Penelope follows suit.

“What are you thinking about?” Alice asks, her blue eyes dancing.

Penelope tucks a hand under her head. “I’m wondering why you invited me inside when you don’t like your own home.”

Alice shakes her head, a few pieces of hair falling in front of her face. “What are you really thinking about?” Her hand reaches out and she slowly pulls Penelope’s glasses off her face.

Maybe it’s her blurred vision or maybe it's the tequila ripe in her mouth, but she feels bold for the first time in her life. “I’m wondering what that tongue stud feels like.” She lets out her breath slowly. “What are you thinking about?”

The blonde girl leans in. “I’m wondering if you taste like cherries.”

Alice’s touch burns worse than the tequila. It sets her whole body on fire.

Their lips meet and Alice wastes no time pressing her tongue roughly into Penelope’s mouth. She flicks her own tongue against the small metal bar and, in a moment of daring, tugs at it with her teeth. Alice gasps into her mouth and Penelope uses the moment of surprise to climb on top of her. She pins Alice’s legs together with her own and runs her hands slowly up Alice’s arms until she pins her wrists right above her head.

She breaks their kiss to gauge Alice’s reaction. She struggles her wrists a bit, but smiles up at her.

“Losing your nerve?” The tease is back in Alice’s voice. Penelope presses their mouths back together before she can get another word out.

Their undressing is sloppy, their coordination off, but they laugh their way through it. Alice lets Penelope take charge even though she’s the clueless one. Neither talks until Penelope is crawling up Alice’s body. Alice’s hand comes out to stop her as Penelope is perched above her chest.

“You’re full of surprises,” Alice mutters as she thumbs the delicate piercing in Penelope’s navel. She presses her lips to it and Penelope’s legs shake as she moves her belly against Alice’s mouth. “Relax,” Alice’s breath burns against her skin too, “we’ve hardly begun.” With that she links her arms behind Penelope’s thighs and draws her closer.

Alice’s tongue stud, she learns, feels even better in other places.

They lay with their faces inches apart afterwards, the melted cherry slushie leaving a ring on the sheets between them. Alice lights a cigarette and after two puffs, hands it to Penelope without asking if she wants it. Her mouth is already a mixture of cherry, tequila, and Alice - the nicotine only enhances it.

Penelope takes a puff as Alice strokes her cheek. She swallows the cough itching to come out. “Still think I should come over your place sometime?”

Her mouth opens and a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh escapes her. Alice takes the cigarette back before the ashes fall to her bedspread.

“No,” Penelope manages a smile she didn’t know possible, “I like it here actually.”

“Yeah.” Alice leans in and presses their noses together. “I like you here too.”

Alice’s kiss burns her in the best possible way.  

[jerroldgargett-blog]

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[gaycrouton]

The Spy Who Loves Her Boss

Hey! I absolutely loved “The Spy Who Dumped Me”, and being it was my two favorite actresses I HAD to write something. I think we all related to Morgan hardcore, and I just wanted to explore how she might feel coming in that Monday. Obviously it must’ve gone well since her an Audrey were shown working for them a year later, lol. Hope you enjoy!

Morgan wasn’t shy. Since she was a little girl, running around and entertaining people was the one thing that made her truly, unquestionably happy. She loved seeing smiles on people’s faces and she loved hearing an audience’s appreciation. It made her feel fulfilled. Sometimes her outgoing nature helped her land acting gigs, sometimes it embarrassed Audrey, and sometimes it made her hit on powerful women that intimidated the living shit out of her.

God, that woman.

Sure, she was a stereotypical young, gay woman who idolized attractive, older women. It was a stereotype for a reason after all, and that MI6 just proves it. She’s a living breathing renaissance painting. She carries herself with absolute power and femininity, as strong as she is beautiful. She’s what every woman dreams of being. Though, she didn’t know if she wanted to be her or be in her. Morgan couldn’t get her out of her mind, yet she didn’t even know her name.

So far, she’d only had two interactions with her and she’d call them both moderately successful. She wasn’t necessarily dismissed, so she’d call that a plus. Okay, she may have laid it on a teeny bit thick when they first met at the Intelligence Headquarters, but, again, who doesn’t love compliments? And there were just so many things to compliment, it took awhile for her to cover them all. Morgan was a trained actor, so she was pretty astute at picking up facial subtleties; Government Bey couldn’t keep that ghost of a smile hidden well enough when she was getting complimented.

Also, as she had reminded Audrey plenty of times since, a stone cold fox like that would not have willingly touched a person unless she wanted to. If she wasn’t at least amused at the bare minimum, there would have been no reason for MI6 to fully wrap her arm around her. Audrey insisted she had just been teasing her, but that didn’t dissuade Morgan.

She also trusted her enough to give her the honor of telling Sebastian he could come back to work. Of course, he still called her immediately after anyay, but still, the sentiment still stays.

She knew it was bold, going through with her insistence to show up on Monday. This was the British Military Intelligence after all, not a resistant acting gig, but god she wanted this. Not just working alongside a woman like her, but to live this type of high-pace life of excitement. Doing something for the greater good that made her feel alive. She was hung up on after asking what she liked in her coffee, but she’d gotten worse rejections in her life.

She spent the entire weekend nervously thinking about what would happen on Monday, and now the day was here. Sebastian, probably with the encouragement of Audrey, had agreed to let her accompany him to the office. She ran to the local Starbucks before he picked her up, spending ten minutes analyzing the menu, hypothesizing what the enchanting MI6 lady might possibly want. After agonizing deliberation, she settled on the safest option and got a plain iced coffee, which was now leaving little watermarks on her jeans from the condensation on the plastic.

“Do you think she’ll kick me out?” Morgan asked, breaking the silence. She honestly knew she would be, but she wanted to know what to expect. She was trying to formulate different possible responses to the situation, so she could hide her nervousness behind a mask of jovial understanding.

“I’m positive she’ll kick you out,” he laughed gently, not making fun of her but enjoying her insistence.

Morgan nodded in understanding before remembering something important, “Hey, what’s her name?”

Sebastian was silent for a disconcerting amount of time and she figured he wasn’t allowed to tell her, but his actual reasoning was even more ridiculous. “Umm, I’m not actually sure.”

Morgan’s jaw dropped open and she slapped the side of his arm, ignoring the way he winced and grabbed the still-recovering appendage. “Shut up! Is she like one of those bad ass boss characters in the movies? She just hides namelessly in the shadows until she needs to deal out orders and assign high-intensity missions?” This woman could not get any more badass.

“Ahh, no. I just-” he drew out his words in slight embarrassment, “-uh, can’t remember.”

Morgan turned fully in her seat to glare at him, “That woman granted you full access to know her name and you forgot!” she exclaimed, her voice raising with each word.

He let out a little chagrined laugh and tried to cover up his foolishness, “Well, we just call her ‘boss’.”

Sebastian was cool in her books, don’t get her wrong, but right now he was being such a stupid man. He clearly could recognize beauty, he fell for Audrey after all, but to ignore the enigma he worked so closely to was a brainless misstep for someone who worked in the Intelligence Department. “Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian. My handsome, but yet oh so misguided friend, I am disappointed in you.”

“Don’t forget I’m the only one getting you access to her,” he warned jokingly.

“Disappointment absolved,” she beamed immediately.

They spent the rest of the drive chit chatting and arguing about music trivia before arriving to the secret headquarters. She’d been so focused on what she’d say to her government crush that she hadn’t considered there might be an issue getting in. Apparently Sebastian had, and for that she was forever grateful. Through each security check point, he explained she was one of the American Girls that helped solve the issue with Duffer. Apparently, everyone there hated ‘Harvard Boy’ and not only let her in, but thanked her, much to her delight.

As they were walking down the hall to what she presumed was the boss lady’s office, Sebastian leaned down to her and whispered while walking, “Just so we’re on the same page. I don’t want to be put back on forced leave, so as far as I’m aware, she told you during your phone call that you needed to show up with me and I’m simply trusting you.”

“She did tell me to show up with you today,” she admonished, already acting the part.

“No she didn-oh, I see. You’re good at that,” he grinned.

“They didn’t hire me in that Blockbuster ad for nothing.”

“It’s too bad Progresso won’t be graced with your talent,” a husky feminine voice quipped from right behind them.

Both she and Sebastian stopped in their tracks and turned around simultaneously, seeing the statuesque blonde standing just a foot behind them. She even had heels on and they hadn’t heard her. It was equal parts terrifying and arousing. It took Morgan a second to register, but a smile broke out on her face when she realized the G-woman remembered her prior engagement. “I’m touched you remembered!” she exclaimed in excitement.

“Yes. I spent all weekend thinking about it,” she deadpanned.

“Really?”

“No.” She sighed as Morgan’s enthusiasm wasn’t dampened and turned to Sebastian. “So I take it you’re responsible for her being here?”

“She told me-” Sebastian started, but was cut off by Morgan. If this was going to be the last opportunity she had to have a conversation with this woman, she was going to monopolize on it.

“Yes, I convinced him you told me to bring me during our phone call. Are you impressed I was able to pull the wool over one of your own?” she boasted proudly, ignoring the slight nudge Sebastian gave her.

The woman regarded her for a moment before teasing, “Yes, blown away.” Morgan smiled as Sebastian watched in nervous anticipation of reprimandation. “My office, both of you.” Words that inspired optimism in Morgan brought dread in Sebastian as they walked through the door at the end of the hall.

Her office was exactly as she would have expected. It was sleek, classy, and elegant. It looked pristine and stylish and she was still staring in awe as the other two took a seat. “Morgan,” the sultry voice called out. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the sound of her name coming from the woman in that beautiful british accent that haunted her daydreams.

“Hmm?” she hummed while examining a potted plant to see if it was real or not.

“Sit down.” Morgan did as told and sat in the seat directly across from her.

Before she had a chance to start reprimanding them, Morgan perked up in her seat. “Hi, sorry. I just wanted a chance to have formal introductions. I haven’t gotten a chance to meet you. I’m-”

“Morgan Freeman. Thirty four years old, born January of 1984. You went to University for Theatre and you’ve gotten sporadic acting jobs ever since. You recently took it upon yourself to transport a piece of highly confidential government property with your long term friend Audrey Stockton. Now you’ve shown up hoping for a job.” MI6 finished.

Morgan sat there, jaw agape in pure shock. She knew so much about her. Off the top of her head nonetheless. It was like she could hear her thoughts because she added, “I’m the head of the Intelligence Bureau. I have access to everything you’ve ever done.”

“You missed two important facts though,” Morgan lilted, receiving a cocked eyebrow. “I also brought you this today,” passing the iced coffee to her over the desk, pleased when she took it from her with a millimeter smile. “And I am beyond flattered by your impeccable memory.”

She was met with a slightly amused stare as the woman took a sip of her coffee. She set the cup on her desk and reached over, extending her hand out for Morgan who accepted it hasilty. “Wendy Davis, head of the Security Intelligence Service. Appreciative of your coffee.”

“Shut up! Wendy Davis-”

“Not that Wendy Davis,” Wendy sighed, still indulging Morgan in the world’s longest handshake.

“I know, but Morgan Freeman, Wendy Davis, what a match in incidental-celebrity-names heaven our we, Wendy!” she exclaimed. Wendy let out a breath of amusement as she disentangled herself from Morgan’s hand.

“Hi, Sebastian Henshaw, an actual employee here, awaiting acknowledgement of his existence,” Sebastian declared, interrupting the serenity of the moment Morgan was creating.

“I apologize, Henshaw,” she sighed, taking another drink of her coffee before spinning around and grabbing a file out of her desk.

“No problem, Wendy,” he beamed.

“Nope, you call me Boss and Boss only,” she reprimanded without looking up from the file.

“Yes, Boss,” he apologized, ignoring the taunting smile Morgan was sending his way.

“So. As long as you’re feeling healed enough, I have an assignment in China that needs to be dealt with. Apparently there’s been a breach in security systems and information is being mishandled by the Chinese mafia. It most likely will be a longer assignment, possibly taking even a year,” she explained.

“Excuse me,” Morgan spoke up, a bit thrown she wasn’t walking home right now. Wendy’s piercing blue eyes shot up over the file as she looked expectantly at Morgan. “May I lend my services on this mission?” she asked.

“You’re sitting in the briefing, are you not?” Wendy said as if it was obvious.

Sebastian and Morgan looked at each other before looking back at her and exclaiming, “Wait, what?”in perfect unison.

“Well, you seemed to display at least a moderate amount of competency and skill during this recent escapade. I chose a mission of a similar calibre and I figured if you come back alive, we can see about keeping you on for good. Perhaps you find it’s not as much fun as you believe it to be, or maybe your living on this last mission was a fluke or luck. We’ll see,” she explained.

Morgan felt like she was floating. This morning she woke up thinking the highlight of her day would be seeing this beautiful woman, now it was seeing this beautiful woman and getting to continue her dream job. “Oh my gosh. Thank you so much,” she exclaimed standing up. She pressed her index and middle finger to her forehead in a salute and continued her gratitudes, “I promise I will do my best work and I will absolutely do everything in my power to make you proud.” She let her fingers fly away from her in a full salute as Wendy clenched her jaw to avoid smiling.

“Are you sure about this?” Sebastian asked while sitting down.

“I see potential,” she said politely, giving Morgan an appreciative glance before putting on the mask of strict professionalism. “However, we will need to do some official paperwork and procedures before you can go out into the field as an official, interim, agent.”

“Of course,” Morgan replied, trying to mimic the severity and conviction of the woman across from her.

“Oh, and I would like you to ask Audrey if she would also join. I have a feeling that she equals out your eccentricities. You seem to be a good team.”

“Oh, you’re the best. Your wish is my command,” Morgan gushed, poorly concealing her excitement.

Officially one of the best days of her life.

Hope you enjoyed! It was a fun challenge writing this! -Nicole (Twitter/Tumblr: gaycrouton)

[thelifetimechannel]

====>

[collaborativedocumenteditingsoft]

Confluence Collaborative Editing Video

Going to IBC? Visit us at Hall 3 A.28 and see how Strawberry Skies will dramatically improve how media productions create and share media content! https://t.co/utOdCiSYAw pic.twitter.com/7x8FhVZ9GL

— Projective Technology (@ProjectiveTech) September 5, 2019

Beverly Boy Productions

The end-user has a full version of Media Composer and connects over a VPN back to the facility. The user checks out a project from the server, which is linked to media on Avid NEXIS shared storage back at the facility. When the local version of Media https://www.toodledo.com Composer attempts to access media, the local software retrieves that media from the server at the facility and streams a low res version in real-time to your local machine. Avid Media Composer HyperBins enables collaboration between editors using shared bins and projects.

See what Revu can do for your project team

What is the final stage for picture editing in the post production workflow process?

The Field Producer is a coordinator for a story while the crew is in the field. This person generally oversees the production of a story, working with a reporter and photographer to set up interviews, gather video and collect information. The Field Producer is also the liaison between the crew and the newsroom.

Online collaboration brings the media assets to the team members rather than the other way around, thereby avoiding them having to join physically. A proper video collaboration environment like Limecraft Flow avoids excessive file transfers and redundant copies of material being kept, sometimes literally, all over the place. On the receiving end, depending on the permissions granted, the editor or sound engineer can download a copy of the material (proxy, high-resolution and or watermarked).

What are the 8 elements of film?

Post-Production is the stage after production when the filming is wrapped and the editing of the visual and audio materials begins. Post-Production refers to all of the tasks associated with cutting raw footage, assembling that footage, adding music, dubbing, sound effects, just to name a few.

Start doing a rough cut and put all your selected clips in the timeline ; try not to digress from your script at this time. If you are unable to decide the shots put all angles right now in the time line. 5.Create Bins in the project fileStart ingesting footage into the project and appropriate bins and label footage. Do not use import function in Premiere use the media browser function on the project panel.

Re: Post Production Workflow - Newbie - what's the general steps 8 years, 8 months ago #14406

I’m not going to pretend writing a real-time collaborative text editor is an easy project.

In a corporate environment, it could be several different videos cut from a single, larger set of media.

Collaborative editing software tools like Firepad and Textflow as well as services like Google Docs facilitate collaborativelyediting individual computer files by multiple users.

Now after years of editing I have come up with my workflow and I insist my students to follow the same process. I always work from an external hard-drive.I keep separate folders for each client.

M2Film

What is video production workflow?

Introduction to the Video Production Workflow is an activity-based syllabus that teaches project management, design, and technical skills for video production using Adobe tools. Each activity contains a small task within so students are learning and refining their skills as they complete each task.

If you are using a highly-compressed codec, if you are using a high-bitrate codec, or if you are recording in a log format, then an offline edit will probably allow you to work faster, on cheaper hardware. The good news is that most editing software today can switch between the camera files and the proxy files in just a couple clicks, so you can even go back and forth if you need to. We mentioned briefly above that the files that come directly out of the camera aren’t well suited to editing, so it’s very common to convert those files into a more edit-friendly codec before the editing process starts. This process of working off of a separate set of files is called an offline edit, and the files generated specifically for the offline edit are called proxy files (or proxies).

How does post production work?

Yes, technically the actors kiss. And yes, some actors really do have real chemistry and end up dating each other. Generally actors kissing is like pressing your lips to the other person and closing your eyes, ACTING like you're in passionate embrace.

mediaCARD Densu D

There are no magic presets, and just because one approach worked for one film, it might not work at all for another film — even one of the same genre. Editors must use their creativity to execute the vision of the director and honor the sonic aesthetic that the team has developed together. So here is Parnell’s overarching advice geared toward helping the aspiring sound supervisor and re-recording mixer navigate their way through the post-production sound process.

Streamlining your workflow with metadata

What happens during picture lock is the preparation for finishing. It’s also an opportune time to move clips into dedicated tracks for various finishing processes, if this is part of your workflow.

[gwepisode50]

GW Short Fanfiction: Future snapshot of Heero and Relena

This was, in part, inspired by @graydama‘s post about her OC Helena. Got me thinking about what responsibilities any children by Relena may inherit.

The days had been getting longer and the weather so much warmer. Sitting upstairs in the nursery, behind closed glass doors and shielded from any heat by the central air, Relena propped up her feet on the lush ottoman. She curled her toes, stretched them out and felt how she was finally experiencing the adverse side effects of pregnancy.

It was a swollen day, quite literally for her. Everything felt bloated; her feet, her hands, her legs, and yes of course her stomach. It was huge. Like huge. She had only three months left, and the baby was active. Their girl moved with Relena, matched her stamina, rested when she rested, like they were in perfect harmony; or at least that’s what Wufei said when she mentioned it. Everyone was quite excited for the arrival of Relena Darlian’s daughter. The little princess of the Sank Kingdom.

Yes. Little princess indeed.

That morning, the much expected, much dreaded, letter finally arrived. Heero would like it as much as he liked public parties. This conversation was going to be rough, cyclical, and drawn out. But no matter, her dear, loyal, watchful subjects of Sank already put it in motion.

Holding the letter in hand, she read it again, passed her fingers over the delicate watermark and the ridiculous flourish of the hand that wrote it. Sigh. A commotion floated up from downstairs as security saluted and went at ease and gave updates to the current situation.

Nothing to report, sir.

Thank god. That would have involved at least twenty minutes of Heero’s time. But all was well and the security, except for the exterior night crew, went home. Alone together at last. 

She heard Heero coming up the stairs and dropping his bag in the master bedroom before coming to the nursery. The carpet masked the soud of his slippers, but she saw him anyway. (Everyone insisted that they started wearing slippers in the house. Did they know what germs they tracked in on their shoes?!). 

“How was the office?” She said with a gay little smile and as much sarcastic cute as she could fit in her voice. He only grunted as he sat on the ottoman, but she relaxed and smiled. “Honestly, Heero, half days for parental leave isn’t that bad. Imagine if Une made you take off the entire day everyday!” 

He knew she was teasing, that earned her a glare anyway. 

“You’ll need to take a few weeks off once she’s here. It’ll be a madhouse, or at least that’s what all the baby blogs and magazines say.” 

He started to massage her calves. She groaned in satisfaction and held a thumb up. He grinned. 

“Poo doesn’t bother me,” he said. 

“What doesn’t bother you?” She said with a laugh. 

“Poo.” 

“What?” 

“Poo. Poop. Doo doo.” And with that he squeezed just a little tighter. She gasped and tried to swat him, but of course her belly was too big to get around. 

“I’ll make sure you do all the diapers,” she said with a pout. 

He shrugged. “No problem. Girls don’t have the mechanism to projectile shoot their waste.” 

She shrugged. He would see for himself. 

“What’s that?” He said, pointing his chin at the letter. 

She turned the paper over in her hand. “Oh, this. It’s…it’s from Lord Jespen, about the baby.” 

Heero was silent, but the massaging stopped. 

“They want to reinstate the monarchy, as a figurehead of course.”

“But still a monarchy,” he said. His voice had taken a dark and serious tone.

“See for yourself,” she said and handed him the letter.

His eyes grazed over the words, darting back and forth in that quick way he read. The frown on his face went deeper as he continued. There it was, the ‘hn’. Definitely displeased.

“They want to declare her ‘heir apparent’. From birth she’ll be titled as ‘‘princess’ and hold all the privileges of that station’. She’ll be crowned as queen when she is of ‘legal age’.” He read on in silence, but grunted again. “It’s a ‘‘valuable’ boon to the restoration of our dear country’s identity and sovereignty.’ An unborn child is an asset. Property.” It all came out matter of fact, but Relena didn’t miss his sarcasm.

“An unfortunate choice of words,” she said.

“Or portentous. Prophetic.”

“Heero, please.” Her voice was quiet, but just enough exasperation seeped out. She didn’t need his stern attitude tonight. 

He turned towards her, staring, and the barely noticeable astonishment rolled off his tongue as he spoke. “You want to say yes.”

She paused, look up towards the ceiling. “I want to hear more.”

He continued staring.

She shifted her glance down. “And possibly negotiate.”

He closed his eyes and sighed the slightest sigh, but that was emphatic from him.

“Relena.”

“It would be a good investment,” she offered. He grunted.

“It’s a country that has barely recovered after the war. The Romefeller occupation was brutal and they nearly went bankrupt. With the World Nation, and states, what is she going to inherit?”

Relena scoffed, not every trying to hide it. She looked away and shook her head. He didn’t understand. No, he wouldn’t understand. This had been simmering for months, since she first told him she was pregnant. No, since long before that. Since they went public as a couple. Even before that. The princess and her head security agent. Scandalous. How could that ever work? Years on and the entire sphere still won’t let go of that question, of children and Sank. In every interview and debate, as the subject of chat shows and gossip rags; her womb was dragged through it all and now their daughter would be too. Of course Heero wanted to say no. He was only being protective. But...

“Please,” she said, turning back and holding up her hand. “The Sank Kingdom is doing just fine. You know that I still hold legal ownership and I would never let them fail. You know this.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, still so matter-of-damn-fact. “Ten years and they can’t get themselves right.”

Correction: she couldn’t get them right.

“Same with nearly every other state affected by the war,” she interrupted, but he continued on.

“And now they want a baby as their figurehead? There’s a lot of questions I’d have.”

“That’s why we need to speak with them.”

“What do they want from her? Is she going to live there? How much power will they give her? What will they make her do?”

“I don’t know!” she said, throwing the words out just to shut him up. “I don’t know! I just want to hear more.”

The sudden silence beat between them. She used to be so good with patience. Everything was coming to a head; the baby, the questions about how it would affect her work, the constant fussing about her from everyone, and now this.

But he didn’t say anything. He was waiting for her to continue and complete her thoughts and vocalise what she was really thinking. He was always so annoyingly efficient at coaxing things out of her.

“This is my family, Heero. My legacy.”

He was silent.

“I left them in the hands of Romefeller. I...” she started, though they had been through this line of thought before.

“It doesn’t mean you owe them your child.”

Looking down into her hands, she sighed, heavy, and let all the tension exit. Shame and regret were left.

“I know,” she said. “But handing over ownership, giving her something to hang onto, to fall back on; She should have options.” 

He took her hands, pulling her upright until their lips met. Soft, supportive.

“She’ll have all the options known to man. I don’t want her beholden to a gang of old white men.”

Relena had to smile at that. 

“I’ll start dinner,” he said as he stood and walked to the door. “They must be desperate if they’re willing to ignore her paternal lineage.” And he left the room.

Holding back another scoff, Relena released herself to the plush cushions of the armchair as she stared at the door, marvelling at what she just heard.

That was a very ‘Duo’ thing of him to say.

[twindoodle]

So, I’ve been dealing with this for the past week. I am unmercifully reporting all artwork I find that is not posted by me. I was made aware of someone who stole my Nathalie comic I did forever ago. I made the mistake of asking them to take it down instead of immediately reporting it. They responded that they would give me credit, so it didn’t matter. I insisted that they remove it, as they did not have my permission to upload it and if they wouldn’t remove it, I would report it. Their response? It was my fault for not watermarking it in the first place. Obviously, talking to them was a mistake. 

As you can see from the screenshots above, every time I have reported it and it has been taken down, they put it right back up. This time, without credit at all. I’m frustrated but I am stubborn and very very petty. I am going to keep reporting this person. 

I have never been involved in a fandom before. This is the first time I have actively shared anything on line. For the most part, the Miraculous Ladybug fandom has been supportive and sweet. I have so many wonderful followers who leave nice messages and are invested in me as an artist. I’ve never really had that before and it means so much to me.

However, I am not tolerating any reposts at all anymore. It is my fault for not watermarking my stuff. Until only recently, I just barely managed to remember to sign my artwork. Going forward, I’m sticking a watermark on it. It sucks that its necessary, and its not going to stop the reposts. Its only going to give me credit where people won’t. 

I created a usage page for people who wanted to use my art. I love dubs, I love amvs, and I love when people want to use them creatively for that. Most of the people asking to use my art won’t read it. And they won’t follow it. Going forward, its not allowed anywhere except where I allow. I’m tired of recieving private messages that basically say, “Hey! I love your art! Can I post it _____?” 

This person is still doing it. They won’t stop. And the mentality that my art isn’t my own because I didn’t stick my name all over it is ridiculous. Even more so that art is free to use just because it is online is disrespectful. One thing I did find hilarious was this: 

This is their profile on Wattpad (I went looking to make sure none of my art friend’s or any more of mine was stolen). I can’t understand how you feel so entitled to art that you ask that your words aren’t stolen yet reporting you is unacceptable. 

I will keep reporting my artwork. And I will keep producing artwork. And I be protective over my artwork.

To my followers that read through this: 

Those of you that follow me because you are invested in my art, Thank you. Your support and encouragement is so wonderful and important to me. Also, don’t harass this person. I will continue to report them and take care of it myself. 

To those of you that followed me to use my art and to repost it: Unfollow me and block me. I’m tired of being used for your popularity. I’m selfish and my art is for me. I didn’t draw it to bring you followers.

TLDR: Don’t repost my art. Don’t even ask.

[lenific]

OUAT - Emma Swan

@still-searching47 asked: First Meetings!Emma: Have you ever bluntly told anyone to piss off when they go on about Neal being wonderful, and Gold being a monster?             

AN OFFER SHE WON’T ACCEPT Part of First Meetings. (Ao3)

“That you, Swan?” said an unfamiliar male voice behind Emma.

In the last three months, Emma had learned not to be startled by the friendly overtures of near strangers. From the waitresses at Belle’s favorite diner, where Emma would come a couple times a week to have lunch and a moment to herself, to school teachers, to hopeful prospective babysitters (since it seemed that the Gold household was known for giving good tips), everyone had taken the chance to introduce themselves.

Emma guessed her mistake had been not to mark her personal space from the start, but as used as she’d been to being ignored, she hadn’t seen the warning signs until it was too late. Now people in Storybrooke had the unnerving habit of coming up to her as if she were one of them, and though their easy welcome into their midst was something her younger self would have adored, at eighteen she felt her cynical side take over and wonder whether such niceness was an attempt to have her carry a good word to her son’s grandfather.

Hell would freeze before Gold was treated with any likeness of friendship on the street, but Emma had been quick to notice that both she and Belle were often the objects of kindnesses that were quickly followed by a mention of hard times, death or illness in the family, and how stressful it was to keep up with rent.

How Gold and Belle dealt with it, Emma had no idea. One time or two she had overheard the two of them discuss whether a particular tenant deserved an extension, and since once Gold had looked put upon yet resigned and the next it was Belle who couldn’t win the argument, Emma supposed they relied on their years of acquaintanceship among Storybrooke’s inhabitants.

Since a few months gave her little idea of anyone’s true circumstances, Emma had taken to smile vaguely and stress that she wasn’t involved in Gold’s business.

“But who’s looking for your boy’s interests?” one of the more insistent guys had asked her, nodding at a sleeping Henry.

Emma had scowled. “His grandfather, of course.” Before she could get upset at yet another reference that Gold couldn’t be trusted - which would mean she was no reliable judge of character and thus a bad mother - she stood up and grabbed for Henry’s carrier. “Now, if you excuse me...”

“But---”

“Leroy!” the owner of the diner had cut in, glaring the shorter man down as she swiped a cup clean. “You leave that girl alone right now. Little Henry needs a nap, and the noise your mouth is making would disturb any body’s sleep.”

Emma had mouthed a thank you at Mrs. Lucas before leaving.

The woman and Gold could bicker on whether the sky was blue and the grass was green - though it seemed that the price for extra pickles had been settled long ago, as Gold was the only one who actually got charged for them and, to Emma’s surprise, he never complained about being singled out.

“I’d have bet he would hit the roof,” she had told Belle that night when they had returned home.

Belle had smiled. “She charged extra to needle him on our first official date after everyone found out about us. Believe me, everyone was staring and expecting Aaron to grow a set of claws and start growling. Instead he shrugged and told Granny no expense was too much as long as he was enjoying my company.” Belle’s eyes were bright at the memories of the happier times of their courtship. Emma had become aware that their relationship hadn’t been the easy road she had assumed after first meeting them, so she didn’t mind too much to discover that Henry’s reserved grandfather could be something of a sap. “At the end of the night, Ruby came up to us with a paper bag - a piece of lemon meringue pie - and told us Granny had sent it specifically for me.” Belle raised up the little bag Emma had noticed her picking up at the end of their stay in the diner, but hadn’t really paid attention to. “Since I prefer chocolate, but this is practically the only thing Aaron will order outside hamburgers, I like to think of it as a peace offering.”

Emma had raised an eyebrow. Didn't mention Granny's offer to let her rent a room for herself and Henry for practically nothing. “Or a continued request to keep him sweet?”

“Oh, Granny never ‘requests’ anything.” Belle had laughed. “It is an order. But I’m happy to obey it!”

Emma had laughed too, musing that old people had such weird ideas about friendship. But if Gold and Mrs. Lucas could have their little ritual and still glare and snipe at each other, it gave her hope that someday she would find good friends as well.

She could start by responding to a friendly greeting with something other than exasperation. “Hello,” she said, turning to her right and hoping she would recognize the man on sight. To her relief, she did. Ruby had practically squeezed her arm while pointing him out a few days before. “Mr. Jones,” she greeted him, reminding herself to smile and also hoping he’d take the hint to address her more formally.

The man gave her a wide, handsome smile, leaning on his elbow on the back of the booth across hers.

Late-twenties, laughing blue eyes, a delicious accent, and leather in all the right places. As an example of the male of the species, he had more than his share of advantages. One of Storybrooke’s best qualities was the abundance of handsome males. Even the shy psychiatrist Belle had introduced her to would have been appealing if not for the professional distance.

Jones’ more confident expression was quite charming, and Emma found herself smiling sincerely in exchange.

“No ‘mister’, love. Captain Jones, that’s me.” He made a little bow, which should have looked silly in a small town diner in Maine, but somehow he pulled it off smoothly. “The Jolly Roger might not come to port after assaulting the seven seas, but she’s a trusty old girl and I’m proud to captain her.”

Emma smothered a smile at that bit of silliness. He had sounded serious, and she really was in too good a mood to antagonize strangers. “Aye, aye, captain!” she said cheekily.

Jones let out a loud laugh. “You know what,” he said, amused and lifting his glass of lemonade toward her in a silent toast to her wit, “Bae’s girl gets to call me Killian.”

Emma felt her good mood vanish into thin air. “I’m not Baelfire’s anything,” she said coldly, lifting her chin. It had been a relief to find out that only a couple of people judged her for having become an unwed mother, but to her shock a good part of that goodwill came from the popular theory that their golden boy would have returned and done right by her if that rotten father of his hadn’t alienated ‘poor sweet Bae’ and forced him away.

Emma grit her teeth and thought that the only reason she sometimes wished to see Neal again was so the desperate look in Gold’s eye when the subject of his son came up would disappear.

“You aren’t?” Jones chuckled. “Then what about that little mite of yours? The work of the Holy Spirit, is it?”

Emma didn’t share in the joke. Instead she narrowed her eyes and glared until Jones gave an uncomfortable cough.

“Was just kidding, love,” he muttered, raising his hands palms up over his chest.. “Little Bae and I were pals for a little while. I've been out doing a bit of sailing the last couple of months, but I heard about you as soon as I made port. Thought I’d come up and see if you minded if I shared a few stories about him. The real Bae, I mean. Not the goody-two-shoes, straight-A, little hero everyone’s made him out to be.”

Emma pursed her lips. While the bitterness of months of loneliness demanded that she heard these stories and finally have something to counteract the recount of Neal’s good actions as told by Storybrooke, her gut instinct pressed her to ignore the offer.

A little disgruntled with herself and half-wishing her instinct was wrong more often so she could justify ignoring it, Emma shook her head. “Don’t bother, captain.“

“Killian,” he reminded her, smiling again. The smile lost a bit of brightness as Emma’s unimpressed gaze fixed on his, and finally shrugged. “Or not,” he said ruefully, letting out an exaggerated sigh of mourning. He recovered at once, though, planting yet another smile on his face. “Call me anything you wish, Swan,” he told her. Then he put down his glass and reached into a pocket, extracting a card. “Any time, anywhere. Understood?”

Surprised by the gesture, Emma took the offered card. It was plain cream, with his name and contact information in bold black letters, the only decoration an old world boat watermarked on the back. Jones was smiling, a cheerful smile that invited her to respond in kind.

Perhaps if he hadn't introduced himself as Neal's buddy, Emma would have been open to the friendship. It wasn't as if a teenage mother with a quick temper and little patience had her pick of friends in a small town where everyone her age had known each other since kindergarten. That Jones was a decade older would have raised red flags in the city, but here they were at the most popular diner and, more importantly, Mrs. Lucas hadn't rushed in to warn him off.

He had to be all right, then.

Pity that Emma had no interest in hearing about Neal's past.

"No offense," she told him with an apologetic shrug, "but I really couldn't care less about whatever your pal got up to when nobody was looking."

Jones chuckled, ignoring the card she was offering back.  Finished his lemonade and straightened without taking it. "Keep it, love," he said. "Just in case you... Well. There's always a place on my boat for someone running from the croc--- I mean, for someone who's seen Gold for what he is."

Emma reared back. "Excuse me?"

Jones laughed, already turning away. "You'll see," he threw over his shoulder.

Emma stared at him, fighting down the urge to grab him and set him straight. In the middle of the crowded lunch hour. Gold wouldn't appreciate being the subject of a public scene; and anyway Jones had detoured from the exit to greet the Nolans at their usual table.

Getting into an argument in front of the Sheriff didn't seem too clever, so Emma bit her tongue and stewed by herself while she sipped from her chocolate cup.

Her solitude didn't last for long.

"There you are, Miss Swan," said a different voice. Female. The curt tone immediately put Emma on edge. Where Jones had charm pouring out of his ears, this voice was authoritative and obviously regarded politeness as a necessary burden. "A moment?"

With a sigh, Emma turned around. Her eyebrows snapped up when she recognized the woman's outfit. Only the Sheriff's wife dressed as primly, and even Mrs. Nolan knew better than to stick to a single palette. Religious houses must buy their uniforms by the hundreds, she thought irreverently before composing herself.

The convent in the outskirts of town had been a hot topic when she had first arrived. Even the story of Storybrooke’s main landlord bringing under his roof the former girlfriend of his estranged son and their baby wasn't as scandalous as a nun leaving the convent to marry the town drunk.

According to the official version - meaning, from what Leroy's best buddies were happy to tell - he had come to town a few weeks after Sister Astrid took the veil and spent the next eight years in a downward spiral until he'd picked himself up, kicked off the bottle, and found a steady job. While several groused about the time the woman in question had taken to make her choice, Emma privately applauded that she'd waited until her prospective groom proved he was worth upsetting her whole life for.

Now she wondered whether she should give Astrid extra credit, if this was a face she'd confronted when she'd announced her decision.

"Yes, Sister?"

The woman's lips drew a perfect curve - Emma supposed that was a smile - and stepped forward confidently, obviously never considering that she was stepping in a stranger's personal space. Emma could have overlooked that. She already overlooked it every time Ruby Lucas took her arm to show her something or even hugged her without better reason than the moonlight was beautiful outside. This woman, however, made Emma lean back and glare before there was any actual contact.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" she asked, a little more loudly.

The nun's hands dropped into a demure position before her, as if she'd never meant to hold onto Emma's arm before even introducing herself. "No problem at all," she said sweetly. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Miss Swan. It's a very important matter."

Emma frowned. "O-kay," she said slowly, glancing at the other woman.

Her face pinched, and the nun gave an impatient huff. "In private, of course."

"Um. So you came looking for me in a crowded diner, when everyone in town knows my address, because you want to have a private conversation?"

"Hmph. There's no privacy in that house. Even if that man is out at work, his new bride will repeat everything to him, the silly girl."

Emma stared in disbelief. Only a fool would call Belle 'silly'. Distracted and annoyingly optimistic, sure, but that woman was smart as a whip. With a sinking heart, Emma realized that she must have attracted the attention of yet another person who had blinded themselves to the positive things about the Golds. "It's called communication," she said drily. "It's all the rage among healthy marriages. I would have thought you were in favor of that?"

The woman sniffed. "God allows mistakes so we can learn from them and become stronger in the unmaking of them," she said, her voice low but steady, as if she weren't wishing the end of one of the few truly happy couples Emma had run into.

Caught between her booth and the woman's body blocking her exit, escape involved pushing a nun aside. Emma set her jaw and pointedly took a long sip of her drink, looking straight ahead.

The nun sighed, moving to sit herself across Emma. "I mean you well, child," she said, eyes burning with righteousness.

Emma had met a couple of her type in prison. They belonged to every religion and denomination. The ones who were in the right and couldn't conceive otherwise. Armed with their sacred scriptures, from King James Bibles to vegan literature, they had been enlightened with the true meaning of life and were willing to drag everyone in their way along to their personal nirvana.

Arguments were useless.

It had been a woman like this whom Emma had approached when she'd decided to give her baby up for adoption, and it had been that same woman who'd complained long and loud when Gold had turned up and Emma had changed her mind.

If this nun dared to insinuate that Henry deserved better than a mother who would put his future above her own wishes, then Emma would not be responsible for the consequences.

"I knew Baelfire," the nun said instead. Emma blinked, and the other woman seemed to take it as curiosity. "He was in my Sunday school class since he was a little boy, and later he would come to me for advice," she explained. "Such a bright boy. He always listened and understood what I told him, and then would thank me for the help."

Emma shivered. Neal had never seemed the religious type; the closest they'd come to that stuff was a quick, giggly prayer over the Thanksgiving dinner they'd scrapped together from several stores without a single cent being involved. "I see," she said vaguely, then made to lift herself off the seat.

A hand closed around her wrist. "Wait," the nun said, and then added at Emma's stare, "please."

Still unwilling to provoke a scene, Emma sat again. "I need to get back home soon, Sister. What is it?"

"The fact is, Miss Swan, that I would feel at fault if I did not make clear that our doors are open for any people in need. It's not too late to put yourself and your son in good hands."

Emma felt her anger start to simmer. "Your hands, I guess?"

"My sisters and I would be overjoyed to welcome you. And you would find yourself free of the darkness and misery that surrounds the man who's currently aiding you."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "You're saying Gold is a bad man?" she asked in a whisper, needing to make sure she wasn't imagining this.

The nun nodded. "His wife left him. His son ran too." Her eyes dropped to the table in a gesture that should have reflected sadness and perhaps a little empathy, but Emma's senses fixed on the twinkle of glee the other woman couldn't quite hide. "I'm confident that with time Miss French will see reason as well."

"It's Mrs. Gold," Emma snapped. When the nun frowned, she said more loudly. "Belle hasn't been 'Miss French' in three years and, wow, no, you're wrong if you think she'll give up being Mrs. Gold any time soon."

The nun lifted her shoulders. "Be that as it may, it is you I worry about the most, Miss Swan."

"Well, don't," Emma told her harshly. "I'm doing good."

"But if you need a place..."

"I have a place!" Emma took a deep breath, waiting for the people who had turned at her protest would return to their own conversations. "Look, Sister," she said, dredging up all of her patience. She tried to remind herself that it was just another misguided townsperson trying to do her a favor, but somehow that excuse didn't fit this woman.

When Mrs. Lucas offered to rent her a room, the warnings had gone from earnest to casual deliveries after a few weeks. Now the older woman made pointed remarks about young people who needed their own space - and from Belle's blushes, it wasn't Emma to whom the comment was directed.

When Mary Margaret Nolan mentioned that there was a spare room in their house, and enough leftover furniture and clothes that their Leo had grown out of that there could be a second baby installed with minimum effort, she had taken a look at Emma's face, changed the subject without prompting, and never brought it up again.

Even Jones' offer hadn't seemed so forced. Emma wouldn't put her hands on the fire to vouch for the man's intentions, but he had seemed sincere in his desire to take care of an old friend's family while that friend was absent. Emma might have wished Jones would get the hint that she wanted no favors in Neal's name, but she hadn't felt so... targeted.

The woman before her, though, gave her a serious case of the creeps.

As ever, Emma responded to even the suggestion of fear with fire: "Look. I am perfectly happy where I am. My son is perfectly safe where I am. I don't need your charity, lady."

"It's Mother Superior," the nun corrected her.

Emma snorted. "Could be Hail Mary, ma'am. I'm still not listening to your crap."

A sharp gasp, followed by a condemning gaze.

Emma smothered a hoot of laughter. Seriously? How did a person still live in the 21st century and get upset at a little swearing? "Whatever," she said. "You get my point."

"Miss Swan," the nun said in a hurry, as Emma was already standing up. "I urge you to consider my offer. You might believe you're safe, but Mr. Gold brings nothing but suffering to those around him."

Emma remembered the last evening at home, playing chess with Belle while Gold pretended not to laugh every time they cheated and invented reasons to move their pieces to a more convenient spot. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she said, bending down so she didn't need to raise her voice. "So I suggest you take your advice and piss off."

"Miss Swan!"

"Oh, and lady? If your advice to Neal was that a son should run away without even letting his father know whether he's alive, then you better pray Gold never finds out." Emma smirked. "Pray hard, or the whole town will find out how long it takes to evict a convent."

The nun's expression hardened. "Well, I never!"

"Never pray?" Emma smiled at her look. "That would explain a lot, actually."

The nun stood, her back straight as a rod, mouth pursed into a thin, angry line. "I came to help you, Miss Swan."

Emma met her gaze without flinching. "But didn't you know, Sister?" she said, "The Lord helps those who help themselves."

With a noise of frustration, the woman finally left.

Emma breathed in relief. Then, from the corner of her eyes, she noticed Ruby closing in on her. "That's it," she decided, slipping between the other patrons in her way to the front door.

"Emma!" Ruby Lucas called out.

Emma only waved, then pointed at her bare wrist, to indicate that she was running out of time to get somewhere.

Ruby pouted. "See you tomorrow!" she yelled.

Emma nodded, adding a thumbs up for good measure. They weren't friends yet, but Emma had tentative hopes for the long term. She had no plans to leave Storybrooke, not even when she and Henry were finally in a position to have their own place. Not now that she finally felt like part of it.

Like she belonged.

Small towns might not be perfect, Emma thought. But there were great parts to living in one as well.

The End 02/03/17

[prairiechzhead]

Venting Because I Need To

I’ve decided that Tumblr is my safe space. I know, I know, some people who will see this will laugh at me and point and make some remark about now naive I am. After all, this is the Internet.  Except Tumblr kind of reminds me of blogging as it used to be about 15 years ago, before niches and monetizing and all that. 

I’m thinking that I may need a FB break again. I have a Twitter and I haven’t been on it in over two weeks. I don’t miss it.  Bottom line, it’s people I need to get away from. Maybe it’s because I’m in raging bitch PMS mode with hot flashes thrown in, but right now, people suck and are stupid and I have reached the upper limits of my tolerance for stupidity and other people’s whining and butthurt and lack of understanding on the concept of tact.

Warning: I’m About to Vent About Facebook. 

Names of people and specific groups are omitted. If anyone or any group resembles one you know or belong to, it is NOT a coincidence. It is probably who you are thinking of. 

First, there is the behavior of grown-ass adults in some of the Aidan Turner FB groups. Bullying by grown-ass women to other grown women over an actor that none of them will ever meet in person. I’m pretty sure if he saw their behavior, he’d be disgusted by it. 

One recent example goes like this. Basically, a bunch of women decided it would be okay to bully a woman who doesn’t speak English as her first language because she had some trouble expressing what she wanted to say in English. Even after she explained that English wasn’t her first language and then went on to clarify what she meant, but a few of them just kept on. One of them even insisted that the non-English speaker try to accommodate HER (the chief bully in this situation). Give me a fucking break, lady. YOU try learning a second language and go into a group of native speakers and lets see how well YOU do at trying to speak fluently and with clarity.  Then there is one particular person, who shall remain anonymous here, but she is such a self-important bitch, I can’t fucking stand her. She deliberately stirs up trouble and then when the admin has enough of her bullshit, she goes into other groups to whine about how thin-skinned people are and that everyone else is wrong and she is right. 

No, honey. You’re a troll. Try to get over yourself long enough to realize that the common denominator in all of this is YOU. 

This person is also arrogant enough to be pissed off when the owners of stock photography sites contact her and threaten her with legal action because she removes THEIR watermark without paying for the picture. 

Also, hon, you can take someone else’s image and put your own watermark on it and claim it as yours, but it’s not yours. 

Then there’s how much of a control freak she is. If you don’t answer her post the way she wants you to, she will delete it and repost it. And delete it and repost. And delete it and repost it. 

I have a list of things that annoy me about some of the groups in general. 

1. The Prudes

In general, prudishness doesn’t bother me unless the prude in question tries to impose their prudishness on the rest of us. What bothers me is when The Prude joins a group that says in the description it’s “18+ because we get raunchy”, and then post a flounce post about how offended they are at the raunchiness and how they’re disappointed and that Aidan wouldn’t approve or something like that (I doubt he would care) and that they’re leaving. 

Don’t let the door hit you in your uptight ass on the way out. 

2. The Anti-Smoking Zealots

I’m not going to argue about the health effects of smoking. For the record, I am an ex-smoker. My psychology background affords me an understanding of the mechanics of addiction and the brain. (I won’t bore you with that because it’s long.) 

It’s not so much that they express concern or an opinion on the fact that Aidan smokes or that he has been photographed with a cigarette. It’s the sanctimonious bullshit that people say that really annoys me. I heard the same sanctimonious bullshit when I smoked and all it did was annoy me. It didn’t push me to quit. Some of the sanctimonious bullshit veers into personal insults towards Aidan himself. 

But wait! There’s more!

And if you tell these harpies to get off their high horses (and when they do, they’d better remember to tuck and roll), they play the “I”m allowed to have opinions” card. 

You are allowed to have opinions. It’s not what you say. It’s HOW you say it. You can express your dislike of smoking without being a twat. And there is nothing written in stone that says you’re required to express your opinion out loud, especially when you do so in a way that makes you look like the world’s biggest twat, ESPECIALLY when you begin personally insulting an actor whom you profess to love. 

We get it. You think smoking is bad. There’s no need for you to be insulting or a sanctimonious twat about it. 

3. His Love Life.

When I was 13-14 years old, I had a mad crush on John Taylor of Duran Duran. At that age, I didn’t want to see or hear about or even know that he had a girlfriend. And if any of the teen rags I read back then published a picture of him and whomever he was dating at the time, I absolutely HATED the poor woman. 

I was 14 then. My brain was not done developing. I was going through changes and emotions that I didn’t yet understand. I was in the throes of puberty. I was just learning about the havoc that hormones will wreak upon me, my moods, and pretty much everything else. 

But when you’re in your 40s or 50s? Or even your 60s? Sorry, but being jealous over a GF is immature. And petty. And doesn’t reflect very well on you. 

Maybe you have this overwhelming urge to mother Aidan, but you are NOT his mother. His love life is none of your business. Bashing whomever he chooses to see or date and if this relationship is serious or not is none of your business. 

I think this one irritates me moreso because I have an adult son and I NEVER trashed who he was dating. It was his business. I’ve also been the woman in the relationship where the man’s mother can’t keep her nose out of our business. 

There is a subsection of this group who think it’s not normal for a man to be 33 years old and not married yet. Maybe that was normal when you were 33, but times have changed. 

5. The Insecure Fans

These are the people who constantly spam some groups with their damned clickbait polls. I’m not talking about legit polls like from the Radio Times. 

The people who keep spamming us with this crap are so insecure as fans. One person even resorted to emotional blackmail to get people to vote for Aidan in some poll that I, because I live in the US, probably can’t vote in anyway. Hon, the BBC isn’t going to base their decision to commission a 4 season of Poldark because I didn’t vote in some poll. Seriously, this is what this person did. Oh, please. Give me a break. 

This same person, by the way, was one of the chief instigators of the bullying incident involving a non-native English speaker. 

Coincidentally, this same person also was the instigator in bullying a person because that person was not sufficiently outraged that Aidan was not nominated for some award I never heard of “because a real fan would be upset”. 

No, sister. You don’t get to dictate what “real fans” would do. A “real fan” certainly wouldn’t bully people who aren’t outraged enough to your liking NOR would they start trashing his costar, who was nominated, BECAUSE she was nominated and Aidan wasn’t. 

There are other things that annoy me, but it’s not a big enough thing for me to give it a number and a bolded name. The lack of imagination some people display in the “what would you like to see him do next” posts makes me want to throttle some imagination into their sorry heads. If I hear “Bond” or “Heathcliff” or “Period Drama” one more time...

And finally...

If there is one thing I learned this week is that , should I ever meet Aidan Turner and I come away from the encounter with a picture of the two of us on my cell phone, I’m not going to share it on Instagram. Or if I do, I’m going to lock my damned account before I do. 

Well, this took longer than I intended. I guess I had a lot to get off my chest. 

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 20

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Twenty Work. Work. Fashion Baby.

When Agnetha heard they were going to Jorvik City (they told her as they rushed through chores. They wouldn’t have time for weeding and were dropping of chipmunks on the way to Fort Pinta’s bus station) she insisted that they were going to bring back some flowers for the main gardens. She had them on order and they could get whatever was there. It was past time they started on the first terrace rose garden. That apparently was simply an extension of the front yard rose gardens.

“Yes, Agnetha!” They said in unison as they mounted their horses and trotted off towards Fort Pinta in their Silverglade Clan Riding outfits.

Anastasia met them at the mall and counted noses. “And that’s thirteen, excellent. Lily, be a dear, and recruit us 7 more girls from around the mall.”

Lily blinked. “Seven?”

“Seven,” Anastasia confirmed. “Off with you.” She herded the other girls up the escalator to the second floor show room where they held fashion shows every spring and fall.

Confused, Lily ran around the mall and found 7 other girls who would be delighted to help out Anastasia Silverglade because that meant being on Jorvikgram and other social media.

They were let in by the fashion police. Commander Lacroix nodded at Lily.

What were they doing here?

In the back, the stylist from The Shield Maiden was staring at Linn, Tyra, and Pauline. “All right girls, I understand it’s easy, but this has got to end. Sit.” She gestured at the stools in front of the mirrors.

The three girls sat.

“I swear, you’d be triplets except one of you is blonde.”

Tyra and Linn had the grace to flush.

The stylist pulled out their pigtails to see how much hair she had to work with. She decided to leave Linn’s hair color alone and decided that Tyra’s hair was all wrong for her skin color.

Tyra shut her eyes and squeezed them shut as the stylist put up her hair into the aluminum foil wrappers, pasting it with dye before shutting them. As Tyra’s hair set, the stylist washed her hands and went around to every girl doing their hair into various styles that were elegant and some were downright vintage.

Her assistant was running around doing makeup in everything from classic fifties, to modern in purple, to goth evening raspberry.

Franceszka Ironsaddle was running around assigning each of the girls outfits based on their hairstyle and checking for dangling strings, missing buttons, or dropped hems. (She did ask the girls to help her.) There was shoes, jewelry, gloves and everything they would need to have a complete look, all in the shades of winery purple with white and black.

When the dye was done in Tyra’s hair, it was a vibrant orange red and wavy. Tyra flushed and admitted she used product to tame the waves. The stylist gave her a stern look. “No more.”

Everyone reassured her that she looked fabulous.

Francezka clapped her hands as they were getting finishing touches (a touch of blush or bronzer here, a bit of powder there, checking shoe laces and snaps.) “Ladies. Ladies. You are snowflakes. Take deep breath, pull your shoulders back and exhale leaving shoulders alone. No droopy puddles!”

She arranged them in the order she wanted them to go.

The music started. Lights turned on.

The first girl went.

Lily was a bundle of nerves by the time her time came. It was really hard to see with all the flashing lights, but she didn’t think that the event was very full. In fact, she thought there might be only a handful of people.

She turned at the end and walked back.

Francezka had them all walk out and stand on the catwalk once they were finished.

The lights went down.

The Silverglades were the only audience; Anastasia, her mother, Aaron, and the family butler, Godfrey. Antonia and Agnetha sat there too.

Anastasia turned to her mother. “Well, mother, what do you think?” She asked, voice very tight.

Lily wanted to gape. Was Anastasia actually nervous?

Annabella Silverglade got up and went around the back of the catwalk to use the stairs as if she owned the place. (Maybe she did.) The Fashion Police opened doors for her and helped her up. She walked down the catwalk examining the outfits in detail. Her face a mask of suppressed emotions.

There seemed to be an outfit for every occasion, different riding events, gardening, more elegant clothes for well, Lily wasn’t sure what, casual clothes for taking care of the stables, dresses and skirts for parties. The theme of course was the Silverglade Clan and their emblem and roses.

Annabella got to the end. “You designed these Francezka?”

“Yes, Baroness,” Francezka sounded like she was about to faint. (Francezka was one of the Baroness’ biggest fans even if she preferred black and the Baroness preferred white.) “I was very flattered that Anastasia asked me over Madame Asp.”

Anastasia waved a hand. “Our families have been friends for decades. I knew you would understand the gravitas and elegance required to outfit those who live and work at the Silverglade Manor.”

(What Anastasia wasn’t saying was that she was farming out outfits to every designer on Jorvik for the different clubs. Madame Asp was currently far too busy designing clothes for the Jorvik Stables Singing Swans to be able to commit to the Silver Drakes. She had the designers of Jollister working on things for the Firgrove Timber Wolves and Valedale Running Bulls. One thing Anastasia could do was delegate.)

The Baroness went down the line for another sweep. The girls looked ahead and kept their eyes focused on the far wall. Even those they recruited knew not to mess with Baroness Annabella!

Annabella stopped in front of Francezka. “I’m impressed,” she said simply. “Make sure that my girls are all outfitted properly with every outfit here.” She waved a hand. “And I believe there is a building you may stock to make a shop for tourists who desire a taste of Silverglade elegance.”

Anastasia looked like she was about to faint with relief.

It was beneath Francezka’s image to look giddy, but she definitely felt giddy. “Thank you, Baroness. I’ll see that it’s done,” she breathed.

“I believe I’ve seen enough,” the Baroness said and disappeared backstage. “Anastasia, we should adjourn for the lunch you promised me.”

“Of course, mother,” Anastasia said.

The Baroness smiled at her.

They left not talking to each other but for once Anastasia radiated real happiness.

“Wow,” Lily said.

“Selfies!” Theresa shouted.

They gathered around and took pictures together and with the Fashion Police giving obvious signs of approval. They took pictures with Francezka and the Shield Maiden stylist. They giggled a lot as they sent them to Linda to put up on JorvikGram. Linda texted that she was going to spread them out as sneak peeks, and they all looked incredibly stylish.

They changed back into their regular clothes and stopped by Iris before leaving.

The other passengers gave them odd looks with all the roses that they were cradling in their laps and by their feet on the way back to Fort Pinta. But no one expressly said anything, especially after they opened the windows.

“The gardener is a slave driver,” Elsa said in a dry tone to the bus driver.

He grinned.

They collected their horses and returned to the Manor chattering to each other about being part of a fashion show and Tyra’s new hair and whether or not the make-up and hair was going to show up at Style in Silverglade Village.

Of course, Agnetha made them plant the roses before they were done for the day. And they showed her a picture of the outfit they thought she’d look the best in and would be suitable for garden work. Somehow she’d returned the manor before they did. The perils of public transportation. (She had more roses for them to plant, so she must have taken the truck and formed a convoy with Antonia’s scooter and Godfrey in the family car.)

Agnetha grunted over it but didn’t seem displeased. (She agreed and was still flummoxed on how Anastasia had convinced her to attend a fashion show away from her beloved gardens.)

Now all they had to do was wait for the boxes with the clothes to arrive!

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[vitalmindandbody]

If not my surname or my husband’s, could we call our child after a New Zealand volcano?

Franki Cookney and her husband didnt much like each others surnames, so now theyre having a baby theyve are determined to pick a new one

When my husband, Rob, and I wedded last year, the question of what to do about our surnames barely entered our debates. We are both novelists, so our epithets are on every piece of work we do. That we would retain our own seemed a rendered. There was just one niggling skepticism. What would happen if “were having” children?

I had always thought that we would just put both our calls on birth certificates certification, but I knew this didnt quite resolve the problem. Whose refer would go first? And which reputation would end up being used?

We could use a double-barrel figure, but didnt experience our surnames, Cookney and Davies, gave themselves to hyphenation. Whichever prescribe you choose, the result is clunky and we were reluctant to saddle a child with it.

We could have just choice whichever call resounded best with our newborn first name. But in that scenario, one parent culminates up not sharing a surname with their child and neither of us wanted that. Plus, Id discovered too many tales of parents being agreed upon at airfield defence because the reputations on their passports didnt competition that of their children.

The conventional option of taking my husbands surname was never on the table. Fairly apart from the feminist principle of not wanting to abdicate my identity for his, I wasnt keen on the name. Rob supported this and was by no means offended. The disturbance was, he wasnt a fan of my mention either. Its just a little bit ponderous, he said. Its almost Cockney but not quite. Youre constantly having to spell it out. We looked at our mothers maiden calls and our grandparents names but always objective up back in the same lieu, feeling that it wasnt equal, that picking one area of their own families over another wasnt fair.

We hit on the idea of taking a new epithet about a year ago when before our wed we went to write our wills. As we chitchatted to one of the attorneys, it transpired that he and his wife had done exactly this. Theres a fair fleck of admin, but its good, it drives, he said , nod decisively. Suddenly, it didnt seem so outlandish. This wasnt some childish rebellion or bohemian pretentiousness, this was something solicitors did!

We mooted it with acquaintances, who were largely unfazed. What name will you go for? was the thing they were most curious about. Good inquiry. Could we compound the messages of our mentions and create something new, we wondered. Lists were acquired: Dents, Cave, Devine, Kinsey, Dacovnicks Cookies? None of them quite hit the mark.

As our bridal outlined nearer, we set the mention competition on a back burner. But when I became pregnant three months later, we were forced to look at the situation afresh and decided to change tack. How about a plaza? I proposed. Somewhere weve inspected that we adored. A backpacking stint before we got married had left us with plenty to choose from but most sounded jolly ludicrous when attributed to a couple of ordinary Brits. Rob and Franki Tongariro owned any particular vigor, but appointing yourself after a New Zealand volcano would be ridiculous. And Zhangjiajie might invoke storages of dazzling Chinese mountains, but imagine having to incantation it every time you booked a hair appointment or called your internet provider. For a while Salento and Chaltn were on the register, after places available in Colombia and Argentina. But we werent convinced we could pull off the certainly Latino-sounding former and believed the latter would result in a lifetime of chastising people who declared it Charlton.

Then Rob said, What about Stone Town? The beautiful old town of Zanzibar City is where he had asked me to marry him. It instant appeared right. Stone was straightforward but important. It voiced good with both our given name and after a few weeks of trying it on with other epithets would work well with almost anything we chose for our child. It was perfect: a solid mention( with possibilities for puns that was not failed on us) that felt like a constructive solution to our trouble. We would prevent our original surnames for study and adopt this new last name for our personal lives.

By law, all you need to do to change your reputation is, well, remained unchanged. Simply adopting and using your brand-new name is enough. Modernizing your accounts and enters, nonetheless, requires a document of proof such as a wedding certificate or, in such cases, a deed poll. “Were not receiving” official way of acquiring a deed referendum. You can write one yourself applying free templates from the internet, but paucity of clarity about the relevant procedures answers in some institutions demanding an original certificate despite the fact that no such event subsists. You can either fight it out or you can do what we did and pay 15 -2 0 for a company such as the Deed Poll Office to draw up the note on your behalf and reproduce and stomp it on watermarked paper. Returned the listing of bodies and organisations you have to notify and the potential contentions over what constitutes an original certification, this seemed a reasonable compromise.

Perhaps it was naive, but we didnt expect to meet with fight. Uncertainty, perhaps. Intrigue, for sure. When it came to getting married, we had ditched almost every tradition running, prohibiting the union itself, and no one had interrogated us. Surely this too would be seen as a modern update on an outdated tradition. But where reference is announced our decision to our families, the reaction was mixed.

Franki and Rob. Picture: Christian Sinibaldi for the Guardian

While they understood our quandary, the common restraint was that the child would lose the connection to its family history. Try as I might, I cant know what this is. To me, family history travels far deeper than ones refer. Its in the way we live, our values, the gumption and shared suffer passed down through generations. It is part of the storytelling our parents did and its in the narrations we, more, will tell and the beliefs we will share.

Our roots are not in our appoints, they are in our centers. My grandmother, whose surname was Jones, is important to me not because of her figure but because of her passion. My great-grandmother, a midwife I never even converged, let alone shared a reputation with, forms a part of my appreciation of identity. Why? Because of the space my own mother talks about her, because of the pictures she has decorated in my head of that life, that kinfolk, that time.

Interestingly, the appoint itself has also proved a sticking point, with a few people commenting that its abiding. Youre doing this really unusual thing but youve picked a really everyday mention, said one colleague, as though by doing something different “weve been” obliged to go the whole hog and announce ourselves Rob and Franki Thundercats.

In fact, the accessibility of the appoint was something we thought would be used sell the idea. It turns out “were in” naive there, too. My baby, a former primary school teacher, insisted that someone called Stone would be taunted. Another relative describing him as a dead weight of a name.

In my experience, girls will come up with nicknames no matter what. I spent much of my school years known as Franki Cookie while my given name was often elongated to Frankenstein, Frankincense or Frankfurter.

Never tell people your reputation picks in advance, admonished one acquaintance( too late ). Its as if telling parties in advance is inviting a talk or consultation!

While my familys concerns patently matter to me, I suppose she might be right. Eventually, this is our decision, based on our requirements, and I hope they will come to see it as a practical and positive step , not an irresponsible one.

Its almost impossible to get everyone on board, adviser another friend, who changed her surname by deed ballot in 2004. The hypothesi upset my granny but my dad, her son, understood. When I married my husband, he took my figure. Im still not sure two brothers was 100% behind us, but when we had our first son, he was the first to be born into our empire. Im so excited that we are the first in our tree!

This is exactly how I seem. I adoration the idea that our child will be born into this new, specially opted and carefully thought-out family name. And if the working day he or she decides to change it either to something new or to one of our old family name we will fully support that.

Even when you change names, lineage can still be traced and, if nothing else, I like to think we will be seemed back on as the ones who tried something new; who instead of obliging do with an unsatisfactory statu, belief creatively about how to solve it. Thats a family bequest Im joyous with.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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