#i also just think shes a sort of...misunderstood or like

[httpvomitello]

Hiii I wanted to know if you’d be open to writing a George Weasley x fem reader where they are secretly dating and their relationship is revealed to everyone?? You can run with the plot I just enjoy your writing 🤗

Hellooo, thanks for the request and i hope you like it ~ ♡

Serpents & Sparkles .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You and George Weasley have been secretly dating for months, sneaking kisses behind tapestries, exchanging love notes disguised as prank plans, and stealing time together between classes. But nothing stays hidden at Hogwarts for long.

george weasley x f!Slytherin reader

You had never meant to fall for George Weasley. It just sort of... happened. Maybe it was the way he smirked at you in Potions, or the way he didn’t flinch when you sarcastically called him a “walking disaster with a wand.” Either way, you were doomed the moment he smuggled you chocolate frogs after a rough exam.

The biggest issue? You were in Slytherin. And not the cool, misunderstood kind. The you-wore-black-nail-polish-before-it-was-trendy kind. His friends—especially Ron and Lee—weren’t exactly rooting for Team Green-and-Gold.

Which is why your relationship had remained secret. You met in the astronomy tower, in the library’s farthest corner, and sometimes, during late-night kitchen raids with house-elves who pretended not to notice.

It had been perfect. Until it wasn’t.

It all unraveled one Friday afternoon.

Fred had caught you and George in a very compromising position—snogging behind a suit of armor near the Charms classroom.

Fred let out the most dramatic gasp imaginable. “GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY! IS THAT A SLYTHERIN IN YOUR MOUTH?!”

You stumbled away from George, your lipstick smudged and your pride in shambles.

“I—Fred—it’s not what it looks like—” George began.

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Fred grinned, then turned to you. “Pleasure to meet the snake who's been stealing my brother’s lips.”

You tried to recover with a sarcastic, “Only when he's not stealing yours.”

Fred choked on his own laughter. “Okay. I like her. Don’t tell Ron.”

Too late.

Ron did not, in fact, like you. Nor did half of Gryffindor. When word spread faster than a firewhisky-fueled gossip train, you suddenly found yourself public enemy number one at the Gryffindor table.

“Why her?” Katie Bell asked George one day in the Great Hall. “She’s… a Slytherin.”

“She’s also right here,” you said dryly.

“I’m not ashamed of her,” George replied calmly. “So stop acting like she’s some criminal. She's smart. She's hilarious. She hexed Malfoy for calling Ginny a mudblood.”

“I mean... that was a good hex,” Angelina muttered.

But even with George defending you, things were awkward. You heard whispers, got cold stares, and even had a potion explode in your face mysteriously in Herbology.

You were used to being disliked. But this? This stung.

One evening, curled up beside George in a hidden alcove, you finally admitted, “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

George kissed your forehead. “People don’t always like what they don’t understand. But I don’t care. I like you.”

You snorted. “You love me.”

He blushed. “Yeah… I do.”

There were still fights. George nearly dueled Ron in the common room. You might have threatened to feed Lee Jordan’s quill to a Hippogriff. But in between the chaos, there were moments of peace.

Like when you made fun of George’s hair during a failed dyeing experiment. Or when he enchanted your quill to write bad poetry about your eyes. Or when you both laughed so hard during detention that Filch gave up and left.

Eventually, people adjusted. Fred, surprisingly, became your wingman. Ginny offered to help you hex anyone who looked at you funny. Even Hermione—after an intense debate about house stereotypes—started sitting with you in the library.

And George? He never once let you feel alone.

One night, after dinner, George stood on a bench in the Great Hall and loudly announced: “This is my girlfriend. She is brilliant, terrifying, and has a better sense of humor than I do. And if anyone has a problem with her, you’ll be hearing from me—and Fred, who will probably write a limerick about your bad attitude.”

You were mortified. You were glowing.

Later that night, after a stolen kiss in the corridor, you whispered, “You’re insane.”

George grinned. “Comes with the red hair.”

You kissed him again, ignoring the grumpy portrait that muttered, “Slytherins these days…”

[therainscene]

[Mentions of ST5 leaks below.]

I've been thinking about Linda Hamilton's mysterious role in S5. Leaks tend to agree that she plays a military character of some sort, but I dunno how difficult a guess that is to make given how much of a gun-toting badass her Terminator character is.

Most of ST's guest stars tend to be cast in roles that reflect the classic 80s movies they were in -- Paul Reiser plays a representative of an exploitative institution like in Aliens; Sean Astin solves a puzzle map that leads to underground tunnels like in The Goonies; Robert Englund plays (the father of) a heavily-scarred, mind-walking child murderer like in A Nightmare on Elm Street, etc -- but is that true for all of them?

What does Larry Kline (the slimy Mayor who screws over small businesses to protect the interests of a large corporation) have in common with Cary Elwes's most famous role (the dashing, swashbuckling farmhand-turned-pirate from Princess Bride)? The similarities may not be immediately obvious, but I think they're clearer when you remember that Elwes also played Robin Hood -- Larry Kline is an ironic reversal of the working-class hero Elwes is known for.

What if Linda Hamilton has been cast as an ironic reversal of Sarah Connor?

Sarah Connor is the mother of humanity's future savior, and by Terminator 2, the burden of ensuring that he survives being the target of a genocidal time-travelling AI has turned her into a hardened solider plagued by nightmares of children dying in an apocalypse she's helpless to prevent.

You can hardly blame her for feeling helpless. Even without the time-travelling robots, she's just one woman trying to make a stand against powerful institutions: the military-funded lab that's ignorantly creating the AI her son is destined to oppose; the asylum doctors who think she's a raving lunatic unfit to raise a child.

It's very reflective of 80s anxieties -- not just the Cold War threat of nuclear annihilation, but the conservative threat of social annihilation in the name of silencing misunderstood minorities.

A reversal of Sarah Connor would, therefore, be someone who is still obsessed with protecting children from a rogue (time-travelling? 🤞) hivemind -- but from the conservative, institutionalized power side of things.

In other words: exactly the sort of antagonistic force that was foreshadowed in the S4 epilogue.

(Should the leaks be true, then this would be the real reason for casting Hamilton in a military role.)

Following this train of thought: if we're getting a villain who's focused on "protecting" children, then what does that suggest about the fact that Holly Wheeler -- 7 year-old sister of a gay Hellfire member and frequent innocent witness to The Horrors that surround him -- is shaping up to be one of Henry's targets in S5?

Let's talk about Ted and Karen.

I feel like these two tend to be misunderstood by the fandom. Either they're frothing bigots who would kick Mike out of the house the instant they found out he was queer, or they're chill allies who have been assuming that Mike was dating Will this whole time.

But that's what Will's parents are like. As a visible gay kid who's playing the stereotypical Sad Gay Boy archetype, it makes sense for Will to have parents that represent the obvious extremes of queer acceptance: Lonnie is never going to be convinced that it's anything other than shameful for his son to be queer, and Joyce is never going to be convinced that there's anything wrong with the way her son loves.

But Mike is the invisible, ambiguously straight-passing kid deep in the throes of comphet -- his role is to surprise the audience by subverting their expectations. And so it's important, I think, that his parents represent the subtler attitude that best reflects his story: the ignorant conformists.

They're the sort of people who get offended when they're accused of bigotry -- they're not hateful, heaven forbid! -- but who still passively support bigoted systems because they refuse to stand up like Sarah Connor or Joyce Byers and challenge the status quo.

While I do believe that "our son with a girl?" is a queer-coded line, I don't think the point was necessarily to suggest that Ted knows about Mike's queerness.

Consider the full context of that scene: Brenner was pressuring the Wheelers to rat Mike out so that this weird kid he was hiding (literally in his closet at one point!) could be apprehended, and he easily won them over with a little "protect the children" fearmongering:

The Wheelers want to support Mike -- but they can only understand his behaviour within the heteronormative white suburban context they're used to, and they'll readily trust authorities they absolutely should not be trusting to explain what help he needs.

Unlike Lonnie, though, the Wheelers have the capacity to change in this regard. They immediately clocked the ridiculousness of the town's Satanic Panic in S4, and the last time we saw them, they demonstrated a promising willingness to question authority and roll their eyes at conservative fearmongering.

But they haven't completed their redemption arc just yet. Holly's disappearance will be an important test of their commitment to this change in attitude.

Picture a redux of that S1 scene, with Hamilton's character in Brenner's role: "I understand your skepticism. It seems ridiculous that there are people in our town who are so committed to hurting children. But cultists are a different breed. Do you remember what happened to Will Byers four years ago? You don't really believe that he randomly got lost in the woods for a week, do you? The same week another child was found dead in the quarry? We can help your daughter, but only if you act now. Tell us where your misguided son and that deeply unwell boy he's a little too close to have gone."

Do they give in to the fearmongering and throw Mike under the bus for Holly's sake?

Or do they clock this bullshit for what it is and decide to peek behind the curtain -- and finally become the sort of parents Mike needs them to be?

[cursedwithwords]

I just realized I never showed you guys the Albus commission I got from @talitasami (she's also the one I worked with on the James and Helena art). Sooooo, here you go!

I've mentioned it before, but Albus' patronus being a Thestral is so special to me 🥺 it just makes sense to me because I feel like it represents his growth as a person, especially after the events of TCC with Delphini. I think he grew up so much from that incident, and in general I think he's more of a realist than his siblings. I think Albus has always felt things very deeply and is a very empathetic person, but learned to guard himself due to being bullied at school and how rough it probably was to grow up with a famous father (a famous family really). Being a legacy couldn't have been easy, he was misunderstood on every level because of the house he was sorted into, but he came into his own in a very significant way.

I think his patronus taking the form of a Thestral, something he used to be scared of because James would tease him with them, is very poignant. In a way representing him taking strength and creating protection out of fear. Recognizing and accepting his fears and deciding to be strong in spite of them. I think after witnessing Craig's death, Albus was able to see Thestrals, and was able to acknowledge them properly and get to know them on a deeper level, growing to love them quite genuinely. He was really happy when his patronus took the form of a thestral because he'd grown to love them so much. ((Also he thinks of memories with Scorpius in order to conjure his patronus, obviously))

I just love Albus Severus Potter so damn much, yall.

Everyone should go follow @talitasami immediately!

[the-silliest-lad]

I read Sotr a few days ago (if my reblogs didn’t make that clear) and I think one of my favorite character dynamics was Wyatt and Lou Lou. Wyatt was someone who was constantly misunderstood because of his analytic personality. He was an oddsmaker, and he used that to make conversation and try to prove his use, but instead it made him seem unsympathetic, unfeeling and rude, with Haymitch telling him to refrain from calculating odds when they were trying to make alliances. The reality was that he was trying to be helpful the one way he knew how - the same way he’d been useful to his family - calculating odds.

Lou Lou was made to be a sort of Jabberjay, to spy in on the district tributes and ensure they were monitored, while also being a way to punish Haymitch for making a display against Snow. Her feelings were never put into account, when she fought she was drugged or put in agonizing pain when she failed commands. Her one purpose was to be a replacement for a girl who tragically died, and many of her district partners were put off by her for that reason. Even Haymitch, who did end up caring for and helping her, had a tough time even looking at her because it was a reminder of his lost and broken sweetheart.

And then there was Wyatt, the calculating oddsmaker who seemed nearly emotionless, who saw Lou Lou’s pain and did his best to soothe and protect her. Whenever the pain started or the drug kicked in, he held her until she stilled. He watched over her and carried her off stage during the interview, and was the first of the D12 tributes to really take to her. And with how calculated he was, he must’ve known her odds of surviving were abysmally low. She was his sweetheart, just like Louella had been Haymitch’s. And while Haymitch failed to protect his sweetheart from death, Wyatt died protecting Lou Lou.

[ed3lsgard]

helena is so insanely mischaracterized and misunderstood it drives me crazy. it’s not a coincidence that it was helena’s innie that ended up being the most inherently rebellious and defiant one. this fact alone adds new layers and depth to helena’s character. she is the heiress of lumon, next in line to be the ceo, raised by jame eagan himself. every aspect of her life is deeply intertwined with lumon, with the kier ideology. a cult essentially, that she grew up in. she was molded to be defiant and willing, whatever rebellion she once had in her snuffed out and buried away. she was raised to be the perfect eagan off-spring that will carry on the eagan name and its legacy.

so then why is helly so adamantly against everything lumon stands for? refuses to just obey and go along with it like the others? helly is helena, as different as they are you cannot separate them. helly came from helena, is a part of her. helly is a manifestation of helena’s resentment and longing to break free. things helena thinks she cannot have, and certainly not show. helly is everything helena lacks and longs to have. helly has more freedom and agency down at the severed floor than helena has in her own life. helly can, and does act however she wants, and faces the consequences head on if she has to. helena does not have that option. she only acts how she is expected to act. whatever power of influence she has, or thinks she has, is an illusion. it’s fake.

which is why i just roll my eyes when people bring her up to be some sort of villain. she’s not innocent, i’m not saying she’s done no wrong. but she is also very obviously not some villain. season 2 made that incredibly clear, cast and show-runners even talked about it. at this point if you don’t understand or if you disagree, it’s genuinely a skill issue.

[royal-confessions]

“What did William do to people, seriously? Why they hate him do much? All he’s doing is what his mother wanted for him: to be able to do his duty and have love at the same time. If you watch the entirety of the Bashir interview, that’s the bottomline of what Diana said he wanted for William, particularly. Also, Diana also talked about the whole bringing the monarchy closer to the public thing, which I think William is not failing to do. I kinda think he’s misunderstood by people. (Well, not really by the people because he still polls high but by social media I guess).” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Everything William does people have a problem with. Charles has so much more celebrity friends and is always wanting to be seen with celebrities, yet it’s William who gets called “celebrity wannabe”. Fyi, he has the healthiest boundary with celebrity among the three of them (him, Charles, and Harry).” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I know he’s the epitome of male white privilege and he will be King so I can’t feel bad for him, but my heart kinda breaks for Prince William. The way people misunderstand his intentions for wanting people to stop using his mother’s name. He just sees his mother as his mother, as a human being, and not the commodified character that exists in the realm of media and entertainment and pop culture. Is there anything wrong with that? When in his mind it’s the insatiable hunger for anything Diana that is what he thinks lead to her death. The way these people are the ones driving a wedge between him and the memory of his mother, saying she took his genes back or whatever when the reality of the situation is that he just lost his hair like many men do and it has nothing to do with his moral character. Are we supposed to think all men who lose their hair are bad and that only perfect looking people are good? It’s so superficial. And he’s not even that ugly. He just went from looking ethereal to looking like an average human being lol. The way Meghan has completely used his mother’s story to further her agenda and people refuse to see that he was a central figure in Diana’s story. He literally was the baby in Diana’s womb when she wanted to throw herself down the stairs. How it must have been for him growing up and knowing that? It must have had some sort of effect because the fact of the matter is he was the person who told Harry he might need help with his anxiety. Also, the fact that he married a woman with such empathy like Catherine that she was the one who saw the importance of mental health as an underlying theme in all of their different areas of work. And the way people just look at them as mental health deniers because they think they refused Meghan help when Harry himself has admitted he never told them because he was ashamed. And the way people continue to use the pop culture commodified image of Diana to try and canonize Harry and Meghan as saints as well for doing things that are not even as impactful as the work Diana had done. It’s all just done for the sake of continuing narratives in this soap opera. Anyway, whatever.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Do people even think about William’s mental health in all of this? I feel worried about him. There’s just a sadness in his eyes these days that wasn’t there before. And this is why I can’t get over Harry and Meghan’s selfishness. They can fight for their right to be happy and free, but that’s not all they want. They could’ve escaped royal life without hurting anyone, but they’ve left such a mess. Lies and exaggerations and self-serving narratives. They aren’t simply fighting for their happiness, they want to ruin William and Catherine. Harry will not stop until he’s taken everything from William and William is completely broken.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“The way William is viewed as petty or a bully for all the imaginary ways they think he retaliates against Harry (because Harry plants ideas in people’s with all his insinuations). First of all, after what some people have said about him and Kate while she was battling cancer, I can’t call it petty anymore if William is in whatever way actually retaliating. Does William not have his own mental health? Does William not have his own trauma? Does William not have his own children he has to take care of? Does William not have his own wife who battled cancer while people salivated at the thought of “history repeating itself”?” - Submitted by Anonymous

[visualcve]

　　　　　　　　　 𝓖OLDEN 𝓣RIO DR INTRO

　　　　　　　　　 𝓐NGELIA STACIE 𝓛UPIN ꪆৎ

　 　 born july 9th◞ 1980 in the lupin household. ever so precious daughter of remus lupin and nymphadora tonks, she was taught not everything in this world will be sunshine and rainbows. surely, she did catch that very quickly. upon arriving to hogwarts she was sorted into gryffindor. angelia became an active member of the gryffindor’s quidditch team, excelling as a seeker. she’s known for her lightning—fast reflexes and her ability to read the game. her hazel eyes gleam with an unwavering focus. she’s the kind of player who’s always in the air, always watching the skies.

　 　 but beneath that confident exterior, angelia has her own struggles. the legacy of her father’s lycanthropy runs through her blood. though she does her best to manage, always taking the wolfsbane potion in the week preceding the full moon.

　 　 angelia is a girl of sharp wit and fierce loyalty. she’s not afraid to speak her mind (which she sometimes does without thinking..), especially when it comes to defending what she believes is right. her passion for justice runs deep within her, especially in protecting those who are vulnerable or misunderstood. her bond with her parents, each so wonderfully unique in their own way, shapes who she is—compassionate but firm, strong but kind.

　 　“i never wanted love but now it’s come undone”

　 　but there was a boy, harry potter, the boy who lived, found himself quietly admiring her from afar. they’ve been best friends since their first year of hogwarts, he had never felt this way for her until their 4th year. it was strange for him, really. he’d spent most of his life being used to the spotlight, always at the center of attention, yet something about angelia’s quiet kindness towards him made him feel free? he didn’t know how to describe it, harry found himself lost smiling the way her eyes would light up when she laughed or how she always seemed to know just what to say to make him feel like he wasn’t alone during the rough times everyone had given him.

overview ! this took me way too long. anyways i hope you guys enjoy ^_^ !! it was time i did an intro for this dr because this is rly my main focus for right now, im also soo excited to shift here n have the most fun w/ my bffies <33 its currently 12am and i started this at like 8. wtf. ANYWAYYSSS me and harry r mj & peter irl trust!11!!1!!!

sidenote ! my writing isnt the verryyy best because im an amateur writer i fear sigh i had to use all full brain energy on this im sobbfign im gonna go shift now lav you guys !! also btw if you wanna be in my taglist let me know :3

[iplaywithstring]

For my practicum, my supervisor asked me what areas I'm passionate about and what sort of client demographics I see myself working with in the future.

One group I mentioned is people with chronic illness or disability.

She asked me what I'd include if I were doing a presentation about counseling people in that demographic and I didn't even have to think

grief

toxic positivity

meaning-making and holistic wellness

Understanding what counseling can and can't do

She said if I make the presentation (30-60 minutes) she'll find me an audience. Which is super exciting! She's got contacts through different local agencies and said it should be easy to find people to present it to (which would then turn into booking clients either directly or through word-of-mouth).

and I'm super excited, but it's also intimidating.

because I know. I KNOW that so many of us have experienced gaslighting and misdiagnosis and people telling us it's all in our heads. I've had medical professionals tell me my pelvic pain was anxiety when it was really endometriosis. I know. I know how much skepticism there is and how it can seem like a waste of time. And I know it's not a cure, or even a treatment, for the real physical thing that is happening to you.

But I also know that people with chronic illness are likely to experience isolation, difficulty in relationships, feeling misunderstood, grief, a low sense of autonomy, and existential crisis. And I know that support through counseling can be helpful for those things. Especially with a practitioner who won't dismiss your reality or engage in toxic positivity and who understands that body-based mindfulness is not helpful, actually.

The way I see it, we're in the same neighbourhood but on different streets. Our perspectives, strengths, resources etc. are all different, but a lot of the feelings and experiences overlap, and that gives me some insight and understanding that others won't have. I just want to help you figure out what you need, and work on a plan to get you there.

[shigayokagayama]

What are the biggest losses between the manga and anime? I just finished watching mp100 and I'm curious what the manga has!

ok biggest losses are kind of hard to define because like. anime and manga are two inherently different mediums and there are a good amount of cuts that improve pacing and then a good amount of cuts that people sort of argue over the merit of so im just going to go for biggest differences. i would also highly recommend reading the manga just because it is a pretty different experience tonally along with the minor plot differences and cut scenes + theres a bunch of omakes that both flesh out characters that dont get too much focus and have some really good bits in them. putting the rest of this post under a cut bc i ramble

mogami arc

this one is kind of inescapable i feel like but the anime version of the mogami arc had a LOT of things trimmed for a couple different reasons. season 2 already got an extra episode in order to do the fire scene as a cliffhanger so with the way things shook out the director had to choose between a. cutting a bunch of stuff out of separation arc to make it one episode so mogami arc couid stay three episode or b. cutting a bunch of stuff out of mogami arc so separation arc could stay two episodes. imo they made the right choice, whats even the point of adapting mob psycho if you dont get confession arc right, but some of the cuts to mogami arc will be dearly missed and others will be fought over to the end of time. cuts include:

minori being established as a brat in a video everyones shown and the video being part of how reigen deduces shes possessed (reigen deducing her possession in the manga is generally just a lot better done and after you read the manga the scene in the anime feels so awkward because you know whats missing

the psychics deciding to band together to beat this little girl to death to save themselves and shinra stepping between them to protect her and getting utterly thrashed, not by mogami, but his fellow psychics

reigen trying to convince mob to leave without him and call for help while he distracts him which leads to this

the general mogamiland section lasting a lot longer and being more brutal (notably the stray cat mob feeds getting killed in front of him)

mob getting fucking torn to pieces by spirits during the fight instead of ambiguously dying offscreen

generally would recommend if nothing else reading the manga version of this arc and confession arc because i feel like these are the only two where you lose like. a significant amount of the story and themes from the cuts. speaking of....

2. WHY THE FUCK DID THEY CUT THIS I WILL BE MAD UNTIL I DIE

maybe its just because i reread this arc on its own probably 50 times before the anime came out but this is the only arc where the cuts actively piss me off because there is absolutely no reason they had to do it. they cut a bunch of important shit, left in things that didnt need to be there, and added scenes that contribute literally nothing to the overall point. if they just did any one of those things or combo of two of those things i wouldnt be as mad but it feels like they put a bunch of filler in then speedran the actual story

cut #1 that pisses me off: HOMOPHOBIA?????

THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A HEART IN HIS EYE. WHY DID THEY NOT INCLUDE THIS. THIS IS THE CULMINATION OF TERUS ARC. THIS IS HIM SEEING THE PERSON HE HAS IDOLIZED AND DEIFIED IN HIS HEAD AT THEIR LOWEST AND STILL CHOOSING TO LOVE HIM, AND THROUGH THIS HE IS CAPABLE OF BEING LOVED EVEN THOUGH HES NOT PERFECT BECAUSE NO ONE IS. WHY WOULD YOU CUT THIS?

cut #2 I NEED WHOEVER CUT THE DIALOGUE FROM THE FIRST PANEL IN PRISON

the lack of inclusion of the first panels dialogue along with the cuts to the mob and shigeo conversation (WHICH WE WILL GET TO) make me think the person who adapted this arc fundamentally misunderstood what was happening. this line. is. THE POINT. THIS ISNT SOME SEPARATE SCARY THING. THIS IS MOB. HE IS CHOOSING TO DO THIS BECAUSE HE IS SCARED AND ANGRY AND HURT BUT HE IS IN CONTROL OF HIS ACTIONS AND ALWAYS HAS BEEN.

cut #3 HE DOESNT WANT TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR HIS ACTIONS

this entire conversation is so good and i was looking forward to watching it voice acted for so long and its just. gone. for me the "i am shigeo kageyama who are you" reveal felt like a gut punch because the opening being "i knew i would be needed" made me go "oh hes like possessed or his powers are sentient or something" and this conversation was the slow unraveling of my view of these as two separate people and instead as a scared, traumatized teenager who has convinced himself that the parts of himself he hates are something else outside of his control instead of an intrinsic part of who he is because if he's convinced that the parts of him that are able to feel desire and frustration and anger and malice are him then he'll lose all these relationships he's worked so hard to cultivate as his perfect, non confrontational self. and of course that isnt true. all his friends and loved ones are making their way to the center of a damn hurricane because they see he's in distress and want to help him. but he cant see that so he pushes them away. ugh. mob. protagonist of all time.

cut #4 WHY WOULD YOU CHANGE THE COMPOSITION OF THIS I CAN LITERALLY SEE HOW THIS WOULD BE ANIMATED IN MY MINDS EYE W

can you imagine how beautiful this would be in motion. just. god.

cut #5 HE WAS TALKING OUT LOUD. REIGEN HEARD ALL THIS

:(

cut #6 the bowling arc

so the scene where reigen takes his shoes off is supposed to be a lot more solemn bc like. taking your shoes off before killing yourself is a trope in japanese media (ive heard it started in media and bled over into real life but i might have it backwards?). reigen knew he was probably going to die. anyway i cant take this scene seriously because of this edit

the bowling arc.

cut #7 WAAAAAAAAAAAA

WAAAAAAAAAAAA *sniff* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

cut #8 homophobia again

rip pensive fruity tea sip

cut #9 mob threw the cake directly in reigens face on purpose

i literally experienced every stage of grief realizing this got changed. why. its so perfect. why would you change this.

3. World Domination arc

so WD arc is in a very interesting place where it had a lot of scenes cut but unlike the other two most of the cut content youre like. yea probably best not to include that. ill start with the good content that got cut then go into the weird content

serizawa got his power drained by toichiro. i am quite sad this scene didnt make it in because its sorta heartbreaking

teru fighting off the claw assassin is shown and we see that teru can both make shadow clones AND hold a barrier while attacking, he seems to be the only esper with this ability!

the reason dimple could tell mob's family was alive is that there was no sense of grudge at the house which would have been left behind by people passing in a violent manner

mob briefly goes unconscious during the start of the toichiro fight and dimple possesses him and says "shit"

dimple possessing mob shoots shibata with a gun

we get mukai lore.

it doesnt make any sense and just raises more questions but we get it.

toichiro has a team of telepaths to recap where everyone is because this arc took an entire calender year to update

literally everyone shows up to fight shimazaki. i cannot stress enough how many people show up to fight shimazaki. it would be faster to list espers who dont show up to fight shimazaki

the middle school delinquents show up and start fighting the claw grunts literally completely out of no where and this is never brought up or referenced ever again

when mob and ritsu get home ritsu says all their stuff is in boxes and they need to hurry and redecorate the house before their parents get home which implies that shou packed the entire households worth of belongings into boxes and hid it somewhere before lighting their house on fire which is such a funny mental image that i cant even be mad at it. loony toons ass plot point.

4. other random interesting cut things

takenaka is just generally more of a bitch during alien arc. "ah i think they took him" remains one of the funniest goddamn panels in the manga

peak

alien arc overall is a lot funnier in the manga, i have a slight preference for the manga version just bc theres a lot of really good bits that didnt make it to anime but the anime version is so heartfelt and nostalgic it makes me happy

between omakes and small things that got cut or changed for the anime teru just feels way more fleshed out in the manga. like. anime teru is a completely different person. its hard to explain if youve never read it.

the all girls school part originally went right before the ghost family stuff and was the beginning of mob's existential crisis about why spirits and people get different treatment but tbh it works well where it is i just wish it werent. like that.

the scene where ritsu and teru shake hands was teru draining ritsus power which he seems to have learned to do from encountering ???%

teru.

ow

thats all i can think of off the top of my head, im sure ill realize i forgot something some time after posting this but. yeah. read the manga its good

[the-lovely-lady-luck]

okay i finally did it, i caved and i wrote 3k words about a character with less than 60 lines of dialog in a ~30 hour game. if you haven't played clair obscur: expedition 33 yet i lightly suggest that you do bc the game is absolutely an all-timer. also don't read this because it spoils just about every major plot point in the entire game. if you've played feel free to read on.

Fuck. Clea Dessendre. I don't even know where to start to be honest. What a wildly compelling character. Eldest daughter syndrome. Needs to be doing something productive-ass cunt. This is sort of just my insane ramblings about her (mostly off the cuff while at work or packing for my trip), so if there are any inconsistencies it’s likely due to that but I fully intend to do a deep dive looking into all the mentions of Clea sometime soon.

I guess the central thing that compels me is the thing that most people get wrong about her in the first place: her grief. admittedly we have very little to work on from her directly, but I would argue that it's intentional. We have a couple of core things about her introduced through our first and only real interaction with her.

- She's a painter (obviously)

- She is mean to Maelle, and it's highly insinuated to be related to blaming her for Verso's death. She “both loves and hates him for that”, hating that he sacrificed himself for a sibling she doesn’t love like she loves him and yet loving him for it because it's why she loved him in the first place — that he was the kind of person who would sacrifice himself like that.

- She is off waging war against the Writers. She is outwardly dismissive of the rest of the family and the way they are handling their grief, but at the same time says she will wage this war on her own if need be.

I’ve seen a lot of jokes about how she's the only one in the family not caught up in grief, how she's off fighting in the plot of an entirely different game where she is the protagonist, etc. And while that's funny (and I want to play the clea game please please please) I think putting her off in a corner where she gets to lore dump and then not matter is a missed opportunity to think about her place in all of this. 

The stages of grief tend to be overused and often misunderstood (people putting too much significance in, say, the order of them or the insistence on everyone existing in every stage in the process), but I like the framework of different manifestations of grief and the names are easy to understand so I am going to use them as points of reference here (though notably i am reaching different definitions and conclusions for these terms than the “stages of grief”). My original thoughts on the topic were long and rambly so I'm paraphrasing my thoughts.

Denial and Bargaining are predominantly shown through the parents of the family, Aline and Renoir. Denial is Aline’s territory, with many characters remarking about her desire to escape into the fantasy of the canvas to avoid the harsh reality. She builds upon Verso’s established world and creates a fake version of her family so that she can play out what “should” have been. Bargaining, in a less traditional sense, is Renoir’s domain. He insists on his method of grieving over all others. And while he has a perspective many see as more healthy than Aline’s, his desire to force his family all under one roof to heal together is violent and ends up dooming an entire world just to satisfy his belief. His bargain is that if we just all stopped what we were doing and stood together for a moment and process in the *right way* then it won’t hurt.

Depression and Acceptance are the axis on which Alicia and Painted Verso reside. We don’t see much of Alicia in-game (I am counting Alicia, Maelle, and Maell-icia as different people in this context, since they largely have different experiences and feelings) but during her flashback we see she isn’t doing much in the mansion, and she takes Clea’s insults and believes them to be true. She blames herself for Verso’s death, as well as the conflict her parents are locked into. We don’t know enough about the situation with the fire to make any kind of commentary on how true that is but it clearly weighs on her as she worries over her family and repeatedly seeks some way to help. She initially talks about her injuries and claims her desire to go into the canvas is more to help her family, but later on, as Maell-icia, she comments to Renoir of “how little of [her] life remains” outside the canvas, revealing a darker insight to her interiority. 

Painted Verso is one of the few characters to strongly reside in multiple modes as a character of both Depression and Acceptance. Painted Verso is someone I think I could go on another rant about but my abbreviated take is that Painted Verso is a character who is being denied the stage of acceptance by everyone around him. By the time we reach him he has known the truth and wanted out of his immortality for some time. His life has gone too long, he has watched his loved ones die or be killed off, only to learn to love again and then see them die and killed off again in a never ending cycle. While the family of his dead namesake fights over his memory in their attempt to reckon with grief, Painted Verso is forced to live through cycles of grief over and over and over again (while these people can’t even get through a single one). His acceptance goes beyond accepting grief and it has basically broken him. He wants an end to the pain for him and for everyone in the canvas that dies because of his family (on his behalf), even if that means wiping it all away. With Verso’s memories and feelings and characteristics he is the most in-tune to what Verso would want for his canvas (rivaled only by the sliver of Verso’s soul that still resides within the painting).

Which leaves one major stage remaining, something that this game as a whole, in fact, seems to lack: Anger. Sure there are flashes of it here and there (this is not a game without anger), but it is rare that we see anger ignited by grief in the main story. Gustave has flashes of it, and then after his death Maelle possesses a great anger towards Painted Renoir for his part in it. But otherwise we see the other stages spread far and wide across the game while anger is relegated to the background.

Clea is anger. And her absence haunts the narrative like the absence of anger haunts the game. Her simmering anger echoes throughout the background of the game, from abducting Painted Clea to killing an Axon to pushing Alicia into the painting, her choices compound. And while I'm fully prepared to admit I might be going wild with all the red strings on the pinboard it feels like its simmering just under the surface in anything directly related to her, like a motif. With Renoir, with Alicia, with Simon, with *herself* she is trying to inspire rage at one thing or another.

Now anyone who knows me likely knows I love themes of anger and mess so it's no surprise I love Clea so much. Clea is *angry* at the writers, and while the other family members likely share the sentiment, she is the only one seen to be stewing in that anger, who has stayed in it as long as everyone else has been mourning or bargaining or denying. As shown and stated by both herself and Renoir she is waging war alone and at the same time lashing out at anyone nearby. She blames Alicia  for Verso's death in his sacrifice for her and she shows outright disdain for Aline and her attempts to escape to a world where the tragedy didn't happen. Renoir, who is ostensibly on her side, is not immune as Clea repeatedly states he is wasting his time trying to force Aline out of the canvas. Even verso, whose death the family so greatly mourns, gets the word hate spoken towards him for his willing sacrifice for Alicia. But each of these are, in a fucked up way, some combination of care, grief, and love for each character.

Clea is not kind to Alicia, generally speaking. It is difficult to gauge what their relationship was like before Verso's death, but it was certainly worsened by the event. she belittles her and her abilities, and even a couple of instances flagrantly comments about her inability to speak from her scarring. I certainly wouldn't call it a warm dynamic but there's a repeating theme of treating Alicia like a child, *which she is* at her (likely) age of 16. In several instances Clea mentions that Alicia being in the painting would actually help (as she is unlikely to be helpful in fighting a war given her proficiency before going into the painting) and she says she won't have to worry about Alicia while she is spending time growing up in the painting as maelle. Clea even enters the painting again, something she has repeatedly said is a waste of time, to specifically ask Painted Verso to watch over her since it is safer for her in the Canvas. It's not a particularly kind love, but I think it is a love all the same. The Clea in the endless tower speaks to Maell-icia asking if she wants to have fun, get away from the stress of fighting for a moment. She is still antagonistic but her distance and Maell-icia’s safety in the canvas allow her to let down her walls enough to speak more kindly.

Clea and her mother have a rocky relationship, which we can see pretty clearly with her attitude towards her mother in the flashback and how Renoir's plan wouldn't even function without Clea's direct involvement in weakening her mother. There is an twinkle of admiration in her words, as Clea talks about how Aline used to be the head of the Painters Council, how Aline is far better at painting than Renoir is and how Clea had to help him to even have a chance, how Aline *would have* agreed with her before she became this different person in her mourning. She is also the only Dessendre child to consistently refer to her mother as “Aline” rather than “Maman”. She even paints over her mother's depiction of her, one of the most pointedly spiteful things in the game. While it is all antagonistic, I think it hides a resentment that Aline isn't with the rest of the family. The person Clea respected, who was head of the Painter’s Council, would not abandon her family — would not abandon *Clea* — like Aline has. And with her gone and unwilling to listen to anyone else on the subject, Clea has cut her out, abandoning her to the painting and only contributing to her expulsion because it will hasten Renoir to her cause.

Renoir and Clea are close, him being one of the only people she shows respect for. She doesn't speak very highly of his painting skill, and she is firm in her belief that his attempts to expel Aline are a waste of time, but he wants to live with his family in the real world, which is the closest that Clea has to someone to grieve with. And so she creates the nevrons to stop chroma from returning to Aline, and letter sends Alicia to go help him too. She really wants him out of the painting, thinking he will be of major assistance in the war she is fighting (despite her comment that he's not as strong as his wife). And the admiration is mutual. While there is some debate in the game if it is Clea or Alicia who is Renoir's favorite, we can see with Hauler, the Axon slain by Simon in Old Lumiere, that Renoir saw her as carrying a part of the world on her shoulders. Alone. Clea’s ostensible lack of care towards the events of the canvas is repeatedly betrayed by her actual actions that add up to Renoir’s eventual success. 

We don’t know much about the war going on, but we know that Clea is the only one in her family fighting in it, potentially the only person fighting in it *at all* if the throwaway lines about the state of the Painters is indicative of anything. Upon Verso’s death she starts fighting. And then Aline withdraws from the world leaving her family to grieve without her around, a betrayal from a woman and paintress Clea seems to respect. Renoir, the only one who seems to want everyone together, goes into the canvas to bring his wife out. Clea is left to sort things out on her own, using anger and fighting a war single handed to process her feelings. And all of this on top of having to care for her newly scarred younger sister (who Clea is already having a hard time not blaming for Verso's death) because her parents have abandoned them both. 

But Clea is a grown woman. She can handle this. And then time wears on. and on. So she creates Nevrons to speed the process up, to get her parents back. She goes in herself only to discover a painted version of her likeness, some kind woman helping this man she loves on an expedition to explore this newly shattered world. It's such an insult to Clea that she steals this fake version of her and *paints over her* — both a mark of skill as well as a pointed aggression towards Aline, painting over another artist's work. It’s easy to assume that she is simply offended by Aline painting a bad or unflattering depiction of her, but I think it’s actually the opposite. We know Aline is an amazing painter, Renoir remarks that Painted Verso is one of her finest creations and Maelle/Maell-icia both have an affinity towards Painted Alicia and seem to understand each other on an intrinsic level. Renoir and Painted Renoir interact very little but despite Maell-icia’s comment to the contrary, both are quite willing to commit mass murder to protect their respective families in the way they think is correct. I don’t think Aline got Clea wrong, I think she got Clea *deeply* and *uncomfortably* right. 

Clea, in her anger and her already growing disdain for her mother, sees this woman who loves and cares for her family, for her brother and for Simon, and loses it. It is too painful to see a version of herself happy and in love; and in anger and jealousy she steals her away and “forces” this Clea into someone endlessly producing Nevrons — alone and fighting her own war against the expeditions without her family. Clea disguises herself as her Painted counterpart and grants Simon the power to kill the Axon painted in her likeness — Hauler, She Who Carries the World (that’s not an official title but god I just *really* want to know what it was). In one fell swoop she has erased herself from the canvas and from both parents; leaving one corpse as a monument in the center of the world among crumbling ruins and one corpse an animated puppet painted over her likeness and trapped in a sky prison.

The final piece of the puzzle is verso, who we learn Clea was very very close to. The only canonical age we have is verso, who is 26, so it is difficult to draw hard lines around childhood, but given that Clea is the eldest and Alicia seems to be quite a bit younger than Verso, it makes sense that Clea would be closer to him than her. She would have spent 10ish years with him (which we get some small glimpses into throughout the game) before Alicia came along. We get a lot of stories about the two of them through fading souls and talking to Esquie and Francois. Verso is scared of the dark and Clea makes him the Lampmaster (scary as fuck nightlight), the two of them go on adventures with their respective imaginary friends/creations. In the extended scene where Esquie gets Urrie we learn that Francois enjoys dancing and singing, and that he used to do so with Clea all the time. While initially unclear if this is just Esquie's optimistic perspective on the situation, the ending in which Francois asks to keep the little stone (with him and clea carved together) shows us francois “crying dramatically” over the rock (and Verso commenting about how much he must miss her). If you go back to him later Francois actually *thanks* the player for giving him the rock, saying it is nice to have a carving of Clea. These memories and her parent’s depictions of her paint a very different image than the one we see in her few real appearances.

The personal nail in the coffin for me is Re-Painted Clea seeing Painted Verso in the flying manor. When you make your way up there Verso is surprised she is even alive, a testament to how well Clea pulled off her deception. After the fight the party determines that they can’t really kill her, but something causes one of Re-Painted Clea’s eyes to return to normal, accompanied by the sound of panting effort. Painted Clea regains control, if only briefly, and tries to reach out to Painted Verso, her brother. Her body cracks and strains at the movement, like she is fighting off Clea’s Re-painting just to hold his hand again. The effort isn't enough and Re-Painted Clea takes control again, backing away and shaking her head. She takes control of her Nevrons and bids them to attack her relentlessly until she dies in an explosion of paint and energy. Painted Verso only gets a moment to say goodbye to the energy left over before it dissipates. Painted Clea seeing the fight with Painted Verso is enough to give her the will to fight back against the weakened control, and Re-Painted Clea sees Painted Verso as enough of a threat to her control that she kills herself rather than risk it again (yet another cruel bit of programming from Clea in her Re-Painting process).

Honestly I could probably keep going and getting less and less coherent given that we have so little to work with but YOU SEE MY VISION. I KNOW YOU DO. Clea baby I love you and your anger. Your belief that anger will defeat the grief and that you can outrun it you just have to become meaner and more spiteful and don’t stop running and running and running or it will catch you in the dead of night. And then your grief will make you useless just like your family is. And what good are you if you don’t have use.

Fuck. Clea Dessendre.

[sirxlla]

HIII can u make one about yelena and female reader who is a new avenger too where Lena is like all worried about her after a mission and she is too idk bad with feelings ¿ To confess

Scrabble? Scrambled? One of Those Two.

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

Warnings: Fluff, Angst.

Prompt: above ^^^^

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts. (My first female x reader, I'm so excited.)

-With that said, it's all under the cut-

All Yelena's been doing the past few months is saying she'd rather be anywhere else than on the team, how everyone's annoying and she's tired of "stupid people." She made it seem as if everyone was annoying to her, and she couldn't give a shit less about anyone.

She hasn't let anyone get close in a long time. The Red Room has trained her that other people are stepping stones, tools, or nuisances, so it's hard for her to unlearn. Her family being "fake" is just the cherry on the cake. Now? Now she's berating you for nearly dying on the last mission.

"How could you be so stupid? You knew exactly that doing that was dangerous and what do you do?!"

"Yelena, everyone was gonna die if I didn't do it!" You tried your hardest to defend yourself even in the hospital bed you had been placed in.

"I don't care about them! Gospodi Iisuse... Ty mog umeret', i chto by sluchilos'? T'fu, ty menya tak zlish'. YA ne znayu, khochu li ya zadushit' tebya ili potselovat'. Ty takoy razdrazhayushchiy!" It was clear she was mad, which was obvious by her tone but also because she switched to Russian in the middle of her getting onto you.

Of course, you were going to look confused. You didn't know a single lick of Russian, but you could tell that she was very angry but seemed conflicted about something. Arguing with Yelena about something like this is an uphill battle you're never going to win so excuses would be stupid to try to start pedaling.

"I- I'm sorry, Lena. I wasn't thinking about what could happen. I'm sorry."

"I know you don't value yourself as much as I do, but I need you to at least think about how I would feel. If youre not gonna think about yourself, think about me."

"What?" Utter confusion washes over your features, wondering if this meant she loved you or if you misunderstood her due to head trauma.

"What do you mean what? If I lose you, I have close to nothing, and I just just found you. You're the only person who I sort of like, so I'd appreciate it if you don't try to get yourself killed like an idiot!"

"Did she just? Did she say she likes me? Yelena likes no one? She likes women? My head hurts too much for this shit." You asked yourself in your brain, your brain trying to put the pieces together but ran out of fuel when you took that nasty blow to the head.

"You mean you care about me? You like me?" You ask her slowly as you continue to squint at the bright overhead lights.

"Is that not what I just said? My words are always like scrabble or- scrambled when I talk about I like- er- like- One of those two, you know what I'm saying!" She looks at you with annoyance cause she knows you know what she means but also with love. Yelena's not mad at you; she's just scared that something worse could've happened to you.

"Maybe?" You squint a bit before, which prompts her to turn the light off, which allows only the light from outside to seep in.

"I'm no good at putting my emotions into words. What I do know is you're damn gorgeous, you make me smile, and my heart dropped when I thought you were hurt, so if that means I care about you, then I suppose I do." She fiddles with the piercings on her ear as she tries to calm her anxiety; love hasn't been something readily available in her life, so this feels awkward, like a boy asking his crush to prom.

"I feel the same way, Lena...if it helps at all. You matter more to me than you know and maybe it makes me a little dumb when I make decisions." You reach your her hand as you try to soothe the anxiety that riddled her face and the tension in her shoulders.

Yelena climbs into the hospital bed with you, placing her head on your breast, laying on her side with an arm over you.

"I'm not kidding, I will kill you if you die." She says as she picks at the material of the blanket over your body. Her comment makes you smile, and the weight of her head is a bit uncomfortable, but the feeling of her close quickly quiets any pain.

"I promise, Lena." Your hand reaches up to rake your nails through her short blond hair, her body next to yours like a puzzle piece, your breathing synced with hers like you and her only breathed for the other.

Translation for the bit of Russian: Jesus fuckin- You could've died, and what would've happened? Ugh, you make me so angry. I don't know if I want to strangle you or kiss you. You're so aggravating.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me requests/prompts if you'd like

[yanderewritercookie]

Hi, how are you? I hope so!

If possible, I would really like to request Yandere Beast Cookies or Ancients Cookies, with a reader who fights for fun? In fact, she is a gambler who bets that she will fight against several Bosses of different types, such as Cuphead and Mugman game. She simply doesn't care how strong they are, fighting dragons, magical creatures and giant beasts she always wins and is very strong, she likes adrenaline too.

If it's not possible, that's okay, I hope you have a good day/good afternoon or good night!

Bye bye!

Thank you for the request! If I misunderstood your request or it seems ooc I'm really sorry.🙏🏻 This one may be a bit short but I hope you like it!

Yandere(ish) beasts x gambler/fighter reader!

(can be read as platonic or romantic)

Burning spice cookie: This man absolutely adores it, he is a beast of destruction after all so expect him to be your biggest fan. And if you let him he won't hesitate to join you in your battles though he cares less about the gambling part and more about the fighting part. Though you may be incredibly strong it's very unlikely that you're stronger than the great destroyer himself right? That's why he decides that the only person suitable to train you is himself! You may end up fighting him more than actual monsters... Oh well

Mystic flour cookie: Oh... well it's safe to say she isn't the biggest fan but she also isn't against it, she views it as you "getting it out of your system", she may think of you as a bit childish from time to time but deep down she cares. On another note cloud haetae thinks it's super cool, they actually look up to you as a sort of hero!^^

Shadow milk cookie: How fun! He is incredibly amused by your love of these fun games! However unlike burning spice he prefers just watching you fight, it's more fun for him that way! He truly admires your strength and even uses his illusions to help you grow stronger and outwit your enemies. There's no way this man doesn't like a bit of gambling so don't be surprised when he gets all his coins on you he just knows you'll who for him!

Eternal sugar cookie: Well if it makes you happy... then it's fine by her! But she'd much rather prefer you relax in her paradise where she can keep a close eye on you! Don't get her wrong she loves your hobbies but she deeply cares about you and would lose it if anything were to happen to her most precious cookie... But since there's no stopping you she'll just watch you fight from afar.

Unfortunately there's not enough content about silent salt to accurately write about them yet but maybe I'll do headcannons about them

Also this is my first time publicly posting my fanfics so please let me know what you think!

[awionetka]

❝ 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑'𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄 ❞ ft. 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

in which you want nothing but to finally film your magnum opus. so much so that you find yourself willing to trade part of your freedom for a chance at greatness.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slice of life...? mostly angst for now, but also heartwarming at times. arranged marriage / marriage of convenience. (old money) actor!rafayel x (sort of new money, sort of aspiring) film director!you. some entp x intj dynamics but maybe i'm just projecting. is he misunderstood or simply spoiled? let’s take a look. just showbiz, baby!

𝐜𝐰: foul language. alcohol(ism...?). (cigarette) smoking. trust and attachment issues. unhealthy coping mechanisms. burning of a building.

𝐰𝐜: circa 14k… when will i ever get to the point honestly

You shifted in your place, uncertain if you’d heard him well. "Pardon?"

Nikolai, one of your assistants, sighed in defeat, turning his laptop around and presenting you with a rather unpleasant sight.

As your eyes shifted quickly from word to unbelievably audacious word, you realised that you’d heard him incredibly well.

"You cannot possibly be serious."

There was a certain bashfulness in his gaze, as though it was him taking on the responsibility of shattering your long-held dream. "Apparently they’ll be starting a new mini series on some streaming platform. That’s what they used as an excuse at least."

"Motherfuckers…" you muttered under your breath, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the chair situated in front of you. "I’ve spent years working on this goddamn script and they know that better than anybody else!"

And to think that merely a couple of hours ago you were cheerfully visiting local diners, a box of fries in one hand and a worn out notebook in the other, searching for the perfect place to shoot at. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat (or at least trying your absolute best to do so), you forced yourself to come up with a way to solve this brand new, soul crushing problem. 

Nikolai reached out towards you awkwardly, patting the table right next to where your hand was resting.

"For what it’s worth… you’ll succeed. You always do."

Do you now?

"Thanks."

"No problem, boss." He smiled, already rising from his spot, laptop propped under left arm. "Oh, also. I almost forgot to remind you. Your meeting with the marketing team director is scheduled for half past six this evening. I noted it down in your calendar some time ago, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget."

Shit.

Of course you forgot to check that god forsaken calendar.

"Sure thing, Nikolai." You beamed right back at him, raising your arm to wave him goodbye. "I’ve already made the necessary arrangements."

Not only your beloved project had been brutally tossed away like garbage, but now you also had to spend a fortune to secure a last minute reservation at one of the most luxurious restaurants in the district.

Days like these truly did make life worth living.

The Linkon Retreat served primarily seafood dishes. 

Which was unfortunately a loss in your book, since you’d rather eat pretty much anything else other than fish, shrimp and ostriches.

Malena – your manager, an (almost worryingly so) optimistic UPenn graduate with a gummy smile and a plethora of old school tattoos, seemed to enjoy the dietary options quite a lot, however. 

"He agreed to the arrangements I’d made and said he’ll go over it with the board but…" She chased a piece of shrimp with her fork for a bit before stuffing it in her mouth. "Let’s be honest here, I will probably have to constantly nag him until he does. I truly have no idea whatsoever why nobody in this field can actually carry out their responsibilities like a normal person."

You just hummed in response, staring down at your own plate.

The waiter managed to find you a dish that didn’t contain the entire oceanic ecosystem, but it still seemed unappetising. At this point, you couldn’t care less about Malena’s updates, her polite inquiries towards you or literally anything else for that matter. The safety of your flat half an hour away from this place was calling you relentlessly and, God be your witness, you were about to pick up. 

"Hey…" She cleared her throat. "Are you doing alright?"

Not even bothering to look her way, you downed the rest of your drink.

"Sure."

Malena reached over the table to wrap her hand around your curled fist.

"Love, I am so sorry." Her expression softened. "I’ve heard what happened. You’ve worked so hard for this…"

You shrugged her off. "Live, laugh, learn to lose, isn’t it?"

She only frowned at that, clearly unamused by your half-hearted attempt at a joke.

"Doesn’t matter anyway." You tried to hide your discomfort by pretending to stretch. "Let’s not dwell on it, yeah?"

"You know…" There was a certain look in Malena’s eyes as she spoke, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know the origin of. "There is something I’ve thought of that could possibly help you out. However, it’s not exactly… a conventional solution."

You raised a brow, wordlessly urging her to continue.

"Well… You know that I’m not just your manager, right?"

"Ouch...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that. You know it."

"Suppose so." You gestured at one of the waiters, requesting yet another drink. Your companion for the evening chose not to speak on that, even when she saw you absentmindedly checking your nails, clearly not expecting much from the upcoming offer.

"Anyway." She cleared her throat. "I took this job recently, it’s more of a PR thing, really."

"Are you trying to turn your new client into some grandiose lesson for me?"

"God, no. It’s not like you’d listen to my advice anyway."

A fairly amused chuckle escaped your lips. "Fair point. Go on."

"This family… They’re struggling with their public image quite a bit. However, their finances are doing pretty well, considering."

God, she surely knew how to keep her interlocutor on their toes.

"Okay."

"It’s not like I’ve set this up beforehand, you know." Her gaze kept slipping away, as if she became embarrassed. "Just… on my way here, I figured it out. God, I am so sorry about your project…"

That you just couldn’t hear anymore. Everyone was sorry. Everyone wished they could do something. But without actual deeds, all these words were worth less than dirt stuck to the soles of your shoes. It’d be better if they just didn’t mention it at all. 

"Malena,” you chose to say instead. "I appreciate your concern, but please get to the point."

She sighed, leaning over the table just slightly.

"Would you be opposed to signing a business contract with them?"

A what now?

"Sorry?"

"Don’t fret, I can vouch for them. Well… sort of. I’d be the one writing the agreement anyway."

"Hey. Hold on a second." Your left hand immediately went up to stop Malena right in her tracks. "Agreement on what? They’d fund my filming, that you’ve made quite clear, but what do they want in return? For me to go around chirping about how wonderful they are?"

"Not… exactly."

"Malena–"

Your reply was cut short by a human-shaped shadow appearing on the tablecloth in front of you. Malena rose to her feet in an instant, suddenly much more cheerful than just seconds before.

"Oh, perfect timing! Good evening, dear!" she exclaimed, shaking the unknown woman’s hand with deliberation. "Love, there is someone I’d like to you meet."

The woman stood before Malena looked and felt like royalty. Tall and striking, in a magnificent, shimmering gown made of dark blue velvet complete with delicate pearl detailing. She lifted one of her hands clad in an ivory glove that reached past her elbow and you froze, panicking. 

"You must be the brilliant director," she spoke, smiling in an utmost dignified way that left your throat dry. "I am so pleased to finally meet you, I’ve heard many great things."

Malena chimed in, watching excitedly as the two of you shook hands.

"This is Lady Talia, my newest associate."

Your brows furrowed involuntarily, yet you didn’t dare to speak just yet. 

"Lady Talia, please, take a seat. Would you like anything to eat? Or a drink perhaps?"

Watching as the woman settled in the booth right next to you, back straight and elbows nestled neatly at her sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what on bloody Earth Malena had cooked up for you in your absence. 

Newest associate meant newest client, an easygoing euphemism created to form some sort of bond between the employer and employee. That much you knew. So, Lady Talia had to be one of the apparently disgraced family members in urgent need of Malena’s assistance. And those two simply couldn’t coexist in your eyes, not with the way she held her champagne glass in between two fingers while politely inquiring about tonight’s special dish, gracing the nervous waitress with a distinguished smile on her lips.

She had probably never shopped at a farmer’s market before, wore nightgowns instead of pyjamas to bed and put out candles with one of those bell-resembling devices instead of extinguishing it with her fingers. You tried long and hard to imagine her pulling up to a McDonald’s drive thru, but it just wouldn’t stick. 

If you were to be the one to help her with a PR problem, it would mean that Malena considered you a god.

"Love, are you alright?"

You looked up, meeting your manager’s worried expression across the oval table. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, as if she was nervous. 

"Perfectly fine," you assured, forcing a tight-lipped smile. 

Lady Talia also looked your way.

"I am glad to hear that." There was a certain warmth in her tone as she spoke. "Miss Malena told me of your recent difficulties regarding your film."

Oh, of course she did.

"Is that so?"

The woman hummed, glancing down at her drink.

"I believe we could be of some help." A pause. "Only if that'd be your wish, of course."

For a while you stayed silent, trying to come up with an eloquent and polite reply that hid how anxious you’d become. Trying to navigate this game of distinguished business offers you felt as though you were set up for failure from the very start. 

Malena cleared her throat.

"I had only just gotten to explaining the possibility of a contract, Lady Talia. There is still plenty to discuss. But, I do believe we are on the right track here. It is certainly a lucrative arrangement, for all of us."

A droplet of champagne slid over the rim of the glass, making its unhurried way down.

"For you, it would mean full financial support of your project," Malena continued on. "Lady Talia would provide you with possibilities you wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. You’re free to film wherever you wish. It could be the moon for all we know."

"I see."

"On the other end…" She sighed, clearly avoiding your scrutinising gaze. "The Qi family would benefit greatly from your position in the professional scene and associating themselves with your line of work. Public appearances, a dinner party or two, a movie screening. Two birds with one stone."

"And how exactly would that happen…?"

"Now, that is trickier to describe. However, we–"

Lady Talia placed her glass back on the table with a dull clink.

"I would like you to marry my nephew."

A moment of silence. Someone started laughing a couple of tables over. One of the waiters dropped a fork on their way back to the kitchens. 

Then, a storm.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU–"

Cigarette smoke furled around your form as you paced from one side of the terrace to another, fuming.

"I’m sorry." Malena was one step behind you, trying her absolute best to console you with her pleading eyes. "If I only had more time, I would have explained to you–"

"Explained what exactly?" you snapped back, turning around to face her. "That you decided to just marry me off like it’s the 1920s? What the hell, Malena!"

She seemed remorseful, she really did, but you just couldn’t help yourself. First you lost the biggest opportunity of a lifetime, then forced yourself to commit literal bribery to get a table at some boujee restaurant where even a glass of water cost an arm and a leg, and now you were being asked to get engaged to a man you’ve never even laid your eyes upon, because apparently he held such a catastrophe of a reputation, the only thing that could save his sorry ass was public hand holding and tagging along to your events. 

And the undeniably worst of it all – he was an actor.

"I’ll be frank with you here," you stated, voice low and almost threatening. "Shit like this only works in movies. And even there it barely makes a fucking difference. I don’t see why I would babysit a twenty-something old man who crashes two cars every month and gets banned from every foreign country he visits."

Malena whined in response, knees bent as if she was about to get down on the cold tiles and beg.

"It was only three countries, not all!" You rolled your eyes at that. "Love, please, consider it. I mean, come on, they’re filthy rich! You’d live in a house so big you probably wouldn’t even have to see him much. And she offered to put a time limit on it too! As soon as he hits forty, you’re free to file for divorce!"

You scoffed, turning around to take another drag.

"Oh, that is just lovely, isn’t it?" Malena looked away at the bitter tone of your words. "Just a couple of years, maybe the most crucial ones of my life, maybe not. But who can tell! Especially when there’s such a magnificent man by your side!"

The silence that stretched in between you two seemed non-disputable, final. You didn’t look her way and she made no further effort to convince you. The last remnant of Malena’s presence was a thick purple envelope she placed on the railing in front of you. The golden seal shimmered in the light pouring from the wide terrace doors behind your back.

The air began to gradually thin out and you stood there, watching as cigarette ash coated the edges of the expensive stationery.

Oh, what a horrible, horrible mistake you’d made. 

The silky fabric of your dress pants kept tugging at the underside of your heels as you made your way to the correct seat. 

They must’ve splurged quite a bit (well, Lady Talia must’ve splurged quite a bit), just to situate you two on the highest balcony of the opera hall. Actually, it would’ve been much more fitting if you said you alone, since Rafayel, your "date", was still nowhere to be seen. 

You were supposed to meet somewhere in the main hall, maybe have a cup of coffee or tea in the cafeteria downstairs, before proceeding to go watch the ballet performance. It was an agreeable spot for the first meeting between two (potential) soon-to-be business partners, one that arrived into your hands in the form of a scented envelope with a personal ticket and a brief, printed invitation. 

You’d never seen a ballet before, although you did listen to all the musical pieces included in The Nutcracker back to back when you were still a university student. It seemed personal, the way it just so happened to be the very play you were somewhat familiar with, as though it was chosen for you on purpose. So you thought and thought, and then drank half a bottle of wine before fishing out Lady Talia’s business card from the inside pocket of your jacket and sending her a quick text, confirming your attendance. 

Defeated, at last. Tempted so easily into agreement simply because your eyes managed to catch the name of your favourite composer. That night you went to bed more disappointed in yourself than you were back when you allowed some rookie to beat you in the high school screenwriting contest. The bitterness of it remained somewhat the same. 

The attendees below moved along the seats, slowly finding their assigned places. You observed them through a cautious, guarded lens, eyeing their tailored attire and exquisite jewellery. 

This wasn’t where you belonged, not in the slightest. Your blouse didn’t fit you quite right, pooling under your arms in an almost worrisome manner. The bracelet draped over your wrist seemed too shiny and too dull at the same time. There were leftovers from yesterday’s casserole in your fridge and half a packet of off-brand maltesers waiting for you back home. And, truth be told, you considered whether or not that was where you were actually meant to currently be.

It would be easy, sneaking off, while hopefully not getting too tangled in the heavy curtains which guarded the door to the main corridor. Two buses back home, maybe a double serving of raspberry sherbet on your way there. You weren’t above taking off your heels and walking the remaining distance barefoot either, already predicting the dull ache your feet were about to inevitably suffer.

However, the atmosphere of the opera hall was utterly mesmerising. It was almost magical, the way you felt in that moment, as though you were royalty yourself. How could you deny yourself such an indulgence? Especially when it was completely and utterly free of charge.

Besides, as far as you were aware, your companion could even skip the entire event altogether, crashing some party or terrorising an art auction instead. That seemed more up his alley, at least from what you’d managed to rip out of Malena during your earlier interrogations.

No, you were already there. Lights were beginning to dim and the lorgnette you managed to find at the very back of your underwear drawer laid patiently on your lap, waiting to be of use. 

He’d have to personally drag you out of that seat to get you to leave. 

The whispers gradually quieted and you eased further into your chair, excitement creeping in as you waited for the performance to start. The twenty year old you squealed almost audibly when the crimson curtain began to rise. This is for her.

Time seemed to pass differently in the opera hall, as if you entered some sort of enchanted bubble that kept you hidden from the outside world. Your chest rose as the various instruments picked up their pace and eased back again as soon as the dancers gracefully landed back on their feet. It didn’t take long for you to forget how you even secured your ticket for this performance in the first place. How could it matter, when your entire being physically shook with each step, each musical note?

In fact, you were so immersed in the performance, you didn’t even register where those annoying sounds were coming from at first. Furrowing your brows, you tried to shut them out, but to no avail. Then, giving up, you spun around in your seat, just in time to see a silhouette slipping through the doorway.

"Thanks, man."

No fucking way in hell this guy actually dared to show up.

The shuffling continued on as he made his way to the seat next to yours. The chair creaked under him as he draped himself over it leisurely.

"These doors are menace, I can say that much." He sighed, head slightly turning in your direction. "So… what’d I miss?"

You didn’t bother to look his way, although the closeness of his hand placed on your armrest irked you to no end. 

He muttered something again, shuffling in his seat.

"Can you stop?" you hissed at Rafayel, finally giving him half a glance. 

His eyes met you somewhere halfway, shining in the dark almost unnaturally. The corners of his lips twitched slightly as he tilted his head to the side.

"Are you mad at me?"

Oh, the sheer audacity of that question.

"Take a wild guess."

He let out an amused chuckle and it took every single muscle of yours, straining and fighting in order to NOT give in to your violent impulses.

For a while, it was quiet indeed, even though his fingers tapped along to some imaginary beat he’d conjured up in that brain of his. God be your witness, you could see loud and clear exactly why people absolutely despised him.

You were slowly beginning to drift back into the magical state induced by the ballet, when suddenly an outstretched hand came into your view.

"I’m Rafayel."

"I’m aware." You swatted his palm away, refusing to give it a shake. "Now back off."

His eyes widened in pure bewilderment.

"I’m sorry?"

"Oh, you will be even more sorry if you don’t close your mouth right this second, I can tell you that."

The sigh that escaped his lips sounded more theatrical than the performance you were trying to watch.

"Forgive me for merely wanting to get to know you… What an unpardonable crime."

With blood already boiling in your veins, you turned around abruptly to face him yet again.

"You had time for that before the ballet. Missed your chance. Not my problem. Now sit back down, stay quiet and for the love of God, stop fucking moving so I can watch the performance in peace."

Not even waiting for his reply, you let your eyes drift back to their rightful spot. Your mind, however, refused to return where you wanted it to. Instead, it wandered around the balcony, looming over the odd presence situated at your right. You could barely make anything out in this light, but you swore you saw him somewhere. Definitely not in a high end production, not with that boyish grin of his. Maybe some romantic comedy or one of those low budget tv shows that run for fifteen seasons, supplying the viewers with a whole bunch of nothing. He’d definitely suit something of that sort. It was an easy, non-demanding job, ideal for pretentious rich people who wanted to play house for a bit.

Although, you kept questioning yourself how exactly he’d ruined his family’s good name. No background research was made on your part since you met his aunt, there were more pressing matters on hand and frankly, you didn’t really care. Malena supplied you with enough entry level information to last you up until he finally hit the forty year mark. Anything besides that seemed rather redundant.

But what if he was addicted to gambling? Handling stolen antics? Did he sell hard drugs?

Suddenly wary of the fact that he was nothing more than a stranger, you sneaked a quick glance at him, only to jump in your seat as soon as his eyes met yours. Rafayel was already staring at you.

He let out an amused chuckle, clearly pleased with himself. Didn’t say a single word.

Good.

Because the vivid image of his multi-coloured eyes, part ocean and part sunset, sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

The performance was nearing its end. Your companion stayed utterly silent till the very final musical note that graced your ears that night. Not like that could help much at this point; not when your heart was racing faster than your usually rational mind could make its calculations.

Applause filled the room and the two of you joined in, rising from your seats politely. You were suddenly a little too aware of how crumpled your pants looked in this light and that singular broken fingernail on your left hand. 

His hands looked positively pristine. Adorned with intricate rings of all shapes and sizes, made of gold and gems. A thin, shimmering bracelet hung loosely around his wrist, making you hide your own jewellery under the fabric of your blouse. It’s a good thing you didn’t let him shake your hand before.

The attendees were unhurriedly making their way to the exits, prompting you to do the same. Rafayel motioned you to go first, still situated at a reasonable distance. As he was pulling back the curtain to let you pass, it happened – the narrow streak of light allowed you to see a bit more of his face.

There could be no doubts whether or not him and Lady Talia were related, not with how regal he looked in that moment. Dressed in an écru shirt with wide sleeves and a hand-sewn waistcoat fitted neatly to his figure, Rafayel could very much be a prince of some far away region, where sun set late and all the palace windows were open wide to let in the evening breeze. 

And then you saw it – the soft arch of his nose, sprinkled with the faintest of freckles, his long bottom eyelashes casting lazy shadows across his cheeks and the most obvious, vulgar hickey right at the base of Rafayel’s neck.

All the yelling that surrounded you in that instant made your head throb and throat go dry. Already partly turned away, you hissed as Rafayel looped his arm with yours and tugged in the opposite direction.

"The exit is that way!" he yelled, unnervingly close to your face.

"I don’t give a fuck!" you shouted back at him, making sure his right eardrum wasn’t left in too good of a condition. 

Swatting his hand away, you slipped past one of his bodyguards and the crowd of fans surrounding him, ignoring the way he called for you to come back.

That face of his, those sharp yet soft features, all of it framed by wavy strands of lilac hair, of course you’ve seen it. It belonged to the Rafayel, rising star turned misfit, the one who drove one of his most luxurious cars right off the cliff for a movie scene, showed up to auctions where they sold his own memorabilia, only to buy them all and toss in the trash. Rafayel who gave long, detailed interviews on how exhausting it was to be the people’s sweetheart. The one who whisked away some European princess a day before her wedding, took her on a week long cruise and left her right back where he found her. Modern day casanova, lover boy extraordinare.

And now, apparently, also your to-be fiancé. 

"Well, that escalated quickly."

Your laptop screen effectively covered the newspaper tossed onto the table by Nikolai. Even if you wished to grab it, you were surely no match for Quinn, your second assistant, whose eyes widened in pure shock as she read the article on the front page out loud.

"'Serial heartbreaker out of his league? Rafayel Qi shoots his shot at the industry’s best and brightest – and scores!' Well, that is just gross."

You rolled your eyes, busing yourself with something on your own computer.

"I’ve had relatives I thought were already dead call me just to say how much of a disgrace I am for having a quickie in the opera," you mumbled, taking a sip from your mug.

Quinn and Nikolai exchanged wary looks.

"And did you…?"

"Are you being serious right now? No, I didn’t. What the fuck?"

After catching yourself typing the same exact word over and over, you furiously slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it into your bag. Nikolai cautiously handed you your worn out leather jacket before you could say anything. 

"Leaving," you stated briefly, finishing the remnants of your morning coffee in one sip. "If anyone ends up needing me more than necessary, you know where to find me."

Refusing to wait for anything else they could potentially add, you made your way downstairs, already eager to escape this utterly suffocating office building. A gentle breeze passed through the floor to ceiling windows which were cracked open just slightly in some spots. It was as though everything else was waking up from its slumber, ready to bring in brand new experiences and fresh inspiration. Everything and anything other than what you needed. Why was it always you who got the short end of the stick…?

The annoyingly insistent vibrations of your phone pushed you off this new trail of thought. You looked at the screen. It was Malena.

"Just saw the news…" she trailed off. "Congrats…?"

She couldn’t see your clearly displeased expression so you opted for the next best thing – an exaggerated huff.

"Don’t piss me off."

There was something suspiciously similar to hope in her tone as she spoke.

"At least you took a liking to him, no?"

"Jesus, Malena, don’t tell me you also think I spent two hours eating his face on the opera hall balcony."

The chuckle that fell through the phone made you involuntarily roll your eyes.

"It’d be quite romantic though," she drawled, smile evident in the way she responded to your quip.

"Im not even going to grace that with a comment."

"So, how is he?" Malena angled the subject just slightly. "Funny?"

"Forty minutes late," you replied instead, nodding at the receptionist who greeted you from behind the lobby. "Couldn’t open the balcony door on his own and hoarded my side of the armrest. Yapped my ear off throughout the entire performance. Should I go on?"

Malena responded with a sigh of obvious defiance. "No need… Point taken."

You pushed the glass doors open, squinting at the sun reflecting off the neighbouring buildings. The buildings, as well as this absolute marvel of a car which stood parked neatly right at the bottom of the staircase. 

It was an undeniably majestic third generation Cadillac de Ville with chrome detailing, all in pristine condition. Spray-painted blood red, it looked as if someone pulled it right out of an old gangster movie. It took you a good couple of seconds to realise you’d stopped breathing altogether, desperately taking in each carefully crafted detail.

If you only could produce this god forsaken film of yours, complete with the actually useful cast and costumes that made sense, maybe you’d have earned enough to buy yourself one of these. Was this one up for sale? You couldn’t see even a speck of rust on the Cadillac’s body, it must have cost a fortune to keep it that way. The owner was probably some old man with one foot already situated in the family grave, so your chances could be pretty high...?

All your hopes were crushed just a couple seconds later when the doors opened, presenting you the car’s owner, young and energetic, with a pair of retro looking sunglasses and a colorful newspaper in hand. The breeze swept through his long-ish curls; curls the color of freshly cut lilac flowers and agleam amethyst stones.

"Hold on…" You could feel your throat going dry in an instant. "I’ll call you back."

Before Malena could protest, you shoved your phone back into the inside pocket of your jacket, stopping mid-step.

"This can’t fucking be."

Rafayel looked up from his magazine, pushing the glasses up and letting them tangle in his wind tousled hair. The smile that graced his features a second after could be only described as radiant.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Done with work?"

Choosing to ignore the nickname, you raised a brow.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me?"

He pushed himself off the car in a laid-back manner, stopping right in front of where you stood. You couldn’t ignore the playful glint in his eyes, even if you tried.

"We’re not scheduled to meet until Friday," you said plainly.

"Schedule this, schedule that…" he drawled, clearly unamused. "What are we, business partners?"

"Yeah, well, pretty mu–"

"Hop in," he interrupted. "I’m taking you to dinner."

You just stood there, dumbfounded, watching as Rafayel made his way around the car. That day he was wearing a more casual jacket (a leather jacket, much to your dismay), one that made him look like a motorcyclist. Slipping his sunglasses back on, he gave you a pointed look from where he stood, one leg already inside the Cadillac.

"Come," he urged with an impatient wave of his hand. "I didn’t even drive you back home last night, let me atone for my sins."

A couple of your distant coworkers passed by, eyeing down the vintage car and its peculiar driver. You felt awfully exposed, much like yesterday when hoards of reporters surrounded the two of you after the ballet. How you managed to slip past them all, grab your coat downstairs and catch a cab in less than than seven minutes total was still beyond you. Yet here you were, presented with an opportunity to go through all of that again.

The gentle spring breeze flew in between you, creating an invisible barrier. Rafayel’s smile had diminished by then but there was still this curious spark in his eyes that made him seem content. You wondered how he managed to stay this joyful regarding your current circumstances. How badly did he want this deal to go through…?

Well, guess you had around fifteen years to find that out.

"Fine."

He beamed at you.

"No seafood though."

"Hey, I was just about to suggest–"

"Absolutely not."

Having an obscenely rich, fairly charming man at your side proved to be more helpful and prosperous than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Not like you were prone to dwelling in delusions of this sort, God forbid, he just suddenly seemed much more useful than any potential contract would describe. Perhaps it was yesterday’s misfortunes that caused Rafayel to act this way – giving in to your each and every whim without a question. And perhaps it just simply did not matter to him, at least not in a capacity it did to you, certainly with the abominable prices plastered atop of the restaurant menu.

"Did you see how much they’re trying to sell this risotto for?" You pointed at the sum, as Rafayel used his straw to fish out a lemon slice from the bottom of his drink.

"Trying and succeeding, may I add."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "Have you ever eaten here before?"

A nonchalant shrug.

"Don’t remember. Hey, are you going to eat those?"

You slid your own glass towards him without a word, observing as Rafayel repeated the citrus-retrieving process. He squeezed his eyes at the taste, shaking his head a couple of times.

"Ooh! It’s like the whole rum got sucked into this thing… Magnificent."

"I apologise for the interruption." The waiter from earlier appeared right next to you, almost out of thin air. "Madame, Sir, did any of today’s desserts capture your attention?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafayel beat you to it, tongue darting out to get rid of the very last remnants of brown sugar on his lips.

"Actually, no," he quipped, turning you anxious in an instant. "I’d like to request a cherry cobbler for the lady."

The waiter glanced at you curiously and your face immediately flushed with embarrassment.

"Rafayel–"

"I’ll have a tiramisu." Ignoring you completely, he smiled up at the man without even a gram of shame.

As soon as the waiter disappeared behind the steel doors of the kitchens, you leaned forward, almost leaping over the table.

"Are you out of your mind?" you hissed. "There’s no cherry cobbler on the menu, you can’t just–"

"Darling." He placed a finger on your lips to shush you, leaving you entirely flabbergasted. "You said you wanted cherry cobbler. I’m getting you one."

Rafayel let out a huff when you slapped his hand away from your face. His eyes trailed your movements, not without certain mischief hidden somewhere behind his pretty words.

"I said." You closed your eyes for a brief moment to collect yourself. "I said I wished they had cherry cobbler on the menu. It wasn’t a suggestion for you to bother the fucking chef to bake me a simple cake out of the blue."

The smile that lit up his features was anything but bashful. With his chin resting on his palm, Rafayel observed you casually, as though it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Unable to hold his focused gaze, your eyes darted back to your lap, silently cursing out any deity that would listen for making you cross paths with this man. 

Luckily for you, Rafayel knew exactly when to shut his mouth (albeit it did not happen often, as you’d noticed). Your desserts arrived earlier than expected, a gracefully served cherry cobbler with a generous scoop of traditionally made ice cream placed right in front of your hungry eyes. 

Rafayel watched you silently, smiling to himself. "Looks good."

"Don’t." Your left hand came up to face him in an unspoken warning. "I genuinely feel so bad."

That seemed to stir something in him. The silver fork froze right in between the tiramisu and Rafayel’s mouth. He set it aside with a delicate clink.

"Please don’t."

His hands were twitching slightly, as though eager to reach over the table in a makeshift peace offering. 

"If they didn’t want to make it for you, they wouldn’t," he assured, brows furrowed slightly. "Why do you think they ask if you liked anything?"

"To be polite…?" you suggested.

He rolled his eyes.

"If it helps ease your discomfort, I’ll double my usual tip for your sake. Sounds good?"

You just nodded in defiance, knowing well this was a fight you’d never manage to win.

"So…" he hummed after a minute or two, sending you a playful glance over his dessert. "How’s your cobbler?"

"It’s fucking amazing."

The genuinity of Rafayel’s laugh washed over your entire being like a tidal wave, leaving you helplessly sprawled on the shore. 

Two weeks have passed since your unfortunate first "date" at the opera hall. 

You tried and tried, focusing on decoding his entire demeanour more than on your own work; yet you were constantly failing to figure Rafayel out. All those scandalous whispers you’d encountered, vividly painted newspaper headlines and compromising photographs seemed to belong to someone else entirely. Sure, he did have a certain flair for dramatics and kept embarrassing you with his unashamed antics wherever he dragged you to, but you were yet to witness Rafayel "ruining" his family’s good name.

The fact that he accepted it all, this abnormal courting period and business arrangement in one, without any protests whatsoever had only made it worse. When your phone buzzed, signalling one of his countless daily messages, you just rolled your eyes and went about your very day. It was all easy. Talking to Rafayel was easy. And that was perhaps the most worrying aspect of this entire predicament.

"So." Malena put away her pen, finally done with the document. "You’re halfway there. Two more weeks till the agreement takes place. How do you feel?"

Odd. No other word could describe it better than this.

"What does he even get out of this?" you questioned her instead, clasping your hands on your stomach. "I mean, he could marry anybody."

She scratched her chin, deep in thought. "Maybe, yes. But not anybody could marry him."

Your brows furrowed.

"Is there a difference...?"

"He’s tough to deal with. Demanding. Talks a lot and rarely listens. It’s a true miracle that throughout all these days you’ve been together he didn’t make a single condescending headline."

"We’re not together," you corrected. "Besides, he’s really not that bad. Obscenely rich, yes, which does make him horribly annoying, but…"

You trailed off, realising just now that you took on a role of his public defender, shielding your potential soon-to-be husband from anything that could harm his precious image.

Malena just raised a brow, intrigued.

"Yeah, well, you’d be the only one to have that kind of opinion on him. The other day I met up with Lady Talia to discuss her involvement in your project and she received a call from him. Turns out he got arrested and was asking her to bail him out."

Your mouth went dry in an instant.

"I… I didn’t know about that."

"Of course not." Despite her harsh words, Malena’s features softened upon looking at you. "It’s not exactly a husband material anecdote."

Leaning back in your chair, you anchored your eyes on the expensive chandelier in Malena’s office. Should you ask what he was arrested for? Did you even want to know?

"That being said." She cleared her throat, sliding a plain white envelope your way. "Are you sure you want to invite him? I still haven’t informed Lady Talia about this. It’d be great for his image but it is also a huge step forward. And, you’re not even legally bound by any contract just yet."

You thought back to that one time the two of you completely missed a movie because he stopped to play marbles with some random kids near a park fountain. Or when he scraped both of his knees on the harsh pavement after having urged you to pick a hang out activity, only for you to come up with cycling, which he apparently despised.

Rafayel was always just slightly late, his outfits were rarely coordinated with the weather, so he was constantly either overheating or freezing, and he genuinely had some acting talent. Upon meeting him (actually meeting him, not after that god forsaken opera hall incident), you sat down to conduct a brief google search and watched a couple of episodes of a tv show he starred in a few years back. His hair was longer and they kept styling him in these oversized flannels that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in real life. As of then, you were yet to ask him about those, embarrassingly curious to witness his reaction first hand.

Rafayel wasn’t inherently reckless or rude or spoiled. He opened the car doors for you, gave generous tips in restaurants and made you laugh in ways you hadn’t laughed in what felt like millenia.

So what if he got arrested? Let he who is without sin… He probably just drove over the speed limit or talked back to a policeman or something. Since they let him go so easily, it couldn’t have been anything actually harmful, at least not to a degree that mattered. Jesus, it’s not like you could go on and make a fuss about such matters, not when for the first time in years you felt like you’d made a friend. As peculiar as he was, Rafayel gifted you a space in which you could exist without pretence. And despite your rather rocky beginnings, he became someone you didn’t care to perform in front of.

And, against your own better judgement, you were starting to hope he felt the same way in your presence.

"Barely two weeks ago you were the one trying to convince me to do this," you prompted, leaning back in your chair. "It'll be fine. I've been through worse."

Malena only nodded, handing you the envelope. As you exited her office, you could only pray what you'd just said wasn't about to turn on you in some vicious, malevolent way.

The Valentine Club was the first of your projects to "make it". 

Before the medium sized, yet steady success of the film, you stumbled around many different production companies, scribbling down scripts and conducting small-scale evaluations. So, when precisely five years ago you saw a chance to create your very own project entirely from scratch, you didn’t dare to leave it hanging for too long.

Back then you didn’t have nearly as much creative freedom as you did now. One of the main actors would normally never make it on screen if you could help it, but still had the necessary connections, so you were „strongly advised” to accept his offer. The budget was limited, so you hand-painted all the shop signs needed for the movie. Nobody forced you, of course, they even encouraged you to let it go, deeming it unnecessary, but you wanted, you needed it all to be perfect.

Looking back at it now, it obviously wasn’t anywhere near your definition of perfection. However, over the years you managed to make at least some peace with the fact that nothing could ever reach such state. Not like that ever stopped you from trying your absolute hardest nonetheless.

And that was precisely why you were currently picking out shades of purple for sashes that were to decorate buffet tables at the venue you decided to hold your event at.

"What about the other one?" You pointed at the rack behind the shopkeeper. "Sorry, I just can’t get behind any of those…"

The woman waved you off, patiently laying out yet another material on the counter. 

Well, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be this monstrosity. Still, you feigned contemplation out of politeness.

"I’m not sure…"

Then, something situated in your peripheral vision caught your eye. "And that one? Number… number twenty four?"

"It’s one of the more expensive ones." The shopkeeper sent you an amused glance over her shoulder, already reaching for the fabric you spotted. "You have a great eye."

"Yeah…" Your fingers grazed the delicate material, marvelling at the way it shimmered subtly. "Unfortunately for my wallet."

Your eyes fluttered shut, already imagining this particular shade of purple lighting up the entire venue. With the slightest of reflectiveness and these intricate details made with silver thread, it would be a (near) perfect addition to your anniversary banquet.

"I'm taking this one." You sent her a smile, trying to make up for all the time you spent complaining at each one of your own previous picks. "Here are the measurements."

Sliding an unfolded piece of lined paper over the counter, you mentally checked your bank account in nervous anticipation.

However, the shopkeeper’s brows furrowed in worry.

"Oh, honey. That is quite a lot of fabric… We don’t have even near this much at the store."

Your throat went dry.

"What…?"

"I’ll try to see if any other of our stores have some left…" She rummaged through a couple of drawers, fishing out a phone number scribbled on top of a pizza joint flier. "It’s a rather old-fashioned motif."

Just a couple minutes later, you were presented with a list of shops (a list that contained only one place, actually), and even though things were beginning to look up, the address of it made you internally swear.

"Chansia?"

The shopkeeper sent you a sympathetic look.

"I can contact them and make sure no one buys it before you get there?" she offered.

With all the preparations you were still to overlook and a rather unforgiving, narrow timeframe, you wondered if any of this could even prove successful in the slightest. The fabric of your choice was undeniably beautiful, precisely what you were searching for, but maybe you could find something else still, something that wasn’t preferably situated in Chansia City, a place only Rafayel could frequently visit without missing ten deadlines…

Rafayel! What if he was there right now? Chances weren’t too high, but… Plus, he did explicitly say to let him know if you ended up needing anything for the event. Ever since you’d given him the invitation, he’d been gushing about your movie constantly, possibly ending up even more excited for the anniversary than its director herself.

Letting the shopkeeper know, you took out your phone and dialled Rafayel’s number. He didn’t make you wait long before picking up.

"Hey there, pretty." You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, tone bright and welcoming. "Whom should I thank for the undeniable pleasure of receiving a call from my dearest director?"

Trying not to let his sweet words get to your head, you decided to keep the matter brief.

"Hi, Rafayel. Are you currently in Chansia by any chance?"

He hummed, seemingly used to not hearing direct replies to his half-hearted advances.

"Why?"

You let out a sigh. "Remember when I was telling you how I’d like to set the tables? So, I found the perfect fabric for those sashes, but the only store to have enough of it is in Chansia."

"Well… Today’s your lucky day then, miss director."

Your breath sped up. "Really?"

"Just send me what it is you need." You could tell he tried his absolute best to feign indifference. "How much time do I have?"

"Till this evening...? Tomorrow also works, as long as it's early. There's still plenty I need to do at the venue." You couldn't contain your excitement. Glancing over at the shopkeeper, you gestured for her to make a reservation on your behalf. "Keep the receipt. I'll pay you back when you get here."

"Now, that is just plainly offensive," he huffed over the phone. "It's already taken care of. Don't worry 'bout it."

Your brows furrowed, almost out of habit.

"You do realise that I have the funds for this, right?"

"Sure thing." The tone of his voice was cheerful as always. "Now why don't you go ahead and use said money to buy yourself something new to wear at the event?

Well... You didn't hate that idea.

Judging by the quiet chuckle on the other end of the call, Rafayel caught on in an instant. "It's set then. See you this evening, cutie."

"Yeah, see you."

Already about to hang up, you were abruptly stopped by Rafayel chiming in yet again.

"Now, quick question." The way he said this made it seem as though he was presenting you with a business deal. "Would you be opposed to watching the next episode of The X Files with me? Yes or no. They've been adding a lot of those connected ones lately and I can't lie anymore, I am rather invested in this."

Smiling to yourself, you texted him the necessary fabric measurements, ones he received with a characteristic "ding" you heard even through the phone.

"Bring some Vietnamese take out and I shall consider your request."

"Are you sure...? I still think that seafood restaurant–"

You sighed audibly, dragging a hand over your face in an exaggerated manner, almost like a cartoon character. "Rafayel..."

"What? I'm just saying!"

Back when you were a child, around five, maybe six years old, you had three potential careers in mind.

The first one was an astronaut – fueled by your never ending thirst for knowledge and adoration of the unexplored. Drummer was your second pick, warranted by your mom's almost career as a rockstar. And when it came to the last ideal job description, you fell victim to the classic case of peer pressure, as well as a couple of surprisingly well written fairytales – you wished to become a princess.

Movie director was, obviously, nowhere on this entirely probable list of yours, and sometimes you did in fact wonder if the young you would approve of the life you chose to live. What you were absolutely sure of however, was that she would definitely give you a thumbs up after seeing the venue you picked for your anniversary screening; all organised and decorated, it looked eerily similar to a princess' castle.

Although, you did have to admit that choosing to rent one of the smaller mansions on the outskirts of Linkon had probably more to do with it than the rest put together.

The way it all clicked, the entryway decorations, various poster designs propped artistically upon wooden easels and, of course, the purple sashes looped around the tables, made you almost giddy with excitement. The photographers you hired for the night were making sure everything would end up documented thoroughly, saving you the trouble of preserving the memories any other way. Even Malena found an empty spot in her rigid schedule, stopping by with her girlfriend to congratulate on your anniversary.

It seemed perfect. Well, as perfect as anything human-made could turn out to be, except for one, rather crucial matter at hand.

He was nowhere to be seen.

The event was launched personally by you less than half an hour ago and you knew Rafayel had the unpleasant tendency of showing up fashionably late. In fact, you actually considered switching the inauguration time on his invitation to trick him into being there for the opening, but ultimately decided against it, deeming it all not too important anyway.

However, with the hour of the anniversary screening approaching steadily, you were beginning to worry you'd made a mistake choosing to be truthful.

"Everything alright?"

You blinked a couple of times, snapping out of your trance.

"Yeah?"

Quinn tilted her head to the side, letting a couple of elaborate braids slip over her shoulder. "Someone inquired if there'll be non-alcoholic drinks at the reception later tonight, I said I'd ask and when I did, you replied with 'not for too long'...?"

"Did I...?" You internally squirmed at that. "My bad. I... There'll be some freshly pressed juice options available? I don't remember ordering any mocktails."

"It's perfect, you know." She placed a hand on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "As perfect as can be. There's no need to worry."

As perfect as could be... And surely, before all this it would have been undeniably enough. So why couldn't that be the case now...?

You tried not to stress while sitting next to a hauntingly empty chair right next to you in the screening room. After all, he'd told you before that he ended up watching The Valentine Club thrice, back to back. Perhaps he just didn't deem it necessary to sit yet through another portion of the same thing. However, despite your attempted reasoning, it did sting. Not enough to whip out your phone and send him a passive aggressive text, no, but just enough to grow bitter at the feeling of getting stood up. Again.

At some point, between a brief speech after the movie and transferring everyone into the main hall, you even began to wonder if anything unfortunate had happened. What if he ended up in a jail cell again? You still haven't asked what prompted him to go there in the first place and you were slowly beginning to lose your resolve over that. Not wanting to judge him so harshly, you also spent some time worrying for his wellbeing, various kinds of accidents flashing through your head as you tried to figure out where the actual hell he was at that very moment.

In order to avoid your assistants' attention, you busied yourself with the guests, making polite, surface level conversation and accepting their congratulations as gracefully as you could. Steadily making your way through the hall, you took notice of how people moved away from a certain faraway corner, one occupied by a group of men laughing jovially. Already slightly suspicious, you moved forward cautiously to investigate, trying to catch some of their conversation.

"And, and then he offered me the same fucking deal, you know? The audacity of that! As if I was on the same level as him, can you imagine?"

Eyeing down the middle aged man situated in the very centre, you pushed through the crowd, accidentally stomping on someone's foot in the process.

"H-Hey! Watch out!"

Filled with burning hot anger, you whipped your head around to face the other man.

"No, you watch ou–" The harsh words got stuck in your throat as you took in the sight in front of your eyes. This couldn't be... "Rafayel...?"

The man you grew to be somewhat fond of, the very same you binge watched like five episodes of your favorite show with just a couple of days ago, now stood before you, clad in a crumpled navy blue suit and a pair of the most ridiculous shoes you'd ever seen.

"What..." Are you doing here? You failed to force anything out your throat.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He sent you a smile, one that didn't quite reach his absent gaze. "Congrats on your movie, yeah?"

You just stood there, unsure of how to react to this utterly absurd scene. Rafayel must have taken that as a sign of annoyance (maybe he wasn't that far off, anyway) and breached the distance between you two, enveloping you in a clumsy hug.

"Come on..." he drawled, cozing up to you like a kitten. "Don't be mad."

"Rafayel, you... Is that–" You involuntarily took a whiff, spotting an unfamiliar scent. "Are you drunk?"

He took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as though he was the one offended by you, not the other way round.

"N-No?"

Exhaling shakily, you closed your eyes for a brief moment before grabbing his clammy hand and dragging Rafayel away from the crowd despite his whiny objections.

"Hey, let go! Where are you taking me? The event is still going–"

You rolled your eyes. "If you'd actually made it here on time, that wouldn't be this big of a concern to you, I bet."

It was almost like your words weren't even registered by Rafayel's brain. He still wiggled in your unforgiving grasp, up until you stopped by one of the emptier tables.

"What's going on?" You looked him right in the eyes, hoping that would somehow sober him up, even a little. "Are you okay?"

He tried to shrug you off, waving his hand right in front of your face.

"You're late," you pressed, growing more and more annoyed with each passing second. "You're late, even though you promised me you'd show up on time. You missed the entire screening and now I find you next to some random men, drunk out of your fucking mind–"

"Stop... yelling. God..." He groaned. "I'm here now, aren't I? What's the big deal?"

"What's– What's the deal?!" You were flabbergasted.

A couple of guests, including Malena and Nikolai, stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfolding in front of them. Rafayel leaned on the table, rubbing his forehead.

"Jesus Christ, won't you get off my dick already–"

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed to sober up at that. Jolting from his half-folded stance, Rafayel faced you properly, using his entire frame to tower over you.

"You're always so... so stuck up. Always unsatisfied. With everything that I do! Nothing is ever enough! So what does it matter, if I get here on time or not? If I stand here, pretending to care about these random people neither of us will probably see in the next five years? I might as well do what I want instead. At least I know how to have actual fun."

God, you wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face and wipe that snarky grin right off. But instead, mindful of your reputation, you grabbed his elbow, trying to take all this outside.

"This isn't the place for this. You're embarrassing both me and yourself."

"Like you give a fuck!" he snapped, yanking his arm right out and reaching straight into his pocket.

"I don't think that– Hey, what is... Is that a cigarette?!"

Rafayel gave you an absentminded glance as he flicked a lighter. You couldn't believe your own eyes, alarmingly aware of how warm your face had gotten from all these intense emotions.

"Rafayel, you don't smoke. Put that down."

"Oh? And you know that from...?"

Reaching towards the cig, you attempted to jerk it away.

"So you can but not me?" he questioned tauntingly, keeping it just barely out of your reach.

"Put that out right now, Rafayel. You can't smoke in here, it's–"

"Yeah, sure..." He looked positively bored. "Can't do this, can't do that, it's almost like– Ouch!"

He yelped, yanking his hand towards his chest, as though burned.

"I don't know what you think you're doing right now," you started, forcing yourself to sound at least partly reasonable. "But this is the last place you'd want to argue with me at. I can promise you this."

"Oh, forgive me!" he mocked your tone in cocky amusement. "I somehow forgot that you know everything there is to know! My bad!"

Already furious, you had to force yourself to do makeshift breathing exercises in a rather futile attempt to calm down. Instead, it kept making you even more agitated, especially while accompanied by that horrendous scowl on Rafayel's face, one that twisted his features in an almost devilish manner.

"You know what, you poor excuse of a man–"

But before you could finish your cold-hearted retort, someone on your far left began screaming bloody murder.

"Fire! The table's on fire!"

That sent a jolt through you, from the soles of your feet to the very top of your head. Stumbling backwards, you tried your best to assess the situation, suddenly overwhelmed by panicked guests fleeting left and right.

"The sash!" You grabbed it with both hands, trying to put out the fire with some of the excess material. "Rafayel, get back!"

"Where... Ow!"

He jumped back clumsily, not noticing when a part of his attire began catching flames itself. In a desperate attempt to avoid making the matters at hand even worse, you rushed to his side.

Shortly after, hell broke loose.

Your luxurious, eye-catching purple sashes, albeit beautiful, turned out to be entirely impractical, as they were the ones to catch fire the fastest. Acting almost like a fuse, they passed the intensifying flames from table to table, surrounding you both with an abnormal amount of smoke in the process.

Somewhat still partly rational, you yanked Rafayel's suit jacket off his body before he could become a human torch. He, on the other hand, possessed less than half of your quick thinking, still disoriented and not entirely sober. You were forced to cage his face in between your palms, shielding his eyes from the smoke as you yelled loud enough to be heard above the ever-present chaos.

"You need to show people the exit! Gather half of them and go through the backdoor, the one near the pond!"

It was as though something had clicked in Rafayel's brain upon hearing the urgency in your voice. You had no doubts whether or not he knew where to lead the panicked guests; just a couple days ago he tagged along when you visited the mansion for some last minute check ups and the two of you spent half an hour playing sea battle near that exact pond. It was particularly hard to miss, especially with this enormous statue of Apollo situated in the very middle.

As soon as you saw him nod in agreement, you headed in the opposite direction, but Rafayel took hold of your wrist and turned you back around to face him yet again.

"And you?" After noticing you couldn't hear him well, he stepped closer, leaning down, and accidentally brushed your nose with his in the process. "What about you?!"

"Me?!" You placed your thumb on the front of your elaborate outfit. "I'll grab the other half and leave through the main entrance. Meet me in the garden!"

He nodded yet again, although failed to let go of your arm. The way his eyes kept jumping from one spot on your face to the other made your stomach twist and turn. Then, before you could wriggle out of Rafayel's grasp, he pulled you closer to him, letting his lips graze your temple as he spoke directly into your ear.

"Be safe."

You barely had time to register the featherlight kiss he'd given you just now, placed right next to your eyelid, because he was, somehow, already halfway across the room when your eyes fluttered open.

Wasting no more time, you also decided to put your plan into action. The adrenaline present in your veins did its absolute best and you managed to lead most of the guests towards the right exit without breaking a sweat. As soon as you stepped out into the gardens that hugged the mansion tightly, your gaze flickered from person to person, intuitively searching for Rafayel.

You did spot a couple of guests you were sure had headed near the backdoor and Nikolai, as well as Lady Talia, were among them.

"Did you see Rafayel?" you breathed out as soon as you caught up to the woman, tugging at her sleeve like a lost child. "We were supposed to meet here but I cannot find him anywhere."

She shook her head hesitantly, opening her mouth to offer some words of comfort, but you were already running to the next person in line, asking the same question, over and over.

Hours had passed and you weren't able to find him still. There was a couple of fire brigades at the scene, as well as a few ambulances, and you navigated in between them like a skier on a particularly unforgiving slope.

It was well after midnight when the firefighters managed to convince you to finally go home; one of the ambulances even gave you three fourths of a ride back to your place. Amidst it all, you somehow lost your left shoe, as well as the bag you took with you to the event, but when you plopped on the bed, you could only stare mindlessly at the phone in your hand, waiting for Rafayel to give you a call, which didn't come that night.

He also didn't contact you the day after that, and the next. If it weren't for some meaningless press article released the following evening, documenting one of his many reckless incidents, you wouldn't even know if he made it out of the mansion in one piece.

As you stared at the blurry photograph placed next to a wall of condescending text, you kept asking yourself this one thing.

How could it not mean anything to him?

She'd told you not to do it.

Used words more suitable for a hardened sailor rather than a marketing team manager, just in hopes of getting her point across. But you'd always been stubborn. A few would say that it turned out to be part of your charm, in some wicked, roundabout way. And that drove Malena positively insane, because each time she urged you to do something, you'd become absolutely hellbent on turning around on your heel and attempting the exact opposite.

Just like in this case; your fingers were tapping faintly on the steering wheel as you navigated through the grim forest leading to the Qi Mansion. Out of pure spite, you assured yourself. You yearned to see that look on his face, the embarrassment, the poorly masked exasperation. It was so palpable you could almost envision it.

You drove like you had something to prove, and perhaps that was the case here. While Rafayel was used to running away when things went sideways, you taught yourself to chase after what you wanted and needed, despite the unfavourable circumstances. So, when the one month mark finally hit, you decided to show up to the preplanned meeting scheduled when things between you two weren't in such a horrendous condition. You also believed you sort of owed it to Lady Talia, who'd been nothing but utterly kind and doting to you, despite all the mishaps caused by her own nephew.

After passing the main gate of the premises, you assumed a rather languid pace, curiously looking around the land. Before this day, you had never visited the Qi Mansion, which turned out to be not as far from Linkon as you suspected it to be. Tall and striking, decorated in expertly placed outdoor lamps that hung to the faded brick walls, it emanated status, wealth and prestige, all of them in their highest achievable form.

Stopping somewhere near the main entrance, watchful not to park right in the middle of the pathway, you fiddled with the cigarette case placed in the pocket of your corduroy trousers. Only a few windows were lit up on the front and you couldn't help but wonder if Rafayel's rooms were among them. Ever since the burning of that damned mansion you held your event at, you did in fact have plenty of time to think it all through. Constantly switching between pure, unfiltered rage and this unfamiliar affliction, you weren't even entirely sure what you sought at the moment.

And that, this act of going in blind and undecided, you weren't used to in the slightest. Hell, this entire situation felt like something out of a novel you'd read during vacation trips, something that didn't even stand near your day to day activities. It was almost as though after meeting Rafayel, each decision you made seemed entirely new and different, like you were forced to discover parts of yourself you weren't even aware of existing prior to that. And you realised that you weren't exactly opposed to letting that continue.

As soon as you entered the mansion, someone took your coat and offered a pair of vintage looking slippers. Besides a couple of polite greetings, no one gave you any explanation to what was awaiting you whatsoever. As you passed corridor after corridor, you couldn't help but notice how utterly empty this place was. Spotless and pristine, yes, but absolutely devoid of life altogether. Like a priceless painting, locked away in a safe. Or a bottle of expensive perfume, unused and put on a pedestal, reduced to a piece of interior design.

Upon reaching a dimly lit living room (one of many, you'd noticed), you were greeted by the lady of the house herself, who enveloped you in a rushed, somewhat cumbersome embrace.

"Good evening, dear." Her hands rested on your shoulders in an almost motherlike manner. "Words fail to describe how delighted I am to see you tonight, truly. I was almost sure I would never get to meet you again."

Granting her a bittersweet smile, you sat right where she pointed at, in a spacious, patterned armchair near the fireplace.

"I..." You swallowed the lump in your throat which grew with each second spent in this peculiar house. "I wasn't sure either. If I would come."

She sat across from you, in a similar chair, one that bore clear signs of frequent usage. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, atop of her elaborate nightgown.

"I wouldn't have blamed you, dear," she spoke. "It was only this morning I learned what truly happened that night. Although it may not mean much, I am deeply sorry for your loss and still, utterly grateful for a chance at retribution from our side."

They paid for it all.

Well, she did, you'd assumed.

"I suppose it was bound to happen. It was made rather clear what I would be stepping into, so..." you trailed off, unsure of how to continue the sentence. It was almost as if you were offering excuses. Again. You despised the sound of that.

"It truly is a shame that Miss Malena could not join us this evening." Lady Talia leaned back in her armchair, crossing her legs elegantly. "When you see her, please do send my warmest wishes for swift recovery." You nodded. "In the meantime, I had prepared a certain document that–"

"My Lady." One of the butlers, the very same that stood right by the entrance of this room, stepped in for a brief moment. "Lord Qi."

Oh, how you hated the way your body reacted in that moment, twisting around in such an utterly pathetic way and making you seem so, so desperate for merely a glimpse. Your fingernails dug in the thick armrests with such force that if it wasn't of high quality, the material would have surely ripped in half.

He stood there, stiff as a board atop the spiral staircase just outside the doorway. Hair a mess, pointing in all possible directions. Wearing this loose, tattered sweater with one sleeve rolled up and the other covering half of his palm. And the sincerest, most heart-wrenching look of stupor on his face, one you were absolutely convinced you would never forget, for as long as you lived.

You had never seen Rafayel so... raw. Without his planned outfits, fancy accessories and jewellery, generous amounts of cologne that followed him everywhere he went. How he was in that very moment, lukewarm and vulnerable, tugged at your heartstrings in such a violent way, your knees almost gave out.

He just stared at you wordlessly, not daring to look away for even a split second, as though terrified you'd disappear if he did. And, truth be told, if you weren't going through all five stages of grief back to back in that very moment yourself, you'd most likely find his gaze almost eerie.

Slowly, Rafayel came down the stairs and you met somewhere halfway, even though you didn't really plan on walking up to him. He looked even more candid here, up close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body merely half a step away from yours.

His voice was quiet, strung-out.

"You... came."

A greater woman would put up another wall, guarding herself from what was to come. She'd prepare for the worst and be ready when it struck. But you were exhausted, so exhausted. And, judging by the slump of Rafayel's shoulders, he was too.

"You invited me."

He failed to mask the way his hands twitched at your words, or maybe he wasn't planning to do so. With utter terror, you realised that you wanted him, no, needed Rafayel to reach out instead, unashamedly, just like he'd done merely a few days earlier. And that feeling filled you with an entirely new wave of dread.

Lady Talia excused herself, muttering something about the kitchens and an extra meal, but, in all honesty, neither of you could even sense what was going on outside of this little energy field created in between you both. The way you were taking in each little detail of Rafayel's figure, from the dark circles under his eyes to the faint promise of his waist hidden behind a slightly see-through sweater, could be only described as desperate. Outside of this, in cafeterias and parks, in afternoon sun and the glow of the crescent moon, Rafayel was undeniably beautiful. You couldn't deny that, even if you'd never spoken of it out loud. It'd be utterly foolish to think otherwise and also a lie in its purest form.

But now, Rafayel was more than that. More than just beautiful or attractive or pretty. His slightly disheveled appearance had made him into something you didn't think was even possible – into perfection.

Somehow, through all the fragile, uneven parts that shone through, he achieved the absolute ideal of a man.

Rafayel broke the silence to clear his throat.

"I was sure you wouldn't come," he confessed, voice still low. "Thought you hate me."

You scoffed. "Maybe I should, after you decided to ignore me for three days straight."

Apparently, that was what touched him. With trembling hands, he reached out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists.

"I... I just wanted to give you some space. You were upset and I–"

"You really thought this would make me less upset?" you interrupted, brows furrowed. "For God's sake, Rafayel, for solid fifteen hours I didn't even know whether you were alive or not."

His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment and the faintest of blushes spread across his face, up to the tips of his ears. "I apologise. Sincerely. You... You deserve better than this. Just– Please, stay for dinner. Yeah? I'll eat separately if it makes you feel better?"

Distracted by the warmth of his hands oh, so near your own, you almost failed to register his words.

"What?" you mustered. "What are you talking about?"

"I..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Twisting your wrists just slightly, you laced your fingers with his, letting your joined hands dangle in between your bodies in a makeshift promise.

"Of course I'm staying for dinner." You couldn’t miss how Rafayel's eyes lit up at that. "I didn't drive all the way here just to grab the contract and go."

Another staff member showed up, offering to lead you to the dining room where food had just been served in your absence.

"Wait–" Rafayel caught up to you mid step. "You're willing to go with this?"

He looked absolutely bewildered in that moment and that made you realise that he had not only believed he would never see you again, but also that you called off the almost-engagement right after the mansion incident. You couldn't help but smirk at that, realising he was still yet to see the amounts of your innate perseverance when it came to getting what you wanted.

"After all this," he continued, stepping into the dining hall right after you. "you still choose to marry me?"

"Yes, I do," you retorted, picking one of the many places behind the long wooden table. "Now, won't you sit down already? Your jumpiness is making me anxious."

He obeyed without question, most likely still rather shocked by the turn of events. As Rafayel sat down, choosing his own place right across from yours, your gaze absentmindedly locked onto the delicate skin of his collarbone exposed by the oversized sweater.

God, you felt like a Victorian era man catching a glimpse of some lady’s ankle.

Rafayel did in fact take notice of your laser focused gaze, however misinterpreted it in its entirety.

"I look horrible," he muttered under his breath, awakening a wave of immediate and all-consuming protest within you. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Otherwise I’d have ... gotten myself ready."

You stared at him, unable to form a proper answer when he just criticised the greatest view you had ever gotten to experience.

"I’ll go change–"

"Don't." This time, your response was produced right away, resulting in a confused quirk of his brow. "There's no need. After all, the sooner you get used to spending your evenings like this, the better. Unless you genuinely want to wear suits and ties and whatnot for the rest of your married life."

Rafayel lifted up his right hand, as though he was about make a solemn promise, but the unmistakable glint in his eyes gave away the suddenly upbeat mood in an instant.

"Is that so?" he taunted, his usual bravado coming back full force. "You plan on doing that often?"

"Got anything better to do?" You playfully stuck out your tongue and he chuckled.

"Not really, no. I suppose I could get used to this... predicament."

You felt your eyebrows lift at that. "That is an interesting choice of wording."

"Well..." Rafayel leaned forward on the table, smile wide and beaming. "Do you have any other... words in mind?"

Somewhen in the meantime, Lady Talia had returned, offering you a variety of beverages to choose from. The meal that got served shortly after was kept rather simple, but still tasted incredibly well; only after devouring it whole you realised how hungry you'd been prior to that.

Rafayel was actively chatting you up the entire night, (and, unbeknownst to him) more effectively than all the times before summed up and doubled. There was something so hauntingly beautiful in the way he appeared that evening, skin gleaming ever so slightly in the flickering candlelight, hair tousled and neck bare. It was in that moment you finally allowed yourself to admit that maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn't as unpleasant as you kept claiming it was.

Even while accompanied by the utter fiasco of your movie screening barely three days earlier. And that particular thought terrified you like no other.

After dinner you were invited by Lady Talia to her private office upstairs in order to finalise the engagement. The shock you felt upon noticing Rafayel's signature on the document already there was so evident, she even disclosed he'd put it there over ten days ago, the same night your manager dropped off the papers at the Qi Mansion. You were yet to decide how exactly you felt about that.

Rafayel was waiting for you just outside the door, most likely nonchalantly pretending like he stumbled upon you on complete accident (even though this was, quite literally, his own house). It was late, you could see that in the way his eyes gleamed softly, in the way he followed you back to the living room you met Lady Talia in, observing as you slipped your sweater on.

"Leaving already?" he questioned, sending you a cautious glance from his spot on one of the couches.

You sighed. "Soon, yeah. I'm just going for a smoke."

"Can I come with?" He smiled bitterly at your distrustful expression, memory of the last time you two were in a similar situation still fresh. "Just to be there. I don't think I'll be touching any cigarettes in a while."

"Good."

The balcony led to the other, so far undiscovered side of the property, currently enveloped in almost absolute darkness. Leaning over the marble railing, you glanced up at the night sky and Rafayel followed suit. "They are so much brighter here than in the city."

"Light pollution," he muttered, as though the late hour required all words to be whispered reverently. "How good are you at spotting constellations?"

You shook your head, blowing out smoke in the opposite direction. "Not very. I think I know the Little Bear."

"Hey, that's pretty good."

"Just don't make me test this theory," you cautioned, taking notice of how the evening breeze made Rafayel shiver slightly.

He smiled, in a different way than usual, even by today's standards. Then, he leaned in a little bit closer and pointed upward. "Here's your Little Bear," he whispered. "And if you go just slightly lower than the North Star... you'll find the Dragon. Here. See?"

Using his finger, Rafayel traced the constellation step by step.

"All this?" you questioned, making him chuckle. "That's a lot of stars."

"Mmm. Just wait till you see the Pegasus."

You whipped your head around. "Where?"

"It's a little farther out. Maybe I'll introduce you two some other time."

With your neck already slightly sore from looking up, you shot Rafayel the meanest glance you could muster. "Are you seriously gatekeeping constellations now?"

"You know." He rubbed his chin, completely ignoring your little jibe. "You're sort of like Pegasus yourself. As a mythical creature, it represents the ultimate form of sovereignty. The truest embodiment of freedom and creative expression. There is no other quite like it, no matter how far you'd look."

Despite his gaze being directed elsewhere, you still looked away in hopes of hiding the warmth slowly creeping up your neck.

"Then..." you spoke slowly, careful not to disturb this contemplative atmosphere. "Which one would you be?"

The wind tugged gently at the hem of Rafayel's worn out sweater, although he didn't seem to mind the chilly air anymore.

"I'm not sure..." he hummed, sending you a sly wink. "Maybe a peacock."

It's been quite some time since you felt such a sense of peace, one even slightly similar to what you got to experience that night on the balcony with Rafayel. Cigarette ash scattered around with the wind long ago, yet you couldn't bring yourself to retreat to the familiarity of your car parked right outside the main entrance. It was as though by merely speaking of leaving you could have broken this bubble, existing in a place and time no one else besides the two of you could ever reach. You knew, however, the longer you'd stay, the harder it'd be for you to return to what once was. Rafayel must have realised that too.

"I want you to know," he spoke, weighing each word with utmost care and consideration. "how much I appreciate you doing this with me. I can be a handful, that much I'm aware of. But this... this is different. And I think that's what scared me. That's what scares me still."

Unsure of what to reply to the sudden sincerity that soaked Rafayel's words right through, you just stared at him as he took your hands in his, gently, like he'd already assumed you'd yank them right back.

"So." He straightened up. "No more running away. Not from you."

You smiled at that, looking at your intertwined fingers.

"No more running away," you agreed after a brief moment of silence. "Not without you."

[seullovesme]

need your attention » nakamura kazuha

pairing ⥬ kazuha x f!reader

genre ⥬ fluff

summary ⥬ you pay the le sserafim girls a visit after one of their stages and your time spent with a certain member was misunderstood by kazuha

sorry to my dear anon who requested this, ive been neglecting this for so long 😞

the attention of the le sserafim girls was caught when a member of the staff quite loudly questioned you, asking who you were and why you were trying to get inside.

the first one to recognize you was eunchae, she was surprised to see you and got the attention of the leader sitting beside her, telling her to tell the staff to let you in. "unnie! look it's y/n, tell them to let her in!"

the other girls heard your name and turned to see you standing at the door with a face mask on being talked to by some staff. chaewon got up and rushed to go and assist you while the members all smiled at each other.

she pulled the face mask off your face and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to where everyone had been sitting and she sat you right beside sakura before claiming her spot beside yunjin.

"y/n!" the eldest cheered as she hugged you as tight as possible, making your face turn a shade of red as you felt the air leave your lungs. "hey, stop hogging her!" eunchae yelled as she also lunged toward you and you yelped when she squeezed you too.

"guys stop! look at her, she's gonna pop!" they both let go of you to take a peek at your face and you gasped for air. "one more second and you may have actually suffocated me." you say in between small breaths, smiling at the affection of your friends.

"not our fault, where have you been? we missed you!" sakura said, going in for a much softer hug. you took your eyes off her and glanced at kazuha who was crossing her arms, looking disinterested. did she not miss you at all? you looked away and coughed as you noticed that the rest were all patiently waiting for your response, wondering if they saw you peek at the ballerina.

"w-well, i've been busy working at this new company and i actually got paid yesterday, so i was hoping that i could treat you guys out for dinner!" when you made the offer, the girls all got up and began squealing in excitement. it was nice finally seeing them again, you enjoyed watching them be so up and active, just being so cheerful. especially zuha.

but she didn't get up like the rest of them had. she just kept sulking in her seat. you could tell something was off about her and that she was thinking really deeply, but you chose not to say anything. you knew that she would tell you what was bothering her sooner or later, she always let you know what was on her mind.

they began discussing places to go and what foods they were craving. you watched them happily, ecstatic that you were able to treat them after all the times they treated you. you continued sneaking glances to kazuha, hoping to catch her looking at you as well, but her eyes were locked onto sakura. you turned to sakura and realized she had been talking to you.

"mm? sorry, say that again i wasn't listening." you laughed nervously and rubbed your neck.

"oh i was just asking if you had any preferences like what kind of food you wanted, or if there were any restaurants you were interested in going to."

you shook your head in response. "no, it's up to you guys. i'm not picky." sakura nodded and went back to chatting after you gave a small smile.

you looked back to where kazuha was sitting, but she was gone. you searched the room for her, eventually spotting her sitting at a vanity, mindlessly going through her phone. thinking back, she didn't have any input about food. was she not hungry?

you got up and walked over to her, hoping this was the chance to talk with her one on one and hopefully ask her to go out sometime, just the two of you. she didn't look up from her phone when you stood there awkwardly, sort of ignoring you.

"hi." you were going insane on the inside, your braincells going into a code red as you lost the ability to think of what to say. she put down her phone and made eye contact with you through the mirror, waiting for you to continue.

you cleared your throat. "so... did you not have any food suggestions? where do you want to go?" you asked, your voice a little shaky.

"hm. i don't know, why don't you ask kura unnie?" she said while she broke eye contact, picking at a thread on her shirt.

"what?"

"you should ask kura unnie, sure seems like she has a lot to talk to you about." she mumbled the last sentence, but you heard it clearly. you spun her chair to face you directly.

"what's going on? is everything okay, kazuha? you can talk to me, you know i'll hear you out." zuha sighed and leaned back in her chair as she crossed her arms. you pulled up a stool and when you seated yourself, you were a little shorter than her. you put a hand on her knee and gently stroked it as an attempt to comfort her.

"well, she's been hogging all your attention and you didn't give any to me. you didn't even say anything to me until now." she just looked away, embarrassed to have admitted her need for your attention out loud. "but i guess i understand, she's really pretty and all. honestly, i guess i'm.. glad she feels the same." she finishes hesitantly, her words lacking sincerity.

with the way you couldn't understand what she was talking about, it was like she was speaking another language. who feels the same about what? and she just wanted your attention? you blushed at the fact that kazuha flat out said that she was upset you didn't give her attention. she was adorable.

"what do you mean? sakura feels the same? about what?" you questioned.

"don't play dumb, i can tell you like sakura!"

you tried not to, but you laughed. "i do not like sakura, where did you get this from?" kazuha huffed and pouted, annoyed by your reaction.

"you were all over her earlier! you were basically giving her heart eyes." you scoffed at her response, rolling your eyes with a smile.

"heart eyes? all over her? oh please, we had two conversations."

"what about when she hugged you? you seemed to enjoy it a little too much."

"she was squeezing the life out of me, what do you mean?! plus, eunchae hugged me as well."

"well," she thought about another argument, but she didn't have anything else to say. "whatever." she went back to playing with the thread on her shirt, feeling kind of silly because you were right after all. there wasn't anything weird about what you were doing her member, but it still bothered her. just watching you talk to her when you hadn't even tried to talk to her once this entire time affected her tremendously. she felt frustrated with all these mixed feelings.

and you could tell. you saw that she was bothered, and she was even saying it out right that she was upset about your interactions with your other japanese friend. the only thing was that you knew how she felt. "zuha, you don't think you're a tad bit jealous?"

it was her turn to scoff. "jealous? of what? the fact that you like kura unnie and not me? pshh, no way." kazuha frowned slightly because she was, and it was making her say these stupid things. curse her stupid heart and it's stupid feelings.

"oh, kazuha." you lifted her chin, initiating eye contact but she just pouted, scared to look you in the eye.

"i told you, i don't like sakura that way. in fact, it's quite the opposite." she finally gave in and stared into the windows of your soul.

"she is pretty," you observed the twitch in her eyebrow when you said that. "but i think you are the prettiest girl out of everyone in the world." her jaw just fell and she watched the corners of your lips curl up.

"i'm sorry i didn't give you any attention. i know i usually do so i understand why you were bothered. you weren't used to it, were you?" kazuha shook her head, and you smiled as she eased up the tension in her muscles. you just needed to let her know that you understood, that's all.

"how about this, i give you my undivided attention for as long as you want this upcoming saturday, just us. does that sound better?" you offered and she was dumbfounded.

she uncrossed her arms and nervously rubbed her palms on her thighs, feeling the heat of your gaze cause her to sweat a bit. "are you.. asking me out?" you just nodded and watched as kazuha's eyes lit up. she clapped her hands together and flashed her sweet smile, and it felt like you were watching an angel spread it wings for the first time. it was just a beautiful sight to see.

"then yes! it sounds much better." she took the hand you had resting on her knee and held it tightly. you swooned over her touch, enjoying the way she shined. "i don't want any other girls to have you, you're all mine."

you raised one eyebrow at her words which kazuha picked up as you teasing her, and she hit your shoulder in response. you snickered, interlocking your fingers with hers and tugging her, pulling her up to stand. you gave her another smile and brought her back to the girls who were finalizing their choices.

you sat where zuha was sitting previously and pulled her onto your lap, wrapping your arms around her waist. the four of them turn to you two and carried on with planning like it was the usual. because it was, it was always you and kazuha, kazuha and you.

everyone knew you and zuha were like two peas in a pod, and it seemed that the only ones didn't were the people in question.

literally took me so long to finish one fic, wtf is wrong with me rn😒

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

How would the ROs react after a whole drunken confession of love, adoration and devotion only for MC to forget about it in the morning?

Kieran: ……Are. You. Kidding them. >:/ “You seriously don’t remember…? When you said—when you…last night…? …Nevermind.” (they won’t bring it up again bc if mc forgot they think mc didn’t really mean any of it and it must have just been bc they were drinking, but now Kieran is rather grumpy around mc >:/ They feel like they’ve been made a fool of and they feel selfish for having gotten their hopes up)

Nihm: “You don’t remember…? O-oh…..um, nevermind. Don’t worry about it. 🥹” (🥺🥺…?? Nihm assumes they just misunderstood the social cues and mc didn’t mean it like that. And while they’re still embarrassed with themself, they’re also quietly flattered bc it must have come from somewhere right? Especially if mc isn’t usually forthcoming with their thoughts/feelings. And if it was a platonic confession then yay :D they will be happy if mc trusts them enough to consider them a friend)

Lilith/Lucien: Skill issue—they most certainly did NOT forget. But if mc doesn’t seem to remember at all, they’re going to really string them along here for their own amusement and just keep dropping hints at things mc said/did—whether mc pieces it together or not. They do, however, assume it was more of just a drunken affectionate sort of thing and won’t interpret it as a serious confession. Bc 1. you should tell them that when you’re sober and 2. actually you shouldn’t tell them that at all. They are bad news.

Samira: she’d hint at it the next day to see where MCs feelings lie now but when it’s clear they simply don’t remember at all, well…. “…I see……that’s…probably for the best…” (but god dammit you are really testing her patience here >:( Despite herself, she starts sulking around mc and is terse and moody. She feels like the fool here and is frustrated with mc but mostly with herself bc she shouldn’t feel like this in the first place. She refuses to ever bring it up again; this has been humiliating enough.)

Aurynn: He assumes mc didn’t actually mean any of it, and that’s the only reason he’ll be insufferable about it the next morning, if only to tease/flirt with them. Mc might have forgotten, but he sure didn’t. He’ll turn it into a joke bc he needs to believe it was just that.

[unbuttonedown]

Fault Lines / Chapter 5

Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x Wife!reader (Mitchell!reader)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Consensual, legal age-gap relationship; Estranged Father/Daughter relationship (Maverick & Reader); Named Simpson!OC child; Angst; Pregnancy; No Beta Reader

Synopsis: After the successful Dagger Squad mission, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell returns home — only to be blindsided by the revelation that his estranged daughter is married to Vice Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Maverick is forced to confront the years he lost and the family he never knew existed. Tensions rise between the two men as Maverick struggles to find his place in a life that has moved on without him, leaving the question — can broken bonds ever truly be repaired?

A/N: Thank you for your patience with this one! :) I really loved writing this one + the blurb before this so send more asks about the story. Would love to give y'all more flashbacks <3

previous chapter / next chapter

It had been a while since that first quiet, cautious meeting at the cafe, and in that time, something unexpected happened — you and Maverick started finding a rhythm. It wasn’t always easy, and there were still moments where the old hurt crept in, but he showed up. Consistently. 

Sometimes it was a short visit in the afternoon while Stella was at school, just the two of you sitting on a bench and catching up. Sometimes it was him bringing you a snack and walking with you at the park after your OB appointments, asking questions about the baby with genuine curiosity. Once, he even carried a particularly stubborn dresser up the stairs for the new nursery and didn’t complain once, even though he looked winded after. 

And the stories he told — some ridiculous, some oddly profound — were actually… good. Funny. Honest. He didn’t shy away from the truth, even when it was uncomfortable. He didn’t pretend he hadn’t screwed up. He just kept showing up, and that mattered to you more than anything else. 

One late afternoon, while Stella was upstairs pretending her stuffed animals were fighter pilots and you were finishing up dinner prep, you caught yourself smiling at your phone, rereading a text Maverick had sent. It was a dumb dad joke — something about jets being “plane-fully misunderstood” — but it had you laughing anyway. 

That was when Beau walked in, setting his bag down by the door and loosening his collar as he stepped into the kitchen. 

“You’re smiling at your phone. Should I be jealous?” He teased, coming over to kiss your cheek. 

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him with a quiet hum. “Not unless you’ve suddenly taken up aviation-themed comedy.” 

He chuckled. “Hard pass.” 

You stirred the pot on the stove a few times before glancing over at him sorting through the mail. “Hey… can I ask you something?” 

Beau leaned against the counter, arms folded, giving you his full attention. “Always.” 

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “Do you think I should invite him over? For dinner. He can officially meet Stella.” 

He didn’t answer right away. His expression was unreadable for a second — guarded, maybe — but not closed off. You knew he was protective, especially when it came to you and your daughter. But he’d also seen the change in you lately. The weight that had started to lift, piece by piece. 

“He’s been trying,” you added, quietly. “He hasn’t missed a day in weeks. He doesn’t push, doesn’t guilt me. He just… shows up. And he listens. Like really listens.” 

Beau was quiet for a beat longer, then stepped closer, reaching out to rest a hand on your back. 

“I’ve seen it,” he said. “And if you feel like this is the right next step… then I trust you.” 

You looked up at him, touched by the easy certainty of his voice. “Are you sure?” 

Beau nodded. “You’ve always known what Stella needs. And if you think she’s ready — and you’re ready — I’ll support you.” 

Your chest warmed, the mix of gratitude and nerves and something hopeful all tangled together. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment before whispering, “Okay. I think I’m gonna do it.” 

“You want us to tell her together?” He asked gently. 

You smiled, already picturing the wide-eyed look Stella would give you. “No. I think I should do it one-on-one.” 

Beau nodded again, pressing a kiss to your temple before stepping away. “Well… sounds like we’ve got a dinner guest to prepare for.” 

And just like that, it became real. Another step forward. One you never imagined taking — but now, it felt like maybe it was time. 

Later that evening, after dinner and a very animated retelling of The Three Little Pigs (performed by Stella using sock puppets and questionable accents), you tucked her into bed and lingered for a while, sitting beside her while she arranged her stuffed animals just so. 

“Mama?” She asked suddenly, curling into her side and peeking up at you with those big, curious eyes.

“Yeah, babe?”

She blinked. “Can we go see the jets again soon? I liked when we watched Daddy’s friends fly.” 

Your heart swelled at the memory — her wide eyes tracking the planes, her little hand clinging to yours as she watched them dance across the sky. She’d been so focused, so awed. You wondered if maybe some of that spark came from a part of her that hadn’t met Maverick yet. A part of her that might understand him in a way that you never fully did. 

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think we can make that happen.” 

She nodded, satisfied, already drifting. You waited until her breathing evened out, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and stood up. 

Once you were back downstairs, Beau was waiting for you in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey and leaning against the counter. He gave you a questioning look. 

“She asked about the jets,” you said, arms folded across your chest. “She always does when she’s trying to figure something out.” 

Beau smiled faintly. “She’s got a radar for change. Just like her mom.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, then sat down at the table, already reaching for your phone. “I’m gonna text him.” 

Beau nodded once, steady as always. “Go for it.” 

You paused a just a second — long enough to take one more breath — then typed out the message. 

Hi. I was wondering if you’d want to come over for dinner this weekend. Stella doesn’t know you yet, but… I’d like her to. Let me know what works for you. 

You stared at it for a second longer than necessary, then hit send. 

No fireworks. No dramatic music. Just a quiet message sent across years of distance, carried by something fragile and newly formed: trust. 

Beau reached across the table and took your hand without saying a word. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said everything. 

You were doing this. You were building something new. And you had made enough room for Maverick in the world you’d built after he left. 

Your phone buzzed. 

I’d love that. Thank you. Just tell me when to show up — and what not to screw up. 

You laughed quietly under your breath. Then looked up at Beau, your fingers still curled around his. 

“Saturday?” You asked. 

He nodded once. “Saturday.” 

And just like that, you were one step closer to reintroducing the past to the future. 

Saturday came with warm light streaming through the kitchen windows and the scent of rosemary chicken roasting in the oven. The house was in that rare sweet spot between tidy and lived-in — Stella’s crayons stacked (but not perfectly) on the coffee table, the peach cobbler cooling next to a bottle of wine you weren’t drinking, and soft music playing low in the background. 

You dressed comfortably for the occasion: a pinstriped matching set, wide-legged and loose enough to breathe, layered over a white tank that hugged your bump just enough. It was the kind of outfit that made you feel like yourself again — despite feeling a little like a planet most days.

Stella was busy hopping around in the outfit she had picked out herself — a red, ruffled dress and silver cowgirl boots — occasionally pausing to run and peek out the front window like a tiny surveillance officer. 

“When is the special guy coming?” She asked for the third time. 

“Soon, kid,” you said, smoothing down her wild hair with a palm swipe. “Just a few more minutes.” 

At exactly 5:58 p.m., the doorbell rang. 

Stella gasped like Santa Claus was at the door and bolted for the front of the house. “I’ll get it!” 

You caught up just in time to see her throw the door open. 

On your porch stood Maverick, in his signature white t-shirt and jeans under his patched, brown bomber jacket, holding a bouquet of white tulips and a small box that you could already tell was a toy. He smiled, warm but careful. 

“Hi,” he said, eyes flicking from you to Stella. 

Stella tilted her head and scrunched her nose. “Are you a friend of Daddy’s or Mama’s?” 

You laughed, stepping in beside her. “This is Maverick,” you told her gently. “He’s my friend.” 

“I like your flowers.” 

“They’re for your mom.” He handed them to you with a smile, then held the little box out to her. “This is for you. It’s a jet — like the ones I used to fly.” 

Her eyes lit up. “This is so cool! Does this one fly?” 

“Only if you can imagine hard enough.” 

“Daddy says that too,” she replied, already running off with it toward the living room. “I’m gonna fly it through the couch mountain!” 

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly. Maverick was gracious and warm, answering Stella’s endless questions with a patience that surprised even you. 

It wasn’t until midway through dessert, as she nibbled the sugary topping of her slice of cobbler, that she squinted up at you. 

“Mama?” 

You paused mid-bite. “Yeah, babe?” 

She pointed her fork at Maverick. “How did he become your friend?” 

You glanced at Beau, who had his hand resting slightly on your knee beneath the table. He gave you the smallest nod. 

You looked at Stella, choosing your words carefully. “He’s my father.” 

Her eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. “Woah. Like, your real one?” 

“Yep,” you said with a soft smile. 

“Huh,” she said, then looked back at her dessert. “Cool.” 

And that was it. 

As the evening wound down, the last bits of cobbler disappeared from plates, and Stella had begun to yawn between sentences — though she valiantly tried to pretend she wasn’t tired. You exchanged a knowing glance with Beau, and he leaned in to kiss your temple before holding out a hand toward her. 

“Alright, kid. Bedtime.” 

“Nooo,” she groaned dramatically. “I’m still awake in my bones!” 

“You can be awake in your bones upstairs. Say goodnight to everyone,” he said with a grin, scooping her up. She didn’t resist much, curling an arm around his neck as she waved lazily at you from his hold.

“Night, Mama. Night, baby sister,” she added, leaning down so she could press a hand to your stomach. Then she turned toward Maverick, standing up from the table, his jacket folded over his arm, ready to say goodbye. 

“Night, Grandpa Mav,” she said casually, like she had said it a million times before. 

Your heart paused. Beau’s steps faltered only for a second, and Maverick blinked — startled in a way he didn’t even try to hide. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her with something caught between wonder and disbelief, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. 

But Stella had already buried her face into Beau’s shoulder, half-asleep now, and utterly unaware that she’d just cracked something wide open. 

Maverick’s eyes met yours, glossy with a sheen of emotion he quickly blinked away. He cleared his throat and smiled, small and shaken. “She’s… something else.” 

“She is,” you said, your voice low, steady. “She’s got a lot of heart.” 

He nodded, quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.” 

You walked him to the door as Beau took Stella up to her room. Neither of you said much. But as he stepped out into the warm night air, he looked back at you, hand resting on the doorframe. 

“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “Really.” 

You smiled softly. “One step at a time, remember?” 

He nodded. “One step at a time.” 

And then he was gone, disappearing into the dark with the faint sound of the ocean breeze behind him, and something new beginning to take root in the stillness he left behind.