#he knows you can reset and is laying out your sins in front of you in the hopes you'll reset and do better

[dimonds456]

Headcanon: Papyrus believes that everyone has the capacity for good and change because Sans also believes that. He's the one who taught him that, and Papyrus ran with it to its extreme.

[ms-a-z-u-l]

All Over Again (Goro Akechi x Reader)

Summary: Every time, you wake up in April 9. Nothing works and you’re beginning to think you and him are going to keep dying until fate gets tired of punishing you. Until Akira finds the most cruel solution to break the cycle that keeps causing Goro pain, and you have to decide if you want to follow or stay.

Categories: Angst

Warnings: Character death

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A/N: This is the last one I’ve written. I honestly don’t know why I took so long in posting in when it was done some time ago but I sorta got my motivation back (my college essays have been killing me) I hope I can start writing more and post more quickly and get more ideas on more characters. Thank you for reading!

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Over and over, the same events repeated until either or both of you ended up death, blood pooling from your bodies as your eyes went dull and everything faded.

The next thing you know, you wake up once again in bed with groggy eyes, as if what happened last time was just a nightmare.

Every time, you would go to the living room to find Goro sitting in the couch, staring at nothing. Sitting beside him, you stared at your hands, verifying that, yes, you were alive once again and that, no, the cycle that’s been going on for who knows how long now is still taking you back in time to April 9. The day He arrived.

From changing routines, a significant action, a specific response, to the tiniest of details, nothing seem to change what happens in the end. Even letting both of you be killed together, that was the latest tactic and yet you managed to see the repeated light of day. There was silence for minutes, wondering and grasping at possibilities of what could break the torturous cycle, something missing in the equation. Goro’s knee started to bounce, seeming at his wits end.

“I’m beginning to think this is punishment” he chuckled dryly, clearly tired and restless. “If it is, then they went all out, huh?” You replied sarcastically. “It should only be me to be pulled into this bullshit” hearing him whisper that made you turn your head to look at him. His head was down now, looking defeated, or perhaps guilty, you never knew with him. Even though you’ve been living in the same apartment, Goro never really told you anything about himself or his past, and you didn’t pry in fear of appearing nosy. It wasn’t until the first time reset after he almost got shot, but you took the hit and woke up in April 9 that he told you more than he did in almost two years of knowing him. After all, the others had already found out about his father and the shit he got put through in the engine room, might as well tell his assistant and what he could call a friend everything he bottled up.

You didn’t show shock or fear despite knowing his deeds as a hit man for Shido, instead trying to change his actions this time around. None of the Phantom Thieves seemed to notice the reset in time, except for of course the leader himself. Akira didn’t notice right away, it took him the second reset to feel like something was amiss, going to Shujin for the first time again, meeting Ann and Ryuji, feeling like the conversation already happened. You both managed to notice his awareness the moment you “met” his eyes narrowing at Goro, not because of his betrayal, but because he was alive. Revealing your awareness  and explaining more in detail, Akira tried to contain his shock and most of all confusion, but agreed to help find a way out.

However, nothing worked and even he was getting desperate as each reset happened. This might be punishment, but what Goro wonders is why it wasn’t only for him, but for you and Akira as well. You sighed, slowly reading your hand to lay it on his shoulder, “Maybe because I was willing to take it with you. You don’t have to be alone, even in this- whatever you wanna call it, a punishment, curse-“

“You don’t get it!!” He pushed your hand away angrily, “The least I wanted was to pull you into this!! From the moment I stepped foot out of the apartment to go after them in Shido’s palace and told you not to follow, that was the goddamn moment you should of bolted and escaped from me!! But no, you decided it was best not to listen and be stupid by following me. You ruined yourself and for what? For a petty concept such as care and friendship” He sounded harsh, and yet you didn’t dare flinch, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Hah, it’s for the same thing that you’re saying this now, idiot” you huffed, looking at him as if he was ludicrous. “What did you-“

“You didn’t want to involve me for the same reason, Goro. Because you cared, because you believed that if I saw you like that, I would be hurt, but guess fucking what, I didn’t. And I didn’t because for once I saw you, not the “look at me, I’m so charming” facade you mastered over time, and I wanted- “ you paused as you were building your resolve and stared directly at his eyes, “I wanted to see more of you, no matter how terrifying it could be, because at the end I’ll see my friend, not a monster. And I’m not justifying you. Yes, I was furious at what you did, but that didn’t mean giving up on you was the best thing to do, or leaving you to die. You will carry on your sins, and turn them into resolve to destroy this shitty system. Now we might died just a few more times-“ you narrowed your eyes and pinched your thumb and index finger close together while he wore a dumbfounded face.

“Buuut, that’s the price I took even if it meant spending all my Aprils and Mays and Junes just to get to spend more time with you” you quickly added, “even if you can be an asshole sometimes” at that, he actually slapped his hand over your mouth to shut you up, trying to keep your laughing at bay, “Keep it up and I just might be the biggest asshole and throw you out-“ you laughed harder at those words, getting him more irked. He let out a long sigh and removed his hand from your mouth, “You’re impossible”

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Akira was finally able to find you in the park, alone since Goro still had his work going on again. He looked disturbed in a way and serious, as if he was anxious to speak. You looked at him worryingly and with furrowed brows, “You do still remember, right? It took you quite some time now call us” you heard him hold in a breath and after a few seconds, released and began to speak, “This time when I woke up it was different, it’s going to sound weird but I kept hearing a voice”

“A voice? Did it sound familiar? Or what did it tell you?” You were brimming with curiosity now, this time it wasn’t him telling you of those dreams where he was in a cell. If something different happened, it must mean something.

“I could only hear it saying... “you have to let go” and I didn’t know what it meant. I kept hearing it this week, what I could pick from it was “loop” “break” “let” and yesterday at night it said.. “Akechi”” and after that she appeared and showed me. Her name was Lavenza, she explained everything, why she couldn’t reach me, why time keeps resetting... what caused it, and.. she told me how to stop it too” Akira stayed silent, scared of your reaction if you had already figured out what he meant, but he continued, “She told me to let Akechi- that we were supposed to let Akechi die back in Shido’s palace” he looked down, dark hair obscuring his eyes. He didn’t hear and he was getting scared that perhaps he made you in snap, but when he felt a hand harshly grab him by the collar of his uniform, he saw the judgmental look in your eyes and tears of anger starting to brim. You hands were shaking but the hold was tight, wanting him to stay still in order to listen to her words, “How..could you think..that we should just stand there.. and.. watch him die DAMMIT!!” You bursted out, “You what me to just stand there and look as they shoot him when we could something??!! I thought you all of people had at least a little regard for him” you tell him with disappointment in your voice.

“It’s not that I want him to die either!! It’s that if we keep trying to save him, he’s going to keep dying and dying, hurting him more and more!! Don’t you get it we changed something that was supposed to happen and now it’s like fate itself is getting back at us for it! We disrupted the order, even with you we-“ He suddenly kept quiet and you looked up at him, frowning, “What about me?”

....

“Akira! What about me?!” You shake him in your grasp, trying to the answer out of him, “You were never supposed to meet him either. Before what you thought was the first reset, well it was already the second. Lavenza showed me what happened the first time.. and there beside him there was no one” your eyes widened and you slowly let go of him stiffly. He tentatively continued, “The first reset was because of me, I took the shot for him and even though I didn’t die I had already changed something. That time, no one noticed that we went back in time, not even Akechi. But for some odd reason, you appeared on his way home and stumbled upon him, and for another more weird reason you became involved in his life and work, not even Lavenza can really explain but she says she has a wild guess.” Either way, the truth of the matter is, that we have to let everything run its course, y/n, even if none of us want it, I prefer letting him go than having Akechi suffer thousands of deaths. If you care for him, please you’ll know what you have to do that day, for everyone and him” he hesitantly put a hand on your shoulder and silently retreated back to Leblanc, leaving you dumbfounded and lost.

What was right? Letting the person you cared about more than anyone die in front of your eyes one last time and ending up alone? Or keep trying to find a solution while making him feel pain countless times? With those thoughts going rampage, tears started to flow freely to the ground and tiny sobs bubbled up in your throat.

You knew the answer, and yet you kept imagining a reality in where both of you could actually exist.

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It happened in the blink of an eye, the last thing from him a simple message that made you cry uncontrollably in the couch. This time you didn’t get to follow, he left without warning. Of course, he had found out as well, what he needed to do, he certainly wasn’t dumb. Wether it was your longing stares, your sad tone after a day with him without work in the way, or the words “this time we’ll make it right” by Akira and the far away looks he gave whenever Goro went for a cup of coffee, you even dared think there was also a hint of longing in his eyes just like yours.

You kept wailing and sobbing, your mind full of memories, of feelings, of words you can never say now, hand tightly clutching your phone. The screen was still brightly showing his message, and it was the only comfort you had that he didn’t feel pain anymore.

From Goro:

Thank you for being the best living pain in the ass in my life.

Because I care too much, I want you to live as if everything started all over again and you took another route from mine that day.

Goodbye, y/n, and thank you for the last months of letting me forget the pain and put a tiny smile in my face.

—————————————————————

December 24, a supposedly jolly day. But as you unusual rain pouring down and bones protruding form the ground, you couldn’t help but say to yourself with a resigned smile, “What a shitty and unfair world we happened to live in huh, Goro”

[reifromrfa]

2: Midnight, A V x MC Reset Theory fic

Hello! It took a while but here it is! 

Happy birthday to the sweet angel/dad of the RFA, Jihyun Kim! <3

I’m not sure if this counts as an entry for @vweek​ but I thought to finish this before the day ends (at least, for me here in the Philippines!) It’s a bit long but I think my V writings will always be the longest ^^; Haha and it probably won’t make too much sense until the next chapter/s, but I hope you still enjoy reading it ^^

If you haven’t read Chapter 1, read it HERE

Without further ado, here’s Chapter 2, Midnight!

Warning: Sin ahead~

The mint-haired artist watches in silence as she steps into his home studio, the space where he keeps all his paintings. He opens the lights for her and her beautiful hazel eyes widen, those lush lips parting as she takes in all the canvas in the small space.

V leans against the doorframe, a smile forming on his face. There's a part of him that's scared she'll think he's mad...worse, maybe a part of her will think he's a psycho. But what once felt like a never-ending sprint through a forest, searching in desperation for something that was always far out of his reach, tall trees looming over him, hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him...that's not the case anymore. Now he's walking through a tranquil forest, shafts of sunlight streaming in between the trees. He doesn't need to run anymore, he can stop and appreciate nature's beauty and sounds. And he's not grasping for a ghost, a smile, a voice, a memory...no.

She's here, standing in front of him. The woman with brown hair, whose face was always a blur in his dreams. If he closed his eyes, he could conjure up her silhouette, her soft voice, feel the warmth on his cheek and her hands around him. However...he doesn't need to close his eyes for MC is right here, in this room, with him. And usually, he would take his time and speak with her, have a meal with her, court her...

But seeing her tonight at the party...it's as though he's known her all his life. He tried to be polite, to go slow. And yet, a sense of urgency within him pushed away his inhibitions and shyness.

I already know you...MC. I already know you. And I can't wait anymore. I feel as though too much time has been taken from us...I wonder...if you feel the same...?

So he stands and watches as the dark clouds obscuring the sky from him are melted away by the presence of the sun. Turmoil shifts to tranquility, puzzle pieces fall into place.

Finally, she turns to him and shakes her head. "V...What...what are these?"

Taking slow steps, he approaches her, wondering if she would be frightened. But there was no fear in her eyes, only curiosity. V reaches out a hand to MC and there's no hesitation --she slips her hand into his.

They both stand in front of half-painted canvasses, each board bearing a myriad of brush strokes: gentle strokes, haphazard ones, brash and angry, subdued and melancholy. But each artwork portraying the same theme...the same subject.

A woman with long brown hair standing in the forest, in a garden. Paintings of the brown haired woman laying on a bed, her body and gaze turned to the painter. Some perspectives were strange, as though the painter was looking up at the subject, as though he was laying down close to her, on her lap. Despite the haphazard strokes on some artworks though...her face was always painted with care; it was evident in the brush strokes. In all the artworks though, the woman's bangs always covered her eyes...V remembers how frustrated it made him, not knowing what her eyes looked like, what color they were. In every movement of his brush, he put in his curiosity, his longing, his sorrow.

V turns to the woman standing beside him and his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Finally...he can paint her eyes. For there's no mistaking it; the woman in the painting is the one whose hand he's holding tightly at that moment.

"MC," he begins. She turns to him, those hazel eyes riveted on his face, her slightly parted lips igniting feelings within him that V couldn't describe; there are no words for how this woman makes him feel. "These paintings are the scenes I see in my dreams. Scenes where a young woman with brown hair is smiling at me...crying for me...caring for me...holding me and running with me. Scenes where the worry in my heart is so great, I felt as though I would burst from fear."

"I know in my heart this woman is significant to me..." V continues, watching her reaction. "I know in my heart that she is both the sun and the moon, the one who resides in the darkest of nights and yet illuminates the path so I don't stray too far from the light. The one who rises each day to remind me the dawn will come each day, the sun will shine again and chase away the demons and the fears."

"She is you, MC. The woman in my dreams...she is you."

She is still for a heartbeat...two. The silence drags on for a few more seconds before MC takes a deep shuddering breath. Her fingers clasp his tighter and she nods.

"When I first saw your photographs, my friends teased me because I burst into tears. There was a deep ache in my heart, I felt as though I was missing something. I didn't know I was missing someone. But when I saw you in your gallery...my eyes couldn't look away. I couldn't look away." She looks up at him with unshed tears in her eyes. The emotions inside her chest are threatening to overwhelm her, but MC forces them back, she needed to tell him, she needed him to know. "I haven't looked away since then. I haven't seen you in my dreams, I can't remember who you are...but this feels right.

You feel right, V."

V takes a step towards her, his heartbeat drumming so loudly in his chest he's sure the world can hear it. But that's alright. Let them know his heart is beating for the woman in front of him, the woman whose lips are tantalizingly close...

"MC," he breathes, one hand moving to cup her cheek.

"V..." her voice trails off as he closes the gap between them, claiming her lips in his own. But no longer is the kiss tentative, no longer is it the feather-light kiss from the garden. An involuntary moan escapes her as V puts both hands on her cheeks, holding her in place as he allows his feelings to consume him. His lips move passionately, driven by the burning desire to be one with this woman. MC...his MC.

He feels her body shudder as his tongue slides along her lips, her gasp allowing him access. Their tongues perform a sensual dance and suddenly, the room feels stifling. Reluctantly, he pulls his hands away from her face and he pulls off his coat, discarding it onto the floor. Then he freezes as rational thoughts return to him and V stops, pressing his forehead against hers while trying to catch his breath.

"MC, I...That was--"

"V, please...stop apologizing." He lets out a relieved sigh as he feels her fingers against his cheek. "I want this. I want you. I've wanted you since I first saw you."

"I feel the same way, MC...Ever since you walked into my dreams and into my life...I've longed for this. For you. I know it doesn't make sense...but love rarely does, I suppose."

MC giggles and nods, her laughter bringing a grin to the mint-haired man's face. "Yes. I love you, V. I do."

"MC..." He whispers, tracing her lips with his fingers.

"Call me Jihyun."

Her arms go around his neck and he inhales sharply as she presses her lips against his, her tongue swirling around his. His hands move to touch her shoulders, sliding across the fabric of her gown before going to her back. MC moans into his mouth as V bends down slightly and grasps her thighs. MC lets out a small cry of surprise as he lifts her to him, her legs going around his lean frame with a familiarity she could get used to.

Their kisses grow more heated and one of MC's hands tangle into his hair, gripping it gently as she moans into his mouth. V feels himself straining against his pants and he walks towards his room, his hands gripping her thighs tighter as his fingers knead her flesh.

"Jihyun..." MC says breathlessly between kisses. V sees a flash in his mind, a memory of MC calling for him, her fingers twisting in the sheets. The memory disappears and his urgency grows. Hurrying to his room, he lays her gently on the floor at the foot of the bed and he reaches behind her, fingers deftly unhooking her dress before pulling the zipper down. Meanwhile, MC starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his slightly toned body --she knows it's because of all the time he spends outdoors.

V's hands move to her shoulders and he slides her dress off her body. His face flushes, but he doesn't hesitate, his lips kiss her shoulders. MC moans and hurriedly pushes off his clothes before her fingers start unbuckling his belt. "MC..." He murmurs against her skin, his tongue running along her skin, the way she tastes sending an intoxicating sensation through his body. He needs more, more of her.

MC succeeds in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants but all the air leaves her body as Jihyun takes her mouth in his once more. He deepens the kiss and MC moans against him, tingles of pleasure spreading throughout her body just by the way he's kissing her. His hands move down to her breasts and he cups them so delicately that she feels as though he's treating her like porcelain; but no...she wanted him to break her tonight. 

"Please, Jihyun..." she whispers between kisses. She feels the rumble of his laugh in his chest, that's how closely pressed they are. But when his hands begin to massage the underside of her breasts, she gasps and throws her head back. Jihyun seizes the opportunity to kiss her neck, his fingers kneading her soft breasts. When he twirls his thumbs on her hard nipples, he hears MC gasp before a moan escapes those lips. Her cries only fuel his desire and he carries MC to the bed, laying her down and taking off her shoes. Her dress is pooled on the floor, next to his shoes and socks as he climbs on top of her. Now, she's only in her lacy underwear and he has on his pants.

MC's panting hard, her eyes already glossing over with pleasure. When V positions himself over her, she thinks it's time to rid himself of those pants but he leans down. Her whole body jerks and her head snaps back, her voice goes up an octave and she grips the bedsheets. For V has one nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking the hard bud before gently sucking on it. His fingers mimic his tongue's actions with her other nipple and MC feels her underwear getting soaked.

"J-Jihyun..." Her voice is quivering as he switches positions, his mouth sucking on her other nipple while his fingers continue their ministrations. V wants to hear more from her, the sweet sound of her moans filling his room sends splashes of pleasure throughout his system. His free hand slithers down her body and he slips them into her underwear, his slender digit teasingly stroking her sopping wet pussy.

"Ah!"

V looks up and smiles when he sees her pleasure-filled eyes looking back at him.

"Jihyun..."

A flash in his memory, of MC in a white, flowing gown, on their bed...a wide bed in a different house. Moonlight streaming into their room and illuminating her beautiful form. He was unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves, ready to get out of his tuxedo...

V moves down and drags her underwear off her before spreading her legs. He strokes her wet bud and MC squeals when she feels his warm, wet tongue running along her slit.

He inhales sharply when he feels her fingers tangling into his hair. Her body tenses as he rubs her clit, his tongue lapping at her. MC jerks as her body shudders, her orgasm flowing through her being. Pleasure fills her every nerve and God, he hasn't even entered her.

She wants to tell him to stop, to take off his pants so she can get a taste of him but V doesn't relent; his tongue is moving expertly between her folds and soon, he has her screaming in sweet ecstasy again. 

MC's chest is rising and falling, her breathing coming out in pants. V feels her hands reaching for his face and he rises, meeting her gaze.

"My love, come here," she says and V makes his way to her, their lips meeting for another kiss. MC can taste herself on him and it makes her feel warm. V is bracing his arms on either side of her head and MC takes the opportunity to hook her fingers on the waistband of his slacks and his underwear. She tugs them down past his hips while her tongue dances with his. When she couldn't push his clothes further, she instructs him to lie down. V complies and he expected his face to be warm, he expected to feel nervous or anxious...His first time with this woman whom he'd met only hours ago.

However, no feeling of apprehension came...only anticipation. MC took off his clothes, clumsier than he did with her dress, but V thinks it's perfect, the way his wife has little patience when it comes to him.

Wait...my wif--

MC's fingers wrap around him tentatively and V holds his breath, her touch already igniting all his senses. MC's eyes are fixed on him and slowly, she moves her hand around him. V props himself up on his elbows and watches her, his turquoise eyes hooded. She holds his gaze, making sure those magnetic eyes are following her as she licks her lips and takes him into her mouth. V lets out a soft groan, prompting MC to start moving along his length. 

His fingers grip the sheets as well, V struggling not to let his control slip away. But it's quite hard, especially when he feels her tongue swirling around him, caressing the tip. Her warm mouth feels too good, and the mint-haired man closes his eyes and leans back his head. His low groans are making her wet, and MC closes her lips around him as she bobs her head. V hisses and lets out a hushed "Ah!" before he shakes his head and calls her name.

"Darling, s-stop."

MC's eyes flick to him and she stops. V kneels on the bed and reaches for her, pulling her to him and crashing his mouth to hers once more. Emotions and sensations flood his memories and in that moment, he knew he never wanted to let her go. This woman in his arms...she's the only one capable of making him feel the way he's feeling at the moment.

Complete.

As though the colors on his palette aren't enough, because she will paint his days without a brush but with her smile, her words, her touch.

"MC, where have you been all my life?" he whispers between kisses.

"Looking for you, Jihyun," she replies. "I've been looking for you."

She gasps as he lays her down on the bed once more and he positions himself between her legs. Normally, he would ask permission...like a proper gentleman would. But when he sees his own burning passion reflected in his beloved's eyes, V knows her answer. He rubs his length between her legs and MC lets out a pleased sigh. Locking her fingers on the back of his neck, she nods to him. MC's eyes widen as she feels him going inside her, his width already stretching her. The more V pushes in, the fiercer her grip on him becomes. MC moans as he pushes in slowly and V has to focus once more, her tightness enveloping him so warmly that it's hard to hold back.

"Love..!" MC exclaims breathlessly. V starts to move his hips, following a slow, steady rhythm as he tries to let her adjust to him. Being connected like this though, has him abandoning all rational thought, and the moment they're joined it's like walls fell away inside his mind.

MC's body moves in time with his, her legs wrapped around his torso as she encourages him to go deeper inside her. V doesn't hesitate, knowing his beautiful wife will grace him with her cries of pleasure once he does.

He pushes deeper inside her and MC's voice hitches, her legs tensing around him as he fills her even more, his length throbbing inside her. She knows this sensation of having him inside her isn't new, but she can't focus on anything except the waves of pleasure rippling through her as he thrusts harder, his cock rubbing against her walls deliciously.

V leans down and presses his lips against her ear, his heavy breathing turns her on even more. He's being rougher than usual, but he can't help it --this woman ignites a fire within him that can't be doused, no matter how many times he makes love to her. The need to be with her, to love her wholly, to please her in every imaginable way...it's intoxicating, a fruit he can't have enough of, a joy he can't live without.

The more he thrusts into her, the deeper he goes and the higher her voice gets, her moans becoming screams until she's hanging onto him, her walls clenching around him as MC's whole body tenses. V pushes in and hits that sweet spot inside her and MC feels her vision go white as her orgasm sends her quivering, riding on a wave of pleasure that her has arching her back and digging her nails into his back.

V holds still and groans against her skin, feeling her wrapping around him, gripping him tightly. But no, he has to hold on...he doesn't want to end simply end here.

His wife collapses back onto the bed and pants, sweat beading her forehead. V kisses her cheek then her ear. He leans in close and whispers, "I love you, MC. Tonight, let me make love to you, until the stars go to sleep and the sun greets us."

His lips touch her cheek, then her ears and MC feels the tears slipping down her face as the memories come flooding back.

"I love you, MC." V whispers into her ear. "Tonight, let me make love to you, until the stars go to sleep and the sun greets us."

She's nodding and she's laughing as V pulls back and looks at her, tears glistening in his own eyes as well. This man is her husband, of course he is. In another time, they were already married. Yes...yes, that's right.

"Jihyun," she murmurs, grinning. V wipes away her tear and kisses her, holding her close to him, afraid she'll be pulled from his grasp once more but refusing to let go of her this time.

"I love you, MC. My darling...I love you."

"I love you, Jihyun. So much, I do." She kisses him again and again, two lovers reunited, savoring the sweet kisses but also basking in the moment of finding each other. She brushes his bangs away from his eyes, those eyes that she missed so much...the eyes she kept seeing in her dreams but would immediately forget when she woke.

Now, he's here, he's in her arms and she won't let him go...not him.

"I do not think I can say it enough, MC..." V gives her a long, lingering kiss and when he pulls away, he says, "I love you. Don't leave my side again, love."

"I won't, Jihyun. I won't." She strokes his cheek and smiles at him. "But I want to continue your promise now." Moving her body, she starts to move around him and V groans, her wetness allowing him to slip easily further inside her. "Make love to me until the sun greets us, please."

He takes her hand and presses his lips to the back of her hand. "It will be my greatest pleasure, my love."

They hold onto each other all night, two bodies meeting, saying hello, reliving their goodbye and expressing love in ways words never can. Her cries and his groans echo through the room and when they reach their climax, they follow it with declarations of their love. Then, the two stay in bed and watch the sunrise through the sliding doors leading outside. She lies in his arms, relishing in his warmth and nearness. It's there that MC stays until her eyes close...

...and she wakes to the empty bed beside her.

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Thank you for reading!!! I’d love to know what you think <3

Haha sorry it’s soooo long and God, sorry for the cliffhanger! ^^; Happy V week, everyone! Happy birthday, V <3

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Tempest in a Teacup: Six

“You’ll be at one of the shows, right?” you ask, sitting on a stack of folded mats watching Clint get target practice in.

He can hear the anxiety in your voice despite how casually you ask the question and he stops to look at you. You look like you’re trying not to look worried. Or upset. But you are and he knows it. He may have only heard your end of the phone conversation you had with your mom an hour ago, but he knew.

Clint hid behind bravado. You got polite. Polite, and quiet, and meek. Even if the words burned your mouth coming out. The longer Reggie railed at you the less confrontational you got until your replies were barely audible. Or barely replies. 

He smiles a little, “Unless something major happens,” he promises, “I’ll be there opening night. With Nat. And anyone else I can wrangle into coming.” 

You nod and go back to sketching. Idle doodles that you could turn into anything. Probably a new dress design for Pepper to show off. For such a practical woman, she liked having her own personal designer to make her fancy dresses. Clint went back to shooting, half keeping an eye on you. It was hard to get a fix sometimes on how you were feeling. 

You were good at being okay when you weren’t.

It was another thing Clint added to his list of sins. He and Reggie hadn’t exactly been ready for you and they hadn’t exactly given you a life where you could just feel your feelings as they happened. He supposed that that’s why you were so good at art. It was the one place you didn’t have to hide anything. “How is the production going?” he asked.

You shrug, “It’s a show. My crew are a bunch of stoners, my cast is... a cast, and the director is just flaky. But we’ll get it together.” Clint snorted, “So, pretty standard?” You nod, “You know, if I spent as much time actually managing as I do keeping my lighting guys from getting high in the back lot I’d get a lot more done.” Clint just shook his head, smiling a little. You were laying on the mats staring at the ceiling now. Purple hair spilling down like ink and one foot dangling off the end. Anyone who didn’t know better would think you didn’t have a care in the world right now. 

Clint wanted you to be little again. To be able to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and heft you around, making you giggle. He wanted your biggest problem to be a skinned knee and learning guitar. It felt fundamentally wrong to him that something as simple as dating someone would cause that much of a disturbance. That anyone would make you feel bad because you cared for someone... Even if he wasn’t sure that person cared for you the way they should. 

_________

Opening night of the show, Clint has a Posse. A whole herd, really. Tony and Pepper, Nat, Steve, Bucky, Thor, and of all people, Loki. The front lobby ahead of the auditorium is decked out. It looks like an honest to god museum. A fancy presentation. With ushers and Artifacts on display. Clint whistles softly, “Wonder where she put the mummy case she made?” he asks. There’s a punch that looks like champagne and Nat snags a glass with a smile, “Inside probably... Isn’t this supposed to be like a murder mystery thing?” Clint shrugs, “I’m just here to admire all the pretty shit.”

It takes a moment for them to catch sight of you. You look neat and professional in a sensible dark skirt, white blouse, and red heels. You’re putting on a headset and clipping the battery pack onto the back of your skirt. You look focused and Clint takes a second, fiddling with his hearing aids. Sometimes, if he sets it right, he can hear the backstage chatter and he cares about that more than the rest of the show. He can hear you quietly calling cues for the atmosphere. Reining in all the opening night jitters. When the lights flicker and people are being shone to their seats you disappear. Back to the back to get everything. The show is fun. Thor enjoys it a good deal, laughing loudly. Loki is confused, but he supposes that, for Children, it’s well done. Clint listens to you. Which leads to him snorting involuntarily at some things that aren’t meant to be funny. Kat is on stage and she does fine. She’s funny, even if she does overact a little. And by the time the show is over, Clint can hear you getting tired. 

He supposes being the working memory for a whole show is tiring. At the end of the show as the Cast takes their bows to thunderous applause and the Audience makes their way out, you’re standing against a wall barefoot, talking to a hand full of people who are doing the cleanup and reset. He doesn’t miss that you’re studiously ignoring Kat for right now and up close you look like your nerves are getting frayed. Half a second later when Kat has her tongue halfway down another girl’s throat, it makes a lot more sense. “Oh no,” Nat said softly. Clint winced, “What do I even say?” he asked. Not only was this happening, but it was happening in front of everyone. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.” Natasha murmured, “Just get her out of here.”

Clint nods and walks over to you, letting you hide your face in his chest as he hugs you hard. “Good show, Punk,” he says. The others try really hard not to lurk awkwardly. Pepper and Natasha both look ready to hurt someone and Steve and Tony both reflexively grab a redhead and hold on. Clint doesn’t say another word. He just steers you out the doors after you put your shoes back on. The others let him walk ahead with you, giving you a minute to either break apart or hold yourself together a little tighter. “How about we introduce Thor to Chicago deep dish?” he says bracingly. You take a deep breath, “I’m really tired, dad,” you murmur exhaling slowly. He nods, “So we’ll send the others ahead,” he says. “You and I can go wander the museum for a while,” He pulls out his phone to text Nat and kisses your head. “It’s closing in a few minutes,” you point out. Clint shrugs, “I know a guy,” he says fondly, “C ‘ mon, punk.” 

He takes your arm and walks you to his car. In the ugly street lamp lighting, you look pale and tense. It makes Clint feel sick. 

This is too many feelings all at once for a kid. For any kid. This isn’t a dad thing. It’s a mom thing. And your mom is.. well. Less than mom like. For the millionth time in your life, he wishes he was a better parent.

At the museum, he lets you lead. You’re just barely able to hold it together. You can’t take any more pressure. It doesn’t take long for you to find your favorite piece. The click of your heels in the empty rooms feels too loud so you take them off and carry them. When you sit on the bench, feet crossed at the ankles, Clint sits next to you. It doesn’t take long.

You burst into tears, hiding your face in your hands and all he can do is pull you close and rock you gently. He doesn’t try to hush you and he doesn’t try to make it better. He knows you probably feel like it will never stop hurting. “What happened, baby girl?” he asks gently. You tell him the story between sobs. Crying so hard that at one point he has to hand you a trash can so you can be sick. She used you. Not even for anything good. Just to get back with her ex. Clint cringed, “That’s fucked,” he said, “Jesus Christ, kid.” 

“Right?” you say, leaning against his side, “Who fucking does that? Like damn. Just get your nipple pierced and go do ho shit for a minute like a normal goddamn person. Fuck.” The rest of it is in Gaelic which he doesn’t understand but, Clint can’t help it. Your accent is flaring up and it’s funny. He snorts and you groan, “My head hurts.”

“Well,” he says gently, hugging you and kissing your forehead, “It might help if we get you something to eat.” You nod and he smoothes his thumb over your cheekbone, “You up for pizza?” 

You nod again, “I don’t want to go home.” Clint frowns but stands, holding out a hand for you to take, “So we won’t do that. You can stay with Nat for the night and she and I will stay for the rest of the shows.” It’s not up for debate and so you don’t try. In a way, it’s comforting that they’re going to be there.

He walks you back to the car and when the two of you walk into the restaurant, no one so much as mentions Kat. It’s as if she didn’t exist. The others quietly filled in Thor and Loki about what the fuss had been before you arrived and Loki had been summarily threatened if he so much as thought about saying anything. You stayed quiet, mentally and physically wrung out. Too tired and numb after your cry out to be particularly funny or talkative. “You need sleep,” Nat said finally, “you look exhausted.” You can’t even protest, “We have two shows tomorrow and your first call time in 9:30am... It’s gonna be a long fucking day.” Nat pulls you to your feet with a groan, “You’re really lucky I like you,” she teases, giving you a second to hug Clint goodnight and say goodnight to everyone else before she marches you to the elevator to put you to bed.

“So,” Tony asks as soon as you’re out of earshot, “What the fuck?”

Clint sighed and told them what you told him. “That’s fucked,” Steve said. “Right?” Clint said. 

It didn’t take long for them all to decide to stay. Well. Thor decided for Loki he was going to stay. But they figured a show of force. Or at the very least support might get you through the next day without having you fall apart. 

Tony handed Clint a drink and squeezed his shoulder, “How was the museum?” he asked. Clint took the drink with a sigh, “She cried so hard she made herself sick and yelled about things for a minute,” he said. “What I could understand of what she was yelling was funny so... I think she’ll be okay.”

“What’d she say?” Steve asked. “What I understood was ‘Who fucking does that? Like damn. Just get your nipple pierced and go do ho shit for a minute like a normal goddamn person. Fuck.’ The rest of it was in Gaelic and I’m probably lucky I couldn’t understand it.” he says.  Bucky coughed, “Wow... that’s... Is that what girls do after a break up now? What happened to ice cream?”

Clint snorted, “Fucked if I know, I’ve not been on the dating scene in a while.”

“You and Natasha date,” Thor pointed out. “No,” Clint clarified, “We hang out... And she helps me raise my kid. It’s more than dating but... not dating.” Thor was left to think it over and Pepper dragged Tony off to bed. Clint sighed, “Man, fuck being a teenager,” he said, “I wouldn’t do that shit again for anything. Especially not now.” Steve nodded, “I mean, there’s no polio now,” he said, “That’s helpful.”

Clint rolled his eyes, “On that now, I’m going to bed. I better go now if I’m gonna hit that 9am call time.” 

“Do we all have to go to that?” Tony called.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Clint called over his shoulder, headed to the elevator.

_______

Upstairs, you and Natasha lay facing each other on the bed. “I’m sorry, princess,” she said softly, stroking your hair as you finish telling her what happened.  You sigh, “I just. I really loved her.” When you start crying again she wipes away your tears with a tissue carefully. “I know you did,” she whispered, “You still do.” There’s a shaky breath and you nod again, “I hate this,” you say softly, “I feel sick and it feels like my heart’s being ripped out every time I look at her.” 

“It’ll get better, princess,” she says softly, “It���ll take a while. But one day you’ll wake up and it won’t be as bad. And then another day, this is just a bad few weeks.” You make a soft unhappy sound and Natasha smiles a little, “I promise,” she soothes. “We’ll be with you this weekend to get you through it,” she said, stroking your hair, “After that, I’m a phone call away,” she reminded, “You need anything. Even if it’s just something you need to yell about.” You nod, your eyes closing. You’re exhausted but you can’t seem to settle down. 

She laces the fingers of one hand through yours and continues to stroke your hair, humming softly. It’s a Russian lullaby, you know. But you don’t know the words. Nat’s never told you the words, she says she only remembers the melody. But it’s familiar. She’s done this since you were little. Since your dad was on a mission and you found your way to Nat. Even when the spy was afraid to be near you she was nice. So when you were scared and stuck to her like glue, needing an anchor in the cold utilitarian SHEILD compound, she’d held you in her lap while she typed, humming to herself and you'd finally fallen asleep with your head on her shoulder.

That’s how Coulson and your dad had found you after a moment of panic when you weren’t in your bed. Passed out on a Russian Spy’s shoulder while she typed mission reports and hummed pieces of a Russian lullaby. 

Tags:   @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt

[village-skeptic]

on “having it both ways”: thinking about S2 and looking ahead to S3

So apparently once a year I end up latching on to Riverdale pre-season promo and having WAY TOO MUCH to say about it.

Image analysis, pop-culture riffing, S2 criticism, meditations on resistant reading, my own discomfort with “wrongfully accused” narratives in this particular historical moment, and some hopes on the literal eve of the S3 premiere, below the cut...

So, last week when this piece of promo dropped, the very first thing that I thought of was the visual reference to Chicago and the Cell-Block Tango.

(I didn’t do it! - but if I’d done it? - how could you tell me that I was wrong?)

HOW perfect is that homage? The red lighting, the raised arms? The promo still just FEELS like a snapshot from a Fosse dance routine. (A little more on legendary choreographer Bob Fosse here.)

It’s a defiant pose, right in the center of the frame, but a slightly vulnerable one at the same time. There’s nothing hidden here; everything’s on display. The pose draws the viewer’s eyes inescapably to the body - a muscled body, but one which here seems like a gymnast or dancer’s body: lithe figure, tapered waist, power that is channeled into performance.

(this is tasty; this is plenty; this is hungry work)

So, on a first pass, insofar as it puts this demonstrative male body on display, it’s a little bit of a subversive image, I think. And that’s well in line with the way that Riverdale so often courts the female (and/or gay male) gaze, and at its best does some really unusual stuff with masculinity. 

I thought about all of this - and then, silly me, I saw that this piece of promo was NOT a still, but is, instead, a short clip. 

Archie doing pull-ups on the prison bars, as another heavily muscled dude saunters behind him, reads to me like a completely different type of performance! To the degree that it invites the eye, it sends the message: don’t fuck with me. In motion, we have purely the pursuit of greater strength, the purging of weakness in favor of the means of self-protection. 

Instead of Chicago, my mind jumps to 3x01′s title source: Fortune and Men’s Eyes. Dominate or be dominated. 

Realistically, I’m willing to believe that the ambiguous interpretation here between “still” and clip is just a quirk of how it happened to be uploaded to Twitter by a social media intern. 

Still - the interpretative gulf between the still image and the image in motion got me thinking how often Riverdale seems to want to “have it both ways,” and what that does to the audience’s experience and expectations of the show.

For instance:

Other people have written at length about how Riverdale’s pursuit of aesthetic homage or plot contrivance has created character inconsistencies that occasionally baffle. Cheryl is alternately a tragic Gothic heroine and a lacquered, ruthless Mean Girl; Jughead is both a sensitive loner writer and also a bad-boy gang leader; Betty is both Betty and Dark Betty. (GOD.)

Other folks have discussed how the show needs to really play out the consequences of conflicts between the characters. It’s not that the show shouldn’t drop bombshells like the Bughead breakup(s) or the conflict between Betty and Veronica/Jughead and Archie, but it seems all too willing to reset back to milkshakes in a booth at Pop’s without doing enough work to explain WHY things are okay again. (See also: resolving major conflicts between characters literally with a song.)

The desire to “have it both ways” also really shows up in the show’s tendency to engage complicated issues (racism, sexism, colonialism, the prison-industrial complex) on a shallow level - thus getting credit for mentioning them, without really taking the time to explore them meaningfully or to explain the characters’ investment in them. 

The result of this, in terms of storytelling, is that you leave a lot of room for resistant (even combative) readings of the text to emerge. To name a few of my own:

frustration with Jughead’s acceptance of what feels like a suuuuper patriarchal role as “the Serpent Prince” (and later King)

the fact that it’s really hard to sympathize with Veronica throughout entire swathes of season 2

a profound opposition to a storyline that sexualizes Betty’s mental health issues in a really exploitative fashion

And then... there’s Archie.

In the “Cell Block Tango,” the murderesses of Chicago (bar one) get to justify their crimes. Conversely, as we open the third season of Riverdale, the audience knows that Archie’s being blamed for something he didn’t do. Despite bragging about it (!!) to a bunch of mobsters (!!!!), Archie is not guilty of the murder of Cassidy Bullock. 

...but he IS guilty of so! many! other! things! across Season 2. I’m sure I’m forgetting some, but aiding and abetting a criminal, covering up a murder, blowing up a car, and forming an extralegal vigilante militia group - TWICE - all come to mind. 

The last bits of S2 offer us a version of Archie’s amends-making that comes in the form of defending the Serpents, turning on Hiram, supporting his father, et cetera. And then the very last image of S2 - Archie being clapped in cuffs right at the moment that he’s supposed to be sworn into office - is meant to distress us.

But a season of watching Archie embrace fascism leaves some marks, y’all. And a not insignificant portion of the audience, still frustrated with the character’s choices, couldn’t help but say - well, he had it coming.

So, yeah. It’s been a few months between the close of S2 and the open of S3, and in most cases that would be enough time for me to sit with the story in and of itself, to consider more broadly where it had failed or succeeded, and to allow some of that “resistant reader” response to drain away.

But real talk, you guys: I’m finding it really hard right now, at this moment in American history, to connect emotionally with the story of a young man trying to fight the charges of which he has been wrongfully-yet-ever-so-plausibly accused.  

[Please note, I am NOT trying to say that RAS is somehow trying to weigh in explicitly on the SCOTUS debacle. The S2 finale laying the groundwork for this plot aired this spring, and S3E1 has (presumably?) been in the can for a while now. And, to its credit, Riverdale has in both seasons explicitly criticized a sexual culture that objectifies young women and reduces them to “points” (the football team’s playbook) and to prey (Nick St. Clair).]

But, for me personally, I can’t help looking at this plot and hearing echoes of “It's a very scary time for young men in America when you can be guilty of something you may not be guilty of.”

Here’s the interesting thing: I think RAS knows this, and I think the promo around this plot is partially designed to try to dispel these connections. 

(For me, at least, it’s having mixed results.)

(source)

For instance, I can’t look at this still (young man, formal suit intended to project good character and youthful vulnerability, sullen face, flanked by counsel) without thinking, “Wow, this feels....Brock Turner-y.” 

I don’t know if anyone’s written about courtroom photos and sketches as a genre of visual composition, but I feel like I’ve seen variations of the Riverdale still a million times, often printed on the front page of the local university newspaper, discussing the controversy over the conviction (or NON-conviction) of a promising young athlete accused of something awful that no one who knows him EVER would have suspected he would do. (Nice boy, nice family, so many extracurriculars, such good grades!)

Of course, there’s a major difference between the photos above: Archie’s defense team is entirely female. 

Obviously this makes sense because Mary Andrews and Sierra McCoy are both major supporting characters who are also lawyers - but it also makes sense in trying to dismantle some of the potential gut reactions to this visual framing. There’s some “innocence by association” going on here, I think. And after all, Archie IS innocent of this particular crime!

This still lands with mixed effect for me though, because any defense strategy that suggests the intentional composition of a visual tableau feels inherently cynical, even when the character is sympathetic or innocent. 

For instance: I just watched The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, which features a scene where the main character shows up in the courtroom in full Upper West Side respectable regalia to try to get the obscenity charges against her dismissed - she fails and ends up having to plead guilty, because she mouths off at the judge. Anyone who’s familiar with Amy Sherman-Palladino’s work will recognize this bones of this plot point in the courtroom scene in Gilmore Girls: Rory’s grandparents’/lawyer’s attempt to portray her as a naive little angel backfires, and she ends up getting a ton of community service as penance for stealing a boat. It’s important to note that the characters are both guilty of their charges - although, as another favorite show of mine might note, “the situation’s a lot more nuanced than that.”)

(source | source)

Another way in which the pre-season promo is distancing Archie from both his actions last season, and the present context external to the show, is to emphasize his profound contrition. In this teaser from Riverdale 3x01, we get Archie declaring that “whatever happens to me in the courtroom on Tuesday - that is what I deserve.” This a statement of universal guilt and responsibility (one might say martyrdom?) that goes well beyond the scope of his actual infractions.

Now - I really, really appreciate that we’re getting a sad Archie rather than a mad Archie. And I want to acknowledge that he’s so definitely a kid here, trying hard to “man up” and to grapple with the fact that he screwed up big time and that there are consequences for his actions. After a season of doing the wrong thing over and over and OVER again, he’s trying to do the right thing. 

But here’s the thing: Fred responds to this confession of near-universal guilt with what (in this snippet) feels like a pair of universally-exculpatory statements: “You are a good kid. You got manipulated by a mobster.” (Mary is more nuanced: “You do not deserve to be framed for murder.”)

Archie does not deserve to be framed for murder, and he certainly did get manipulated by a mobster. In fact, I would like to formally start a petition to have Archie not fall under the control of an unscrupulous adult in S3!

However. 

Instead of accepting guilt for anything and everything and being immediately absolved for non-specific sins because of his inherent “goodness,” I really want to know that Archie understands what he actually DID do last season. He climbed wholeheartedly on board with the plan to Make Riverdale Great Again, and in that process, he did things that were NOT AT ALL commensurate with being “a good kid.” I think both the character and the show would benefit from a more explicit meditation on exactly why Hiram’s manipulation was so effective, and why Archie moved so quickly past being merely Hiram’s pawn, and voluntarily embraced the role of Hiram’s very ambitious accomplice. 

One of the specific preconditions of restorative justice is that the offender has to acknowledge their actions and the hurt that they caused. Reconciliation and vagueness are incompatible for so many reasons, but one of them is because a BIG part of learning from your mistakes is thinking precisely about what you did so that you can choose not to do it again.

I read a bunch of the new Archie comics over the break, and I think I now have a greater appreciation for the trope of Archie as a schlemiel. Despite his best intentions, the Archie archetype keeps making the same goofy, klutzy mistakes over and over again. This is fine, even funny, when it means that Archie just keeps accidentally ending up with a bucket on his head. Whoops! 

It is super not okay if it means that Archie just keeps finding himself supporting fascists. ...whoops?

(At present, my entire country is being “manipulated by mobsters.” Clearly, I have some feelings about this.)

I don’t actually know how to wrap all the loose ends of this analysis up meaningfully and coherently at the finish here - but then again, that probably puts me into good company with our showrunners. Optimistically, I’m going to hope that that’s intentional - that I’m judging in media res, and that plotlines and character arcs in S3 will weave together in a way that will surprise and delight me! 

But mostly, I’m going to reiterate my hope that S3 makes meaningful choices. That the people in charge don’t waste their actors’ time filming oodles and oodles of material that gets sliced and diced to ribbons. That they make choices EARLY about major plot points; that they stick to them; and that they let the rising action and falling action of your narrative reflect those choices, and the consequences that naturally accompany them. 

I hope that the people in charge of S3 will resist the ever-present temptation to “have it both ways” - which ultimately works out to really no definitive way at all. Telling a sturdy story is risky in a totally different way than courting controversy - but it’s so, so worth it. 

[mykingdomforapen]

This is the first time that he sees his child in years, and when they meet again, his child cries at the sight of him.

His child is a grown man--regal and healthy. There is already wisdom in his eyes, which only makes him look more like his mother. Under the dewy, purple sky of their ancestors’ heaven, his tears are beginning to outnumber the stars slowly unmasking in the night.

“I know what you did,” his child says.

His child will be king, and inherit the words of wisdom that his father shall pass down to him, as his father had passed down to him, and his father, and his father. But first, he is weeping. Is it because he sees his passed father, and his heart aches with want? No--because his child is backing away from his arms held up to hold him. His child is crying, but he also bares his teeth.

“Why?” his child says. “What good does killing do?”

His son is king now, and there is so much that he should know, wisdom he needs to accept, and words and words and words of love that never run out. His son would rather weep instead.

“He was family,” said his child. “He was lost. You should have taken him home.”

The violet sky seemed to grow more violent overhead. It looked more like a painful, ugly bruise.

“Why didn’t you save him instead?” his child says.

Before he could answer, T’Challa wakes up. He slips from dream to reality the way that a broken bone is reset--sharply, perhaps for the better, but left with a throbbing in his head that makes it hard to see. As far as the latter goes, all T’Challa needs to do is reach out and turn on a nightstand light. He does just that, and then he lays his head back down on the pillow. And out of morbid curiosity, he imagines how he could have answered his nonexistent son.

-

In this life, Eric had said, bury me in the ocean with my ancestors. 

T’Challa did not say it at the time, because he did not yet have the courage. He wanted to say to Eric, before Eric took one last look at the sun setting in their homeland--your ancestors are here, cousin. They are buried here, our bones are the soil that grow the trees and the grasses. Your family is me, and Shuri, and Mother, and if you would come with me, together we could--

Eric had already fallen over dead before T’Challa could finish this thought.

-

T’Challa is in many ways not like his father. First of all, he buries Eric.

He smears ash on the windows. He wraps Eric’s body in linens. With the help of Shuri, who does not understand but pities her brother, T’Challa keeps Eric’s feet forward, and their path crooked as they take him into the earth. Despite all the rituals, T’Challa does not doubt that Eric will still follow him.

T’Challa is in many other ways not like his father. After all is said and done, their hands clean and the sun set too low, Shuri asks T’Challa what happened, and why. He tells her everything.

They sit in Shuri’s battered lounge, the glass walls still shattered and Shuri’s prized inventions discarded on the floor. Shuri would have dedicated every minute since the end of that whole ordeal to reorganizing her favorite space, but her brother has been so quiet. Her ruined prototypes can wait.

When T’Challa finishes--he tells her everything, from the sins of their fathers, to the sins of their father, to the sins of her brother--only several minutes have passed. T’Challa does not use many words, as Shuri does not need very many of them to already understand that there are deep cracks in his heart. In fact, the quiet pause between them lasts even longer.

“You were in the middle of a fight,” said Shuri. “You didn’t have time to think. He was trying to kill you.”

T’Challa sighs. He fidgets with one of Shuri’s gadgets--dud beads that she couldn’t get to program right. He thinks of his father, who also had none of the time to think and all of the time to choose to do the right thing.

“I wasn’t thinking,” T’Challa said, “when I drove the knife into his chest. But then I took him all the up to the mountains. And then I let him prefer to die.”

Shuri wants to tell him that he did the right thing, and T’Challa wants her to tell him that. But they both know that such words would be empty.

“Do you think you could have ever changed his heart?” said Shuri. “Even if you had kept him alive?”

T’Challa laughs hollowly.

“A better chance than I do now,” he says.

He does not look up from the metal beads that he rolls between his thumb and finger, squeezing them, lining them in his palm. He hates this sort of despondency--it is not becoming of him.

“I killed family,” he says.

“You saved family,” says Shuri.

“Did I have to kill him to save Wakanda?” says T’Challa.

Shuri purses her lips. She is too young for any of this, T’Challa tells himself, even though he knows that that does not stop anything from happening to her, and has not stopped himself from letting his spirit collapse in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She puts a hand on his, slipping her fingers between his and the dead beads.

“I am too,” Shuri says.

In the morning, T’Challa will purchase a block of buildings in Oakland. He will arrange a meeting with the United Nations. He will pardon W’Kabi, because he doesn’t want to lose his friend even more than he already has. He will be a king who keeps his head high and his feet forward. But all of that can wait for the morning. Right now, he holds his sister, inconsolable.

-

T’Challa stood face to face with the man who had murdered his father. He had reached out a hand to stop the bullet.

T’Challa stood face to face with his cousin whose father was murdered by his uncle. He had reached out a hand to pierce his heart.

As T’Challa sits in the aircraft which circles California, preparing for descent, he asks himself, which was more just?

-

“Just promise me something,” Nakia had said, before T’Challa had departed for the United States.

“Would it be wise?” said T’Challa.

Nakia raised her eyebrows, because some divine truths are never to be questioned.

“That when you work, you will look to the present, and the future,” said Nakia. “Not the past.”

T’Challa frowned.

“You cannot have one without the other,” said T’Challa.

“Of course not,” said Nakia. “The past is to humble you. The present is to teach you, and the future is to motivate you. But it would do you no good to walk forward while looking back. It won’t matter how far you will go. You will always think your work has done nothing.”

As T’Challa stands before the many in the Council, cameras capturing him, microphones muffling him, he tells himself that this is not for redemption. This is not for his haunted conscience. This is neither to appease ghosts nor to defy them. This is for everyone and everything else. But as he opens his mouth to speak, he knows it will take time for it to be true.

-

In another life, when T’Challa and Eric first meet, T’Challa would have beamed, and said, I have always wanted a brother.

[eliyasthepyromancer]

PassionTale: Chapter One, Humble Beginnings

Long ago, two races ruled over the Earth: HUMANS and MONSTERS. One day war broke out between the two races. After a long battle, the humans were victorious. They sealed the monsters in Mt. Ebott with a magic spell. Many years and a few resets later… “I’m so sorry. I always was a crybaby, wasn’t I, Chara?” “I’m not Chara.” “I know. You’re not actually Chara, are you? Chara’s been gone for a long time.” “… yeah.” “Um… what… What IS your name?” “My name’s Frisk.” “Frisk? That’s… A nice name. Frisk… I haven’t felt like this for a very long time. As a flower, I was soulless. I lacked the power to love other people. However, with everyone’s souls inside me… I not only have my own compassion back… But I can feel every other monster’s as well. They all care about each other so much. And… they care about you too, Frisk. I wish I could tell you how everyone feels about you. Papyrus… Sans… Undyne… Alphys… Toriel. Monsters are weird. Even though they barely know you… It feels like they all really love you. Haha. Frisk… I… I understand if you can’t forgive me. I understand if you hate me. I acted so strange and horrible. I hurt you. I hurt so many people. Friends, family, bystanders… There’s no excuse for what I’ve done.” “I forgive you Asriel!” “Wh…what? … Frisk, come on. You’re… You’re gonna make me cry again. … besides, even if you do forgive me… I can’t keep these souls inside of me. The least I can do is return them. But first… There’s something I have to do. Right now, I can feel everyone’s hearts beating as one. They’re all burning with the same desire. With everyone’s power… With everyone’s determination… It’s time for monsters… To finally go free.” Asriel turns towards the barrier and raises his arms, preparing to break it. Just in they (Frisk) split apart, becoming once again two separate beings. Frisk was shocked at this, not having noticed that Chara had bound himself, to her soul. “Stop! Asriel!” Chara’s ethereal form was floating in front of a surprised Frisk on the ground, and behind a very confused Asriel. Chara takes a glance at Frisk. “Yes, I know. But that was part of the contract in the genocide run.” Chara turns back around to face Asriel, as Frisk hangs her head in shame. “Chara… Chara… you’re still alive.” “Yes” he snapped, “I’m very much alive, thank you very much.” He sighed, and looked at his friend. “I know you don’t have much time in that form, and neither do I. Unfortunately, my vessel has been way too unstable for too many years. At least you had a physical body. I know you’re vessel is unstable now too. So skipping formalities, here’s the remainder of my soul. It’ll enable you to stay in a physical body similar to the before you died. I won’t come back after we merge. You’ll take the rest of my determination.” “But Chara…” “I know Asriel, but breaking that barrier requires more determination if you want to save everyone, including the souls.” “Why the souls…” “You’ll see, but if you truly don’t want to stay as a flower, and SAVE everyone, take my soul vessel. Hurry, before we run out of time!” Asriel nodded to this, and took Chara’s now manifested soul. With teared eyes, he absorbed the soul, returning to the HYPERGOD of DEATH. He nods at Frisk, who nodded back. She was now a single being who could now control her DETERMINATION with ease. Asriel turns to the barrier and manifests a Chaos Saber. He smashes the barrier with ease, causing the magic pieces to crack and fall apart. He smiles with satisfaction, before collapsing from the sky, landing on Frisk. Asriel faints, making him and his souls separate. There layed Frisk’s new friends. The human souls flew off, going in the corridor before the throne room. Frisk payed no attention to this, as she was tired from the recent battle, and turn of events. She looked at he monster friends, who were all as unconscious as Asriel himself. She felt her sins crawl up her back, and decided that she’ll never create a full reset ever again. Then, she promptly fell asleep, eventually waking up to a whole new world.

[fcllenflowers]

*You feel your sins crawling on your back.

*M!A: Karmic Retribution*

First day drabble under the cut. Trigger warnings for mentions of gore, suffocation, torture, suffering, waterboarding.

The first day is going by unbearably slow. Steel has been suffering all through the night, plagued by nightmares and occasionally failing to even make it to the bathroom. Crimson stayed up as well, taking an emergency leave to stay home and change her sheets whenever she needed it, cleaning up the throw up she’d fail to pour inside the large basin he provided her with. Painkillers were ineffective. They were not even aware of the duration this curse would have. But for one thing, Crimson had forgot all about punishments now. All he did was sit by his sister’s side, cradling her through her spasms and muffling her cries with kisses and nuzzles. Such was his love and affection for this damned creature that he risked his job, rest, health and quite frankly mental stability to stay by her side. Narcissus, on the other hand, went to work and returned a few hours later. He brought them some food from a nearby restaurant that Steel failed to hold in her stomach and Crimson only half-finished. The rest of their portions were stuffed in plastic tupperware and stored the fridge for later consumption before Narcissus took over and Crimson finally took a break to rest. Of course, after staying up for twenty-four hours of anxiety, he collapsed on his bed and was sound asleep within minutes.

When that was done, Narcissus unloaded an eight-pack of large water bottles from the grocery bags he’d carried home and grabbed a kitchen towel. Bottle in hand and towel tucked in the pocket of his pants with the white tip hanging out, he headed to Steel’s room in complete silence and entered without even knocking. Green eyes trailed over the girl’s form on the bed –laid on her back, arms crossed over her chest and a single eye staring blankly at the ceiling. Who knew what kind of pain she was re-experiencing. Perhaps it was Undyne’s slow death by being literally fried alive in her armor, somewhere in the plains of Hotland.

“Ugh. You poor thing…” He hums, slowly kneeling beside the mattress. There’s a hint of disregard in his voice. Or perhaps it’s irony. Clothes are scattered everywhere, in places they shouldn’t be and Narcissus’ irritation grows. It could be impulse or pure evil that moves his hands to slowly wrap around the girl’s neck. He receives a whimper –a pleasing whimper, music in his ears. It sounds better than all the Bach symphonies he could fathom and he tries to squeeze more out of her little neck. It’s such a delight, the pulse of her throat in his palm as she writhes and struggles, immobilized by the curse. Agony blends with the million screams stuck in her throat; an ugly mix.  He knows Steel won’t beg for help; because he was there when she learned how pointless it is to do so.

Perhaps she could knock on the wall. Perhaps Crimson will hear. He should be sleeping in the next room. The idea shines in her one good eye and the next moment Narcissus releases her throat to press both her wrists down on the bed with his instead. A knee thrusts into her chest, knocking the idea out of her head along with whatever breath might have been left in her lungs out. And with that feeling begins the reminiscence of Mr. Johnson’s lungs being squished to the size of a fist and Steel starts rasping for breath. It makes too much noise and Narcissus methodically reaches for a pillow behind him and presses it firmly on her face.

That feeling; that well-known agony. The feeling of being stuck, of losing all control over your body and the situation, locked up and forced to expect some ungodly punishment.

Narcissus no longer had to pin her down. She was experiencing the pain of having two long sharp needles piecing both ones eardrums simultaneously. She wasn’t going anywhere.

 He wasn’t even aware of what she was feeling when he pulled the towel completely out of his pocket. It had been hanging there for a while now but Steel hadn’t noticed of course. Apart from the fact her room was dark and her eyesight impaired, the pain had clouded all sorts of reasonable thought processes she might have been capable of if she did. Now it was taking over her senses as well. A tickling sensation spread over her limbs, as if thousands upon thousands of tiny ants were climbing on them, raiding her aching body and pinning it against the mattress.

Accepting her horrible fate, the girl slowly closed her eyes and concentrated her efforts on drawing one final breath. The pillow was removed and the towel was draped over her face in its place.

“I thought you and I had made a deal.” Narcissus whispered, hint of sarcasm evident in his husky voice. “I don’t care whose rules you want to play by…but causing trouble like that? Getting us exposed? That’s too reckless for my taste, princess.” He coos. Steel’s palms slowly clench into fists, chest heaving up and down rapidly, writhing, struggling for a single breath. The cloth is already humid. She doesn’t know what’s coming to her. Everything is dark and she’s forced to lay there and endure through the uncertainty and the fear; the terror. Narcissus’ voice resembles the million screams she’s caused and she’s experienced. A life of pain and suffering she’s handed out and lived through herself flashes in front of her closed eyes. The hallucination of these all too familiar glowing buttons fades into the background, hand automatically making a futile attempt at reaching out and touching the immaterial surface... Grey and useless. No Reset. No Save. No Load.

                                                   No Escape.

She can sense the liquid coming from a mile away. It’s cold and humid underneath the towel. It makes her want to sneeze but she feels to weak to even attempt that. The scent of laundry detergent fills her nostrils and makes her sick.

“Uh. I’ll hate having to clean this up. Look what you’re making me do.” Narcissus groans, lifting the large water bottle over her head. Steel’s body makes a final attempt to flinch, to evade the torment. It is of course, pointless, as Alphys’ scream of horror as a knife goes through her head fades into the background of her mind. She feels the sharp blade penetrating her eye. It stings and burns and never stops. Narcissus at this point has realized that the greyface magic must indeed be something horrible. He clicks his tongue and just as his wrist turns to tilt the bottle over his Frisk’s head, the girl produces a raspy plea.

“Pl-…please…d-d…I…s-..I’m sorry!”

There’s a moment’s silence and just as Alphys’ pain gives place to the sharp sting of a stab wound to the chest, Narcissus snickers and starts pouring water on her face. At once, the gasps are muffled. Coughs replace them as her lungs struggle to function. It feels like drowning but not. It gives you the exact, precise experience of being strapped to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean but at the same time unable to find sweet release in death. Instead, it keeps you hanging –on the edge. Muffled pleas are barely audible in the form of gasps and mutters under the soaked towel gag. Narcissus lets the entire bottle contents empty before he screws the lid back on sits back to inspect his work. Steel’s chest is heaving painfully, slowly struggling for whatever release it could achieve with a knee pressing down on it and the wet towel blocking her nostrils and mouth. The cough gets worse. Narcissus rolls his eyes and leans closer to her, moving some braids to the side and onto the wet mattress to expose her earlobe.

“Listen. If you stop coughing like that and keep quiet, I’ll only use three more bottles. Otherwise, I bought an eight pack yesterday.” He whispers and tucks her braids back with the tips of his fingers. Steel barely even winces underneath the towel.

She would pass out, but her body won’t let her. Perhaps that’s what Karma is.

[stormyvixen]

Blog Tour with Excerpt! The Cozy Corgi Mysteries (Books 1-8) Mildred Abbott!

About the Series:

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/series/221761-cozy-corgi-mysteries

Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/gp/bookseries/B078HQR5R8/ref=dp_st_1973449293

The Cozy Corgy Series by Mildred Abbott

Title: CRUEL CANDY (Book 1) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 282 Genre: Cozy Mystery

Estes Park, Colorado: picturesque mountains, charming shops, delightful bakeries, a cozy bookstore… and murder.

Winifred Page and her corgi, Watson, move to Estes Park to hit the Reset button on life. Fred is about to open her dream bookshop, and the only challenges she anticipates are adjusting to small-town life, tourists, and living close to her loveable mother, Phyllis, and hippy stepfather, Barry.

When Fred steps into her soon-to-be-bookshop for the first time, she expects dustbunnies and spiders… not the dead body in the upstairs kitchen. The local police have an easy suspect—Barry.

Determined to prove quirky Barry innocent of murder, Fred puts on her detective hat, and with Watson by her side, she explores her new town and gets acquainted with her fellow shopkeepers. Could one of her friendly neighbors be the real culprit? And what would be the motive for killing the owner of the Sinful Bites candy store? The secrets Fred discover put her at odds with the local police sergeant and threaten her cozy future in Estes.

With snow falling outside, all Fred wants to do is curl up by the fire with a good book and Watson snuggled at her feet. But before she can begin her new life and put her plans for her bookshop into action, Fred and Watson have a mystery to solve…

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36630473-cruel-candy

BookBub - https://www.bookbub.com/books/cruel-candy-cozy-corgi-mysteries-book-1-by-mildred-abbott

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B077XMYWNQ/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i1

Book Excerpt:

One

“Oh, Watson, what have I gotten us into?” I stared at the shop through the safety of my car window. It was smaller than I remembered. I leaned forward, bumping my forehead on the glass. Fairly tall, though, at least two storeys. With the dark-stained log siding and forest-green trim and shutters, it looked like a log cabin had been sandwiched between the other stores of Estes Park.

And it was mine.

The thought ushered in a wave of excitement. A tingle of nausea too, but more excitement than anything. At least that was what I told myself. The death grip I had on the steering wheel of my Mini Cooper said otherwise. I tore my gaze away and turned a forced smile toward the passenger seat. I needed to be brave for Watson.

He arched a brow lazily at me, not bothering to lift his head from his curled-up position. Managing to pull one of my hands free from the steering wheel, I slipped the car into Park, then scratched behind his pointed fox-like ears.

“We’re here. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been a great copilot.” A grumpy copilot, but that was normal for Watson. A quality that probably wouldn’t be as endearing if he wasn’t so stinking cute. “I’d say you deserve a treat. What do you think?”

At what was unquestionably his favorite word, Watson bounded to a standing position and began bouncing on his two front legs. His stubby corgi legs didn’t make him that much taller, though the bouncing helped.

“And this is why we work, you and me. Food is king, behind books, of course.” I snagged a dog bone out of the glove compartment, started to request for Watson to sit first—demands never worked—then decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and held it out to him. Despite his voracious appetite, which even a shark would envy, Watson avoided removing my fingers and made short work of the snack.

After a couple of minutes, Watson cocked that judgmental brow of his once more. His thoughts were clear: The prolonged staring is creepy, lady. But I’ll forgive you for another treat.

He had a point. I was putting off the inevitable. Which was silly. I was excited, happy. Time to launch into an adventure.

I turned toward the shop again, took a breath, and opened the car door. Here goes nothing.

My knees popped as I stepped onto the sidewalk, and I sucked in a breath at the tweak in my back. I supposed a drive halfway across the country was a reasonable excuse, even if I was still two years away from forty. I glanced back at Watson, who had curled back into a ball.

“Seriously? The ten-hour nap wasn’t enough?”

After a few more seconds of glaring, Watson acquiesced, stood, and stretched. He raised his knobbed-tail of a butt in the air, just letting me know he was still in charge, and then leisurely crossed the console and hopped out beside me.

“Thanks for joining me, your highness.” I shut the car door and looked up at the shop. It seemed a little larger once I stood in front of it. It would be charming. My gaze flicked to the sign above the door that read Heads and Tails. Would being the operative word. Who knew what horrors lay behind the papered-over windows. I’d never envisioned a behind-the-scenes look at a taxidermy business, but it seemed I hadn’t been aware of a lot about my future. Well, whatever. If it was too horrible, I’d just pay one of those junk companies to come in and haul everything away.

That thought brought a sense of relief, but then another swept it away. I was thinking like a city girl. I doubted a town the size of Estes Park had a junk-removal business.

And again, I decided, whatever.

I had a feeling I was going to be saying that a lot.

Movement caught my eye from the store window to the left of my shop. Before I could make out a figure, I was captured by the crimson script over the glass, Sinful Bites.

Perfect. Some fortification would be needed in the very likely chance I was getting ready to walk into a store filled with petrified dead animals. I veered off to the left, giving a quick pat to my thigh. “Come on, Watson. Mama deserves a—” I almost said treat. “—reward too.”

A pleasant chime sounded as I opened the door to Sinful Bites and allowed Watson to waddle through. I cast a quick glance around. The store was done in my favorite colors—the walls, cabinets, and displays all in various shades of rich earth tones. It felt homey, comfortable. Exactly what I would be going for when I redid the god-awful taxidermy shop.

That boded well for my relationship with my neighbor.

A woman with short, spiraling brunette hair looked up in surprise from behind the cash register. Her brown gaze glanced at me in confusion, then moved to the front door, and back.

I offered a hesitant smile, feeling like I’d messed up somehow. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” The woman smiled back, wide and bright. “I’m so sorry. We just closed. I could’ve sworn I locked the door,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“Oh. Well, I can come back another time.” Despite myself, I couldn’t keep my gaze from traveling over the gleaming cases filled with candy. “Not at all! My fault for not locking the door, and I haven’t started putting things away yet, so I insist.” Another smile.

“Thank you. I promise I’ll be quick.” I moved closer to the cases, unsure if I would be able to keep that promise. Though slightly picked over, the display was magnificent. Gleaming fruit tarts in golden brown crusts, hand-size brownies filled with nuts, caramel, and chunks of candy. Fudge of every flavor, truffles of various shapes and colors, and chocolate. So much chocolate that I was suddenly aware I’d smelled it since I walked in the door. No wonder I felt at home. Chocolates done in nearly every imaginable way—almond bark and turtles, covering pretzels, marzipan and nougat.

Heaven, I decided. I’d died and gone to heaven. I managed to tear my gaze away from the smorgasbord of delights and look at the woman. “I think I’m in love.”

The woman chuckled good-naturedly and held out her hand. “I’m Katie. Always nice to meet someone who appreciates dessert more than cardio.”

I stiffened for a heartbeat, wondering if I should be insulted. But at the twinkling of Katie’s eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt an instant kinship with the woman. “Yes, I’ll take dessert any day over fitting into a size eight. Though my real weakness is carbs, not candy. Give me a hot loaf of fresh bread and I can die a happy woman.” I took Katie’s hand. “Me too, actually. I might work in a candy shop, but bread is what I do best.”

“Then I am definitely glad to meet you, Katie.” I released her grip and gestured down to Watson, who stared up at me, salivating. “My little corgi friend is Watson, and I’m—”

“I’m telling you, Lois, if you would just use actual sugar in your baking instead of all the stupid substitutions—” Two elderly women walked through the back door of the shop, cutting me off. They both halted at the sight of Watson and me. The blonde cast a quick glare at Katie. “I thought we closed.”

Katie flushed. “I apparently didn’t lock the door. Sorry. But I believe—” It seemed she was searching for my name. “—our friend here is in need of some chocolate.”

The blonde looked at me and cast another glare down at Watson, but by the time she met my gaze once more, her smile was wide, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, of course! You’ve come to the right place. Sinful Bites has the best chocolate in town.”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything. Katie cleared her throat, cutting the brief tension that had filled the place. “Do you know what you’d like? If you’re not sure, I can get you a sample.”

Getting-to-know-you time was most definitely over. Which was doubly sad, as at any other time I would’ve taken Katie up on the offer of samples. Under the inspection of the blonde, however, I didn’t dare. “You know, I just drove into town, and I really should get home. Why don’t you give me an assortment of the ones you like best.” Chances were high such a thing would end up being more expensive than I’d intended to spend on candy, but since I was going to be neighbors with the shop, it was clear I needed to put my best foot forward as quickly as possible.

“Home?” The third woman finally spoke. “Do you live here? You must be new in town. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

“I just moved in. Quite literally, in fact.” I smiled at the woman, who seemed nicer than the blonde. “I’ve visited several times. I have family who live here.” I nodded at Katie as I spoke, trying to include her again and continue the introductions. “I’m Fred, and this is Watson. We just made the long drive from Kansas City to Colorado. This was our first stop in town.”

The woman gave a chuckle. “Fred? I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman named Fred.” She gestured to herself and the blonde. “I’m Lois Garble, and this is my sister, Opal. Opal owns this candy shop, and I own the one two doors down, Healthy Delights.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Sisters? The two women definitely didn’t look like sisters. Although, now that I thought about it, they had the same features. It was only everything else that was different. Lois had naturally graying hair, a clean and wrinkled face, and she wore a plain cotton dress. Opal had dyed, highly stylized blonde hair, copious amounts of makeup, a brightly colored dress, and tons of jewelry. “My true name is Winifred Page, but everyone calls me Fred.”

“Well, I think that is simply adorable. And it suits you.” Lois shrugged playfully. “Like I said, I’ve never met a woman named Fred, but if I could imagine one, she’d have beautiful auburn hair just like yours. I’ve always thought Opal would look ravishing in that color.” She cast a sidelong glance toward her sister’s coiffed blonde hairdo.

Opal didn’t comment about becoming a redhead. “Page? Your last name is Page, and you have family in town? I don’t remember a family with that name.”

I nodded, though for some reason I was tempted to lie. “Yes. My mother grew up here. Phyllis Oswald, though now she’s Phyllis Adams.”

Both Katie and Lois seemed to take a step back, but Opal didn’t budge, instead folding her arms over her ample bosom. Any semblance of welcome or friendliness vanished, not that there’d been much from Opal. “I thought I’d heard your name before.” If looks could kill. “So that means you’re the one taking over Sid’s taxidermy shop.”

Again, lying seemed the intelligent thing to do. “Yes. Though I won’t be doing taxidermy. I’m going to be changing it to a bookshop. It’s going to be called the Cozy—”

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” Opal sniffed, nostrils flared. “And for future reference, I don’t allow dogs in my business.”

I halted, unsure what to say. One of the things I’d always liked about the town was Estes Park’s dog-friendly nature. I started to glance at Katie and then thought better of it. The last thing I wanted to do was get the shopgirl in trouble. I gestured back toward the door. “Sorry for….” What was I sorry for exactly? “Watson and I will just be going.”

Lois gave a loud good-natured laugh and swatted playfully at Opal, which Opal avoided with a glare. “Please forgive my sister. It’s her intake of sugar and butter and things the good Lord never intended us to eat. It makes her cranky.” She managed to deliver the line with a cheerful air, making it sound more like an endearing quality than an insult. Lois headed around the counter and slipped a birdlike arm through mine.

“You come with me. I’ll get you some sweets that are natural and nourishing, and I have homemade dog-bone biscuits.” She looked down at Watson, then back at me. “I didn’t notice. How adorable. He’s a redhead like you.” Without waiting for a response, she looked back down once more. “What do you say… Watson, was it? Do you want a treat?”

Watson bounced on his two front paws again at the word, causing Lois to chuckle. The only thing I really wanted to do at that point was get away, but Watson’s reaction settled it. Plus, how could I deny the woman without seeming rude?

I allowed myself to be led toward the front door and cast a glance back, offering a quick smile to Katie and a final apologetic grimace to Opal.

Lois led me out of the shop, around the front of Heads and Tails, then pulled out her keys to usher me into Healthy Delights. “Sorry, I already shut the place down, but I’ll get you an assortment of things from the back. Give me one second, dear.” She flicked on the lights and then headed through the back door to disappear with a small wave.

The tingle of nausea rose again. My shop sat directly between these two sisters. Lois seemed sweet enough, but Lord knew what I was getting myself into with these two. Pushing the thought away, I spared a glance at Lois’s store. It was the exact same layout as Opal’s, just flipped, but the similarities stopped there. Where Opal’s candy shop felt cozy, warm, and friendly—despite the woman herself—Lois’s was done in a garish combination of pastel colors, sickeningly sweet pinks, and yellows. My stomach gurgled.

Watson didn’t seem to notice. He chuffed and looked up at me.

“Your treat is coming. Calm down.” I shook my finger at him. “And I blame you for pulling me into this.”

He chuffed again, and this time bounded so his paws landed on my foot, clearly telling me to shut up and get on with the treat giving.

“You’re ridiculous.” As if watching a car crash, I looked back at the shop. It didn’t make any sense at all. How could the sister who owned the cozy and delicious-smelling candy shop be so irritable, while the one who designed the monstrosity that looked like Easter on speed was the kind one?

Before the color palette had a chance to permanently scar my corneas, Lois returned with a large brown bag in one hand and a massive dog bone in the other. “I’m sorry I have to rush. I’d love to get to know you and your precious pup, but Opal and I have dinner plans, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” She thrust the bag into my grip. “For future reference, I make everything Opal does, just a healthy, all-natural version. It’s fun to mix and match.”

I forced a smile. I hadn’t been able to identify what smell seemed to linger in the air, but it wasn’t pleasant. If the desserts were edible, I’d be shocked. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. I’m sorry if I did anything to offend—”

Lois waved me off, whipping the dog bone in the air, a large crumb flying across the room. In a rare show of speed, Watson zoomed away in pursuit. Lois didn’t seem to notice. “Never you mind. That’s just how Opal is. You see, she and I were hoping to purchase the taxidermy shop after Sid passed, but your mother wouldn’t consider selling. Said her daughter was taking it over.” Though her chipper tone didn’t fade, Lois’s smile did, a touch. “I won’t hold that against you, dear.” Another hand pat. “But if you decide you want to sell, we’d appreciate it if you would let us know.” Leaning closer, her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Lots of people move to Estes Park, captured by its beauty and charm, only to discover they feel a little trapped in the mountains and constricted by small-town life. Chances are it will happen to you too. Of course, I hope not, but”—and yet another pat—“when it does, remember my sister and me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but was utterly at a loss for words.

Words didn’t seem to be required. Lois wrapped her arm around my shoulders, which was no small feat, considering I was several inches taller than the woman, and led me toward the door. She shoved what was left of the dog bone at me. “This is made from peanut butter I ground myself, and organic grains. They are five dollars apiece, but this one’s on the house.” She opened the door for me and stood aside. “Welcome to town, Fred.”

“Thank you, Lois.” I clutched the paper bag and waggled the dog bone in Watson’s direction, capturing his attention. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.” Watson tore off from where he’d been sniffing in the back corner of the shop. I nodded my thanks to Lois once more, then walked to the car. I changed my mind a few paces away from my burnt-orange Mini Cooper. Turning around, I headed back toward the front door of the taxidermy shop. I’d been so excited to see inside, to get lost in the planning of what my bookstore would look like, that I had driven straight here when we got into town.

After locking her front door, Lois crossed in front of Heads and Tails, gave a final friendly wave, and disappeared into Sinful Bites once more.

Pushing the odd sisters out of my mind, I addressed Watson as we stopped at the front door. “I’m sure you’ll love all the smells you’re going to find in there, but just remember, if we come across a dead animal and I scream, you’re forbidden from telling anyone. If you do, there won’t be any treats for a week.”

Watson gave a quick, sharp bark.

“Crap. I said treat, didn’t I?” At the repeated word, Watson resumed bouncing, his dark brown eyes wild with excitement and looking like a deranged bunny.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I lifted what was left of the dog bone. “Luckily, we have one. You can get it as soon we’re inside.”

I paused at the lockbox hanging from the door handle, then set the bag of healthy candy—what a thought that was—at my feet. Catching my reflection in the window, the paper behind the glass causing it to act nearly as effectively as a mirror, I couldn’t help but scowl. My hair was a complete mess, and a sheen of light caught the gleam from dog hair. I glanced down at my peasant blouse. Life with a corgi meant I was in constant need of a lint roller, but after the day in the car, things had gotten to a nearly ludicrous level. To make matters worse, I gave my brown broomstick skirt a flick with my wrist and sent a fresh wave of dog hair spiraling around me. Wonderful. So much for putting my best foot forward. Meeting three of my neighbors while looking like I was part corgi myself.

Well, whatever. Too late to be helped now. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever actually be dog-hair-free anyway. Pushing the concern away, I pulled out my cell and scrolled through text messages from my mother until I came across the lockbox code. I punched in the four digits and gave a yank. There was no click and the lock didn’t budge. Clearing it, I tried again. Same reaction. I checked the text, confirming I had the numbers right, then tried a third time. When I was still denied, I tapped my mother’s name and lifted the phone to my ear.

It rang several times, then finally clicked to a message saying my mother’s voice mail was full and could no longer accept messages. What else was new? I tried the lockbox one final time. For a moment, I considered breaking the window on the front door and reaching in. It was my shop, after all.

What a way to start a new adventure, breaking and entering. Patience had never been a virtue I fostered, but letting out a resigned huff that sounded more like a corgi than a woman, I stuffed my cell back into my pocket. “Looks like we’re thwarted at the moment, Watson.” Retrieving the paper bag, I led us back to the car, held the door for Watson to hop in, then followed.

I’d been so ecstatic about opening the bookshop, I hadn’t even considered who my neighbors might be. Being directly between Lois and Opal was going to be…. Well, I was afraid I didn’t have a word for exactly what that was going to be. I doubted it would be all that pleasant.

Watson chuffed.

“You feel it too, don’t you, boy? Who knows what we’re going to have to face with those two. At least we have each other.” He let out a long pitiful whine.

“Aww, look at you being all empathetic. What’s gotten into—”

I realized Watson’s frantic gaze was focused on my hand, not looking deep into my eyes and sharing a moment. “Oh, I forgot.” I handed him what remained of the all-natural dog biscuit with a sigh.

Title: TRAITOROUS TOYS (Book 2) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 2278 Genre: Cozy Mystery

It’s Christmas in Estes Park, Colorado: cozy fires, twinkling lights, soft snowfall, and… murder.

The winter holidays in charming Estes Park lulls Winifred Page and her corgi, Watson, into thoughts of spiced chai and gingerbread as they settle into their new home. Fred’s dream bookshop is becoming a reality, and with Christmas only days away, her only concerns are spending time with family, enforcing Watson’s diet, and finding the perfect gifts.

The toy store beckons Fred and her friend Katie, who dash in out of the cold, during a shopping spree to discover handmade toys, cuddly stuffed animals… and a dying man on the floor.

When Katie’s desperate attempts to save the man ends in her being taken in for his murder, Fred once again dons her detective hat. She puts aside her Christmas list and—with Watson sniffing around—begins a list of suspects. But as quickly as clues point to one person, new discoveries shift the spotlight to another.

With Katie’s freedom in the balance, Fred has little time to think about gifts or to enjoy the holiday lights and music. A killer is on the loose, one who became violent in a picture-perfect Christmas toy shop, and Fred and Watson can’t begin to predict what might happen next…

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Title: BICKERING BIRDS (Book 3) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 280 Genre: Cozy Mystery

Rocky Mountain National Park has it all: rugged peaks, pine-scented forests, enchanting bird-watching locations, and… murder.

The Cozy Corgi bookshop finally opens, and Winifred Page and her headstrong corgi, Watson, are ready to welcome their first patrons. With her new best friend, Katie, creating heavenly pastries in the bakery on the top floor of the store, Fred’s dreams are all coming together in delicious and unexpected ways.

When Katie caters a meeting of the Feathered Friends Brigade and drags Fred along, they expect nothing more than loquacious chatter about birds as they endeavor to build a professional relationship with the owner of the wild bird shop. Fred and Katie are quickly roped into a moonlight snowshoeing hike in hopes of spotting a rare owl. While the endangered bird proves elusive… the murdered man in the snow is hard to miss.

Fred’s growing relationship with Sergeant Wexler hits a snag when he forbids her from donning her sleuth hat yet again. But Fred is a lot like her corgi—she doesn’t like being told what to do, even if it puts an end to a possible romance.

As Fred and Watson delve into the lives of the ornithological club members, the tangled birds’ nest of an investigation makes Fred wonder if she should have left this one to the police. But when feathers begin to fly, Fred has no choice but to flush out a killer…

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Title: SAVAGE SOURDOUGH (Book 4) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 296 Genre: Cozy Mystery

Opening the Cozy Corgi in Estes Park is a dream come true: small-town charm, fresh-baked bread, hours by the fire reading mysteries, and… murder.

For Winifred Page and her devoted corgi, Watson, the puzzle pieces of life are falling into place as they settle into their home in the Colorado mountains. Surrounded by family and friends, Fred begins to relax into the charm and beauty of being the owner of a bookshop and bakery.

The buzz of possible romance—though Fred wasn’t looking for a relationship—has quieted as one of her suitors is no longer a viable option while the other has moved into the friend zone. But all thoughts of romance, wanted or not, fly out the window when Fred finds a dead body in the Cozy Corgi bakery… again.

Things get stickier when Fred’s main suspect turns out to be a family member of one of the local police officers—the one who already despises Fred and her little dog.

Determined not to let past grievances cloud her judgment, Fred tips her detective hat and pokes deeper into the murder investigation. But in a mystery that becomes smoke and mirrors, nothing is as it seems.

The revelations Fred unveils threaten not only her picture-perfect world but her very life….

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Title: SCORNFUL SCONES (Book 5) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 302 Genre: Cozy Mystery

With summer approaching, Estes Park is abuzz with flowers, baking, tourists, and… murder.

Tourist season is about to begin, and the lovely weather has Winifred Page and her corgi sidekick, Watson, leaving the comfort of the Cozy Corgi Bookshop and Bakery to reluctantly attend a celebration at the Black Bear Roaster coffee shop. But a chill of uncertainty settles over Fred when a choking death doesn’t seem so accidental—despite the dry, hazardous scones.

As Fred and Police Sergeant Branson Wexler rekindle a possible romance, Fred shares her suspicions. But is she seeing murder at every turn? Learning to trust her gut feelings, Fred risks the ire of the coffee shop owner to investigate not one, but two, deaths.

As suspects and motives abound, old resentments are uncovered, and Fred and Watson build new friendships even as they follow the crumbs to find clues to a killer.

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Title: CHAOTIC CORGIS (Book 6) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 213 Genre: Cozy Mystery

At the height of the summer season, Estes Park explodes with people, wildlife, fireworks, and… murder.

The Cozy Corgi Bookshop and Bakery is buzzing with tourists, and Winifred Page and her quirky corgi, Watson, celebrate the Fourth of July picnicking with family and friends—of the human and four-legged variety. As summer blooms with romance for Fred and Sergeant Branson Wexler, murder lurks around the corner.

With a friend’s life in danger, Fred and Watson doggedly pursue the investigation, even as Fred finds herself once again at odds with the police department. But caring for two chaotic corgis while navigating emotions from the past in the midst of solving a mystery might be too much, and Fred hits a roadblock.

As relationships are tested and secrets exposed, Fred might lose more than one person she loves…

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Title: QUARRELSOME QUARTZ (Book 7) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 340 Genre: Cozy Mystery

A New Age conference comes to Estes Park, Colorado, bringing a cacophony of tie-dye, crystals, and murder…

As summer draws to a close, the Spirit, Health, and Heart Conference arrives, just in time for Winifred’s sisters to open their store next to the Cozy Corgi Bookshop. To Fred’s surprise, Chakras turns out to be a beautiful addition to the delightful mountain town. The shop even has a room so pleasing in its crystal tranquility that Fred’s corgi, Watson, approves—and hardly anything impresses him.

But not everyone is charmed by the crystals, tarot readings, and messages of personal enlightenment. When a famous spiritualist is found dead, Chakras and the entire town is plunged into a conflict that touches the lives of those closest to Fred.

Although she is hesitant to become involved, it is simply not in the cards for Fred to sit out the investigation. As she and Watson embark on a journey that forces them to take a look into the darker shadows of Estes Park, Fred soon finds herself digging into the secrets of those she loves…

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Title: WICKED WILDLIFE (Book 8) Author: Mildred Abbott Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC Pages: 217 Genre: Cozy Mystery

Poaching becomes an ever more pervasive problem within the National Park. When Fred discovers a body, of the human variety, while on a hike, she and Watson are pulled into another mystery. Over the days that follow, everything in Fred’s world gets turned on its head and the secrets that are revealed shake her to her core.

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Malevolent Magic (Cozy Corgi Mystery #9) Preorder:

Coming - November 30, 2018

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Reading the Cozy Corgi series is pretty much all you need to know about Mildred. In real life, she’s obsessed with everything she writes about: Corgis, Books, Cozy Mountain Towns, and Baked Goods.  She’s not obsessed with murder, however. At least not at her own hands (nor paid for… no contract killing here). But since childhood, starting with Nancy Drew, trying to figure out who-dun-it has played a formative role in her personality.  Having Fred and Watson stroll into her mind was a touch of kismet.

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Estes Park, Colorado: picturesque mountains, charming shops, delightful bakeries, a cozy bookstore… and murder.

Winifred Page and her corgi, Watson, move to Estes Park to hit the reset button on life. Fred is about to open her dream bookshop, and the only challenges she anticipates are adjusting to small town life, tourists, and living close to her loveable mother, Phyllis, and hippy stepfather, Barry.

When Fred steps into her soon-to-be-bookshop for the first time, she expects dust bunnies and spiders… not the dead body in the upstairs kitchen. The local police have an easy suspect—Barry.

Determined to prove quirky Barry innocent of murder, Fred puts on her detective hat, and with Watson by her side, she explores her new town and gets acquainted with her fellow shopkeepers. Could one of her friendly neighbors be the real culprit? And what would be the motive for killing the owner of the Sinful Bites candy store? The secrets Fred discover put her at odds with the local police sergeant and threaten her cozy future in Estes.

With snow falling outside, all Fred wants to do is curl up by the fire with a good book and Watson snuggled at her feet. But before she can begin her new life and put her plans for her bookshop into action, Fred and Watson have a mystery to solve…

GET A CLOSER LOOK AND READ A CHAPTER HERE

“Oh, Watson, what have I gotten us into?” I stared at the shop through the safety of my car window. It was smaller than I remembered. I leaned forward, bumping my forehead on the glass. Fairly tall, though, at least two storeys. With the dark-stained log siding and forest-green trim and shutters, it looked like a log cabin had been sandwiched between the other stores of Estes Park. 

And it was mine. 

The thought ushered in a wave of excitement. A tingle of nausea too, but more excitement than anything. At least that was what I told myself.

The death grip I had on the steering wheel of my Mini Cooper said otherwise. I tore my gaze away and turned a forced smile toward the passenger seat. I needed to be brave for Watson.

He arched a brow lazily at me, not bothering to lift his head from his curled-up position. Managing to pull one of my hands free from the steering wheel, I slipped the car into Park, then scratched behind his pointed fox-like ears. 

“We’re here. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been a great copilot.” A grumpy copilot, but that was normal for Watson. A quality that probably wouldn’t be as endearing if he wasn’t so stinking cute. “I’d say you deserve a treat. What do you think?”

At what was unquestionably his favorite word, Watson bounded to a standing position and began bouncing on his two front legs. His stubby corgi legs didn’t make him that much taller, though the bouncing helped.

“And this is why we work, you and me. Food is king, behind books, of course.” I snagged a dog bone out of the glove compartment, started to request for Watson to sit first—demands never worked—then decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and held it out to him. Despite his voracious appetite, which even a shark would envy, Watson avoided removing my fingers and made short work of the snack.

After a couple of minutes, Watson cocked that judgmental brow of his once more. His thoughts were clear: The prolonged staring is creepy, lady. But I’ll forgive you for another treat. 

He had a point. I was putting off the inevitable. Which was silly. I was excited, happy. Time to launch into an adventure.

I turned toward the shop again, took a breath, and opened the car door. Here goes nothing.

My knees popped as I stepped onto the sidewalk, and I sucked in a breath at the tweak in my back. I supposed a drive halfway across the country was a reasonable excuse, even if I was still two years away from forty. I glanced back at Watson, who had curled back into a ball. “Seriously? The ten-hour nap wasn’t enough?”

After a few more seconds of glaring, Watson acquiesced, stood, and stretched. He raised his knobbed-tail of a butt in the air, just letting me know he was still in charge, and then leisurely crossed the console and hopped out beside me.

“Thanks for joining me, your highness.” I shut the car door and looked up at the shop. It seemed a little larger once I stood in front of it. It would be charming. My gaze flicked to the sign above the door that read Heads and Tails. Would being the operative word. Who knew what horrors lay behind the papered-over windows. I’d never envisioned a behind-the-scenes look at a taxidermy business, but it seemed I hadn’t been aware of a lot about my future. Well, whatever. If it was too horrible, I’d just pay one of those junk companies to come in and haul everything away.

That thought brought a sense of relief, but then another swept it away. I was thinking like a city girl. I doubted a town the size of Estes Park had a junk-removal business.

And again, I decided, whatever. 

I had a feeling I was going to be saying that a lot.

Movement caught my eye from the store window to the left of my shop. Before I could make out a figure, I was captured by the crimson script over the glass, Sinful Bites. 

Perfect. Some fortification would be needed in the very likely chance I was getting ready to walk into a store filled with petrified dead animals. I veered off to the left, giving a quick pat to my thigh. “Come on, Watson. Mama deserves a—” I almost said treat. “—reward too.”

A pleasant chime sounded as I opened the door to Sinful Bites and allowed Watson to waddle through. I cast a quick glance around. The store was done in my favorite colors—the walls, cabinets, and displays all in various shades of rich earth tones. It felt homey, comfortable. Exactly what I would be going for when I redid the god-awful taxidermy shop. That boded well for my relationship with my neighbor.

A woman with short, spiraling brunette hair looked up in surprise from behind the cash register. Her brown gaze glanced at me in confusion, then moved to the front door, and back. 

I offered a hesitant smile, feeling like I’d messed up somehow. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” The woman smiled back, wide and bright. “I’m so sorry. We just closed. I could’ve sworn I locked the door,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“Oh. Well, I can come back another time.” Despite myself, I couldn’t keep my gaze from traveling over the gleaming cases filled with candy.

“Not at all! My fault for not locking the door, and I haven’t started putting things away yet, so I insist.” Another smile.

“Thank you. I promise I’ll be quick.” I moved closer to the cases, unsure if I would be able to keep that promise. Though slightly picked over, the display was magnificent. Gleaming fruit tarts in golden brown crusts, hand-size brownies filled with nuts, caramel, and chunks of candy. Fudge of every flavor, truffles of various shapes and colors, and chocolate. So much chocolate that I was suddenly aware I’d smelled it since I walked in the door. No wonder I felt at home. Chocolates done in nearly every imaginable way—almond bark and turtles, covering pretzels, marzipan and nougat.

Heaven, I decided. I’d died and gone to heaven. I managed to tear my gaze away from the smorgasbord of delights and look at the woman. “I think I’m in love.”

The woman chuckled good-naturedly and held out her hand. “I’m Katie. Always nice to meet someone who appreciates dessert more than cardio.”

I stiffened for a heartbeat, wondering if I should be insulted. But at the twinkling of Katie’s eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt an instant kinship with the woman. “Yes, I’ll take dessert any day over fitting into a size eight. Though my real weakness is carbs, not candy. Give me a hot loaf of fresh bread and I can die a happy woman.” I took Katie’s hand.

“Me too, actually. I might work in a candy shop, but bread is what I do best.”

“Then I am definitely glad to meet you, Katie.” I released her grip and gestured down to Watson, who stared up at me, salivating. “My little corgi friend is Watson, and I’m—”

“I’m telling you, Lois, if you would just use actual sugar in your baking instead of all the stupid substitutions—” Two elderly women walked through the back door of the shop, cutting me off. They both halted at the sight of Watson and me. The blonde cast a quick glare at Katie. “I thought we closed.”

Katie flushed. “I apparently didn’t lock the door. Sorry. But I believe—” It seemed she was searching for my name. “—our friend here is in need of some chocolate.”

The blonde looked at me and cast another glare down at Watson, but by the time she met my gaze once more, her smile was wide, even if it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, of course! You’ve come to the right place. Sinful Bites has the best chocolate in town.”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

Katie cleared her throat, cutting the brief tension that had filled the place. “Do you know what you’d like? If you’re not sure, I can get you a sample.”

Getting-to-know-you time was most definitely over. Which was doubly sad, as at any other time I would’ve taken Katie up on the offer of samples. Under the inspection of the blonde, however, I didn’t dare. “You know, I just drove into town, and I really should get home. Why don’t you give me an assortment of the ones you like best.” Chances were high such a thing would end up being more expensive than I’d intended to spend on candy, but since I was going to be neighbors with the shop, it was clear I needed to put my best foot forward as quickly as possible.

“Home?” The third woman finally spoke. “Do you live here? You must be new in town. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

“I just moved in. Quite literally, in fact.” I smiled at the woman, who seemed nicer than the blonde. “I’ve visited several times. I have family who live here.” I nodded at Katie as I spoke, trying to include her again and continue the introductions. “I’m Fred, and this is Watson. We just made the long drive from Kansas City to Colorado. This was our first stop in town.” 

The woman gave a chuckle. “Fred? I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman named Fred.” She gestured to herself and the blonde. “I’m Lois Garble, and this is my sister, Opal. Opal owns this candy shop, and I own the one two doors down, Healthy Delights.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Sisters? The two women definitely didn’t look like sisters. Although, now that I thought about it, they had the same features. It was only everything else that was different. Lois had naturally graying hair, a clean and wrinkled face, and she wore a plain cotton dress. Opal had dyed, highly stylized blonde hair, copious amounts of makeup, a brightly colored dress, and tons of jewelry. “My true name is Winifred Page, but everyone calls me Fred.”

“Well, I think that is simply adorable. And it suits you.” Lois shrugged playfully. “Like I said, I’ve never met a woman named Fred, but if I could imagine one, she’d have beautiful auburn hair just like yours. I’ve always thought Opal would look ravishing in that color.” She cast a sidelong glance toward her sister’s coiffed blonde hairdo.

Opal didn’t comment about becoming a redhead. “Page? Your last name is Page, and you have family in town? I don’t remember a family with that name.” 

I nodded, though for some reason I was tempted to lie. “Yes. My mother grew up here. Phyllis Oswald, though now she’s Phyllis Adams.”

Both Katie and Lois seemed to take a step back, but Opal didn’t budge, instead folding her arms over her ample bosom. Any semblance of welcome or friendliness vanished, not that there’d been much from Opal. “I thought I’d heard your name before.” If looks could kill. “So that means you’re the one taking over Sid’s taxidermy shop.”

Again, lying seemed the intelligent thing to do. “Yes. Though I won’t be doing taxidermy. I’m going to be changing it to a bookshop. It’s going to be called the Cozy—”

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.” Opal sniffed, nostrils flared. “And for future reference, I don’t allow dogs in my business.”

I halted, unsure what to say. One of the things I’d always liked about the town was Estes Park’s dog-friendly nature. I started to glance at Katie and then thought better of it. The last thing I wanted to do was get the shopgirl in trouble. I gestured back toward the door. “Sorry for….” What was I sorry for exactly? “Watson and I will just be going.”

Lois gave a loud good-natured laugh and swatted playfully at Opal, which Opal avoided with a glare. “Please forgive my sister. It’s her intake of sugar and butter and things the good Lord never intended us to eat. It makes her cranky.” She managed to deliver the line with a cheerful air, making it sound more like an endearing quality than an insult. Lois headed around the counter and slipped a birdlike arm through mine. “You come with me. I’ll get you some sweets that are natural and nourishing, and I have homemade dog-bone biscuits.” She looked down at Watson, then back at me. “I didn’t notice. How adorable. He’s a redhead like you.” Without waiting for a response, she looked back down once more. “What do you say… Watson, was it? Do you want a treat?”

Watson bounced on his two front paws again at the word, causing Lois to chuckle. The only thing I really wanted to do at that point was get away, but Watson’s reaction settled it. Plus, how could I deny the woman without seeming rude?

I allowed myself to be led toward the front door and cast a glance back, offering a quick smile to Katie and a final apologetic grimace to Opal.

Lois led me out of the shop, around the front of Heads and Tails, then pulled out her keys to usher me into Healthy Delights. “Sorry, I already shut the place down, but I’ll get you an assortment of things from the back. Give me one second, dear.” She flicked on the lights and then headed through the back door to disappear with a small wave.

The tingle of nausea rose again. My shop sat directly between these two sisters. Lois seemed sweet enough, but Lord knew what I was getting myself into with these two. Pushing the thought away, I spared a glance at Lois’s store. It was the exact same layout as Opal’s, just flipped, but the similarities stopped there. Where Opal’s candy shop felt cozy, warm, and friendly—despite the woman herself—Lois’s was done in a garish combination of pastel colors, sickeningly sweet pinks, and yellows. My stomach gurgled.

Watson didn’t seem to notice. He chuffed and looked up at me.

“Your treat is coming. Calm down.” I shook my finger at him. “And I blame you for pulling me into this.”

He chuffed again, and this time bounded so his paws landed on my foot, clearly telling me to shut up and get on with the treat giving.

“You’re ridiculous.” As if watching a car crash, I looked back at the shop. It didn’t make any sense at all. How could the sister who owned the cozy and delicious-smelling candy shop be so irritable, while the one who designed the monstrosity that looked like Easter on speed was the kind one?

Before the color palette had a chance to permanently scar my corneas, Lois returned with a large brown bag in one hand and a massive dog bone in the other. “I’m sorry I have to rush. I’d love to get to know you and your precious pup, but Opal and I have dinner plans, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” She thrust the bag into my grip. “For future reference, I make everything Opal does, just a healthy, all-natural version. It’s fun to mix and match.”

I forced a smile. I hadn’t been able to identify what smell seemed to linger in the air, but it wasn’t pleasant. If the desserts were edible, I’d be shocked. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. I’m sorry if I did anything to offend—”

Lois waved me off, whipping the dog bone in the air, a large crumb flying across the room. In a rare show of speed, Watson zoomed away in pursuit. Lois didn’t seem to notice. “Never you mind. That’s just how Opal is. You see, she and I were hoping to purchase the taxidermy shop after Sid passed, but your mother wouldn’t consider selling. Said her daughter was taking it over.” Though her chipper tone didn’t fade, Lois’s smile did, a touch. “I won’t hold that against you, dear.” Another hand pat. “But if you decide you want to sell, we’d appreciate it if you would let us know.” Leaning closer, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Lots of people move to Estes Park, captured by its beauty and charm, only to discover they feel a little trapped in the mountains and constricted by small-town life. Chances are it will happen to you too. Of course, I hope not, but”—and yet another pat—“when it does, remember my sister and me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but was utterly at a loss for words.

Words didn’t seem to be required. Lois wrapped her arm around my shoulders, which was no small feat, considering I was several inches taller than the woman, and led me toward the door. She shoved what was left of the dog bone at me. “This is made from peanut butter I ground myself, and organic grains. They are five dollars apiece, but this one’s on the house.” She opened the door for me and stood aside. “Welcome to town, Fred.”

“Thank you, Lois.” I clutched the paper bag and waggled the dog bone in Watson’s direction, capturing his attention. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.” Watson tore off from where he’d been sniffing in the back corner of the shop. I nodded my thanks to Lois once more, then walked to the car. I changed my mind a few paces away from my burnt-orange Mini Cooper. Turning around, I headed back toward the front door of the taxidermy shop. I’d been so excited to see inside, to get lost in the planning of what my bookstore would look like, that I had driven straight here when we got into town.

After locking her front door, Lois crossed in front of Heads and Tails, gave a final friendly wave, and disappeared into Sinful Bites once more. 

Pushing the odd sisters out of my mind, I addressed Watson as we stopped at the front door. “I’m sure you’ll love all the smells you’re going to find in there, but just remember, if we come across a dead animal and I scream, you’re forbidden from telling anyone. If you do, there won’t be any treats for a week.”

Watson gave a quick, sharp bark. 

“Crap. I said treat, didn’t I?” At the repeated word, Watson resumed bouncing, his dark brown eyes wild with excitement and looking like a deranged bunny.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I lifted what was left of the dog bone. “Luckily, we have one. You can get it as soon we’re inside.”

I paused at the lockbox hanging from the door handle, then set the bag of healthy candy—what a thought that was—at my feet. Catching my reflection in the window, the paper behind the glass causing it to act nearly as effectively as a mirror, I couldn’t help but scowl. My hair was a complete mess, and a sheen of light caught the gleam from dog hair. I glanced down at my peasant blouse. Life with a corgi meant I was in constant need of a lint roller, but after the day in the car, things had gotten to a nearly ludicrous level. To make matters worse, I gave my brown broomstick skirt a flick with my wrist and sent a fresh wave of dog hair spiraling around me. Wonderful. So much for putting my best foot forward. Meeting three of my neighbors while looking like I was part corgi myself.

Well, whatever. Too late to be helped now. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever actually be dog-hair-free anyway. Pushing the concern away, I pulled out my cell and scrolled through text messages from my mother until I came across the lockbox code. I punched in the four digits and gave a yank. There was no click and the lock didn’t budge. Clearing it, I tried again. Same reaction. I checked the text, confirming I had the numbers right, then tried a third time. When I was still denied, I tapped my mother’s name and lifted the phone to my ear.

It rang several times, then finally clicked to a message saying my mother’s voice mail was full and could no longer accept messages. What else was new? I tried the lockbox one final time. For a moment, I considered breaking the window on the front door and reaching in. It was my shop, after all.

What a way to start a new adventure, breaking and entering. Patience had never been a virtue I fostered, but letting out a resigned huff that sounded more like a corgi than a woman, I stuffed my cell back into my pocket. “Looks like we’re thwarted at the moment, Watson.” 

Retrieving the paper bag, I led us back to the car, held the door for Watson to hop in, then followed. 

I’d been so ecstatic about opening the bookshop, I hadn’t even considered who my neighbors might be. Being directly between Lois and Opal was going to be…. Well, I was afraid I didn’t have a word for exactly what that was going to be. I doubted it would be all that pleasant.

Watson chuffed.

“You feel it too, don’t you, boy? Who knows what we’re going to have to face with those two. At least we have each other.”

He let out a long pitiful whine.

“Aww, look at you being all empathetic. What’s gotten into—”

I realized Watson’s frantic gaze was focused on my hand, not looking deep into my eyes and sharing a moment. “Oh, I forgot.” I handed him what remained of the all-natural dog biscuit with a sigh. 

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Reading the Cozy Corgi series is pretty much all you need to know about Mildred. In real life, she’s obsessed with everything she writes about: Corgis, Books, Cozy Mountain Towns, and Baked Goods. She’s not obsessed with murder, however. At least not at her own hands (nor paid for… no contract killing here). But since childhood, starting with Nancy Drew, trying to figure out who-dun-it has played a formative role in her personality. Having Fred and Watson stroll into her mind was a touch of kismet.

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