#i have american english on my laptop and british english on my phone so it's probably very inconsistent my b

[stanananathon]

Richie thinks he’s always looked at Bill. Ever since they were kids, Richie certainly looked up to him. For one, Bill always remained to be at least an inch taller than Richie, so there was that. But Richie looked up to Bill in other ways, too. Bill was the kind of person that you fell in love with as soon as you met him. He was sweet, smart, and put off an aura that made Richie prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth from the day they met in elementary school.

He still finds himself watching Bill. When they were thirteen and Bill gave his speech on the steps of Neibolt house, Richie was mesmerized by him. When they started high school and Bill lead his friends bravely through the halls, Richie found the confidence to follow him head held high. Bill made Richie feel strong. Even now, he can’t help but admire Bill from across the clearing down at the quarry. The losers are all laying out, enjoying the sun--Richie maybe a little too much. He’s caught up in the way the sun shines on Bill’s shoulders when he’s roughly elbowed in the side. 

“Jesus, Tozier, could you be any more obvious?” Stan asks, exasperated. Richie blinks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He may have gotten caught staring at Bill, but he certainly isn’t going to admit to it. Stan rolls his eyes at the response and sighs.

“Okay, Richie, sure.” Richie almost fires back at how he could say a few things about Stan staring at a certain farm boy but he decides he’d rather not get in a fight with his best friend today; he’d prefer to get some advice. So he swallows his pride and lowers his voice:

“Fine, you caught me. But what am I s’posed to do?” Stan looks at him like the answer is obvious. When Richie continues to wait for a response Stan rolls his eyes.

“You tell him how you feel.” Richie chokes on his spit and Stan has to smack him in the back a couple times to help him regain his composure.

“Y-y-ou okay, R-rich?” Richie looks up to see Bill looking at him worriedly.

“Absolutely spiffing, Billy-boy. Just got caught off guard by Stan’s favorite sex position.” That earns Richie a shove that knocks him onto his side while the rest of the losers laugh or roll their eyes. After Bill turns away, Richie turns to glare at Stan.

“Fucker. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Come over to mine tonight, I’ll help you out,” Stan suggests. Richie wiggles his eyebrows.

“Inviting me to stay the night, huh, Stanley? You could at least take a man to dinner first.” 

“Shut the fuck up, trashmouth.”

“Make me.” Stan rolls his eyes and stifles a grin. Richie could be stupid, but he’s his best friend, and he can be somewhat funny every now and then. Stan looks away from Richie, however, to see Bill eyeing them. He perks an eyebrow and Bill flushes and quickly looks away. Yup, Richie would definitely have to make the first move.

Richie heads over to Stan’s around 8 pm, ready for some love advice. Andrea Uris opens the door for Richie with a smile on her face.

“It’s nice to see you, Richie. Stan’s up in his room.”

“Why thank you, my lady.” Richie bows and heads up to Stan’s room as Andrea laughs and waves him off. 

“All right, Staniel, how am I gonna get my man?” He asks as he opens the door. Stan answers without looking up from his book.

“Exactly how I told you. You tell him how you feel.”

“See, you make that sound very simple but you know the trash-man can’t make anything simple.” He plops down next to Stan who, by the way, still has yet to actually look at Richie.

“Besides it’s not like you’re doing anything about Mike.” That catches Stan’s attention. His eyes slide up to lock with Richie’s and give him a glare that could kill. 

“First of all, this is about you, not me. And second of all,” Stan pauses as a blush grows onto his cheeks and Richie grins because he knows he’s right.

“Look, how about this, Stan the Man. We make a pact that we’re gonna tell the loves of our lives how we feel about them by the end of this week.” He sticks out his hand and Stan eyes it. “C’mon, Stanny, you say it’s simple. You can do it too. We both know Mike adores you.” Stan sputters while Richie raises his eyebrows expectantly waiting for Stan to take his hand. Finally, Stan grips it and gives it a shake. 

“Great! Now, I was thinking of how I can tell Bill on the way over here. What do you think about a flash mob in the middle of the caf?” Stan snorts.

“Boy, do I feel sorry for Bill.” Richie fake gasps and shoves a pillow into Stan’s face. He responds by trying to smother Richie who merely cackles.

Richie decides how he’s going to do it. He’ll ask Bill if he can hang out after school and when Bill suggests they go to his house he’ll tell him there, and that way if Bill rejects him, he can just run home. It’s foolproof. Or it was, but Richie doesn’t talk to Bill all day. 

Richie had planned on running into Bill at his locker and asking him there. When Bill isn’t at his locker, he decides to wait until English. When Bill doesn’t look at him no matter how many things he throws at him, he gets detention. He wants to talk to Bill at lunch, but he gets caught stress smoking in the bathroom and spends lunch in the principal’s office. Before he has to go to detention he catches Stan at his locker.

“Have you seen Bill? He’s been ignoring me all day.” Stan’s brow furrows.

“Yeah, I had him in history. He seemed fine, though.” Richie droops. 

“What’d I do?” Stan shrugs.

“I don’t know. Did you say something? That would be pretty in character.” Richie glares at his sly friend.

“No, I didn’t. But I have to go to detention, anyway. I’ll just pop by his after. Make sure none of the other losers hang out with him so that I can talk to him alone!” Richie starts walking away mid-sentence and gives Stan finger guns before turning to head to detention. Stan shakes his head at his ridiculous best friend and makes his way outside to the rest of the losers.

“Where’s Richie?” Eddie asks.

“He got detention. Where’s Bill?” 

“He went home,” Bev replies. “He seemed kinda upset, but I dunno why.”

“Should we go see him?” Ben, ever the compassionate asks, but Stan interjects.

“No!” Everyone looks at him, not being one to usually have an outburst. “I just--I think he might want some alone time.” Bev eyes him but nods and turns her attention to the rest of the boys. 

“Should we make our way to the quarry? I’m sure we can stop by Bill’s later tonight if need be.” The losers nod and they move to their bikes to head to their favorite spot.

Richie makes his way out of the school still wondering what the hell he had done to make Bill avoid him. He tries going over the past few days in his head but he can’t remember doing anything that would have set Bill off. He starts on his bike to Bill’s house determined to figure out what he did wrong. 

He fumbles with his hands as he waits for someone to open the door. When no one responds, Richie looks around to find Bill parents’ car gone. He does, however, see Bill’s bike on the side of the house so he decides to just let himself in. 

“Billiam!” He calls out once he closes the door behind him. When no one responds again, he rolls his eyes and makes his way up to Bill’s room. The door is closed, so he knocks on it loudly.

“Bill! Let me in. I know you’re mad at me.”

“Go away, Richie!” This just makes Richie angry. He understands if he’d messed something but he at least deserves to know what he’d done and not just be pushed away. So, he opens the door.

“No! I-” he’s ready to yell at Bill but stops when he sees him. Bill is curled up in his bed eyes red and cheeks flushed. He sits up and looks at Richie angrily.

“Richie, I said to go away.”

“Have you been crying?”

“N-n-no,” Bill says indignantly, immediately giving himself away by letting out a sniffle and aggressively rubbing at his face. 

“Yes, you have. Why?”

“I don’t w-want to talk ab-bout it.” Richie makes his way over to Bill and plops onto his bed, who scoots against the headrest.  

“Well I do, so spit it out, Big Bill. Cos I know I say stupid stuff that you’re allowed to get mad at. But it is definitely against the rules to be mad at me and not tell me why.”

“What r-r-rules?”

“I dunno, ours:  the Bill and Richie rules.” Richie sees Bill try to hide a smile at that. He wipes his face again and looks down, fiddling with his sheet while Richie looks at his face trying to read what was going on.

“I’m not mad at y-you--or maybe I am. I don-n’t know.”

“Well can you just tell me what’s been going on? I’ve been trying to talk to you all day, ya know. Got something pretty important I’d like to tell you, but you’ve been avoiding me like Eddie’s mom’s underwear.” Bill lets out a small bark of a laugh and shoves Richie’s shoulder.

“Gross, R-rich.” Richie allows himself a grin before a frown makes it’s way back onto Bill’s face.

“I know w-what you wanna t-t-tell me, Richie. That’s--that’s why I’ve been av-voiding you.” Richie’s stomach immediately drops to the floor.

“Oh.”

“And I’m v-v-very happy for you guys. It’s--it’s gr-r-reat that y-you’ve f-f-f--dammit.” Bill’s stutter worsens as he becomes visibly more upset. Richie sets a hand on his to stop his talking. Bill visibly freezes, his eyes locking on their hands.

“Bill I can tell you’re trying to be all valiant and shit, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Us guys? Who are you talking about?” Bill can’t bring himself to look Richie in the eye.

“Y-y-you and Stan. I’m not blind.” Richie can’t help himself. He bursts out laughing.

“Me and Stan? Oh my god!” He allows himself to fall onto his back and holds his stomach while he laughs. “Oh, Stan is gonna get a kick out of this.”

“What are you talking about, Richie?” Richie can tell his laughter only makes Bill angrier so he stops and sits back up to look Bill in the eye.

“Stan and I are not a thing. Like, at all.”

“O-oh.”

“Yeah, man! I mean I love Stan; he’s my best friend, but I’m good. Plus everybody knows he and Mike are secretly crazy about each other. Why’d you think Stan and I were together?”

“Cos y-you guys were being all w-weird and w-whispering at the quarry last time and you hung out alone and I d-dunno. I feel dumb n-n-now.” 

“No need to feel dumb, Big Bill! But actually, um,” Richie can feel his mouth getting dry as he tries to make his confession, “Stan has actually been trying to help me tell the person who I actually do have feelings for.”

“He has?” Richie hopes that is a hopeful tone.

“Yeah. That’s—um, why we were being all weird at the quarry and stuff. He says I should just tell this person, but I doubt they’ll feel the same way.” Richie shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh. Well, I—I guess you’ll n-n-never know until you s-say it.” Bill ventures. Richie gives a half-hearted laugh.

“Ha, yeah, I know.” He takes a deep breath. “Welp, here goes nothing.”

And Richie was going to tell Bill how he felt, he was. But when he looks up—because sincerity is all about eye contact—he stops in his tracks. Bill is just so damn beautiful, with his pouty lip and his big, blue eyes. Richie pauses for half a second before crashing his lips into Bill’s.

It’s clumsy and unpracticed, and Bill is very caught off guard, but really, what else is Richie supposed to do? He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, so he just firmly presses his lips against Bill’s.

It takes a couple seconds but eventually, Bill reciprocates by raising a hand to Richie’s jaw. He lightly traces his fingers over Richie’s cheek, making the lanky boy practically melt into his lap. Richie pulls back a millimetre and lets a grin stretch its way across his lips. Bill lets out a breath and opens his eyes.

“So, this person you like...”

“I think it’s pretty obvious who it is, Big Bill.” Bill nods, letting his other hand come up to Richie’s hair. Richie practically purrs at the action, causing Bill to let out a giggle.

“I like you too, Rich.”

“Oh, thank god.” Richie and Bill laugh before Richie tackles him into another kiss, but this only causes Bill to laugh harder. Richie pulls back, faking offense.

“Bill, I am trying to seduce you, and you are laughing. This is a hate crime.” Bill manages to make his laughter die down.

“S-sorry it’s just--you don’t really know what you’re doing, do you?” Richie tries to sit up, sputtering and getting actually offended, but Bill holds him steady on top of him.

“I’ll have you know, Big Bill, that I have actually kissed a total of three people--” Bill cuts him off with a laugh and hushes Richie with a finger to his lips.

“Here, just slow down.” He runs a hand through Richie’s hair. “Take your time.” 

He pulls Richie into him again, slowly kissing him. He feels out Richie’s mouth, and lets Richie do the same before slowly running his tongue along Richie’s bottom lip. This causes Richie to let a shocked sound out of his throat before pulling back to look at Bill in awe. Bill grins and runs a finger down the side of Richie’s face.

“Damn, Big Bill.” Richie grins back before something passes across his eyes. “Wait, I just realized! You were jealous! Before, when you were crying! Aw, Billy--” Bill rolls his eyes and pulls Richie in for another kiss, effectively shutting him up. They could talk about Bill’s jealousy later; right now, Bill just wants to kiss the boy he likes.

[hoe-doroki]

Illiterate

pairing: Shouto x American fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

wc: 2.1K

genre: comfort, fluff

summary: You did well in the midterms despite missing the first month and a half of school, not to mention all of the previous year at U.A. But being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks. That’ll make you feel better.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Textbook out on your left. Notebook out on your right. Laptop in front. Phone put to the side. You were taking up a whole olive green couch and coffee table in the common room with your materials. But it didn’t much matter, because everyone else had gone to sleep—or if not to sleep, then to their rooms—hours earlier. It was well past midnight on a Monday and, despite the destructive habits that some of the members of class 2-A had, most tried to get a good night’s sleep. It was vital for rebuilding the muscles everyone abused in class every day, not to mention everything else Recovery Girl had mentioned in the mandatory “Health and Wellness” seminar they’d all had to take. You’d missed it, since it had been in the first week of classes, but you had still received the handy dandy pamphlet in your welcome folder a month earlier.

But you were willing to sacrifice a little sleep in order to catch up to your classmates. You might have had an extra two years of high school over them, based on the U.S.’s school system, since you’d just finished junior year when you’d transferred. Technically you hadn’t finished out the year but you’d done all the standardized testing and gotten your final grades. But still, U.A. was much more rigorous than your old school and, in some areas, you had big gaps. You would only be able to fake it in class for so long like that.

You startled when the hallway light went on behind you. There wasn’t a curfew by which you had to be in your room, but you were still half expecting to find Iida behind you, chastising you for being up so late. But it wasn’t Iida—it was Todoroki.

You turned back to your work, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything if you minded your business and didn’t speak to him. Based on your few experiences with the boy so far, it seemed he could be relied on to be quiet. And your strategy seemed to work; you heard him padding in his slippers over to the kitchen and running some water.

Your focus was now broken, though. You looked at the pages you had out in front of you and all the characters started to blur in your head. It felt like the studying you’d just done had left you and that all the hours since dinner had been pointless. The frustration began to bloom again and you felt your face growing hot with it. You were so behind. So not meant to go to school in Japan.

“You should go back to your room.”

Your body stiffened at the quiet voice behind you. If you looked down, you could see Todoroki’s gray slippers. You hadn’t heard him grow so close.

“If I do, I’ll fall asleep.”

“That’s what I mean,” Todoroki said. “You should be in bed.”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed too then?” you shot back.

“I woke up and decided to make some tea. The water’s boiling now.”

It was late enough that Todoroki had already gone to sleep and woken up in the middle of the night. And you had nothing to show for your time but a few haphazard notes and a failing short term memory.

“I just have to stay up a little longer,” you whisper, you throat constricting a little around the simple words.

Todoroki took another step closer and looked at your setup. It was obvious that you were doing work, not messing around or staying up just for the heck of it. Todoroki was one of the brightest kids in the class, in addition to one of the most powerful. Hopefully he would see your efforts and just leave you be.

“Sleep is necessary for processing information by transferring things from one section of the brain to another and strengthening connections,” he said instead. “You’ll learn more if you sleep.”

“I know that, and I will, but just…not yet.”

“Y/N, you placed seventh on the midterm. That’s impressive for a new student.”

You shook your head, wishing he hadn’t said that as hot tears started to wet your lashes. “They let me take the test in English,” you rasped, the words coming out completely pitchless. “I’ve been here over a month and I’m still almost entirely illiterate.”

Everything in front of you was in kanji. You had a stack of grammar books that were meant for toddlers that you wished weren’t in Todoroki’s line of sight. They were only half filled out as it was, since you didn’t even know all the answers for those, much less how to read what everyone else had seen on the midterm.

“Oh,” Todoroki intoned in that simple way of his. “You didn’t know Japanese before you came here?”

You shook your head. “Coming here was pretty sudden, so I only had a couple months to try and learn before I transferred. And so I focused more on spoken language just so that I wouldn’t be a complete idiot. Even though I still sound so American.”

“It’s not so bad,” Todoroki offered.

You give a chuckled weakly. “The first thing you said to me was that my Japanese was bad. Terrible. Actually, you didn’t even say it to me, you said it…around me.”

“Oh, I guess I did,” he said. If you looked at him, you probably could have seen the memory appearing on his face. “Well, I’ve changed my mind. It’s not terrible.”

Even sugarcoating it that much must have been a reach for him, so you could appreciate the effort. You blinked the last of the tears away, grateful that none of them had actually fallen and that Todoroki hadn’t seemed to notice them. “I’m sure your water is boiling by now. You can go. I promise that I’ll go to sleep soon.”

If it had been Shinsou, or Yaoyorozu, who you were beginning to grow close to, or someone like Midoriya, they would have stayed. Maybe even closed your books for you and ushered you up to your room, telling you that you could start again tomorrow. But at your words, Todoroki’s slippers disappeared from view and he went back to the kitchen. It wasn’t especially surprising. He’d barely ever spoken to you, especially since you’d used your quirk on him the first time a few weeks back. And you could understand why. Nobody liked the effects of being hit by your quirk. Or losing a match in less than two minutes. So when just a minute later you were greeted with a cup of steaming tea in front of you, on one of the small spots of table between all your materials, you were forced to look up at him for the first time.

“Would you like to speak in English?” he asked, the words coming out with certainty and only a hint of a Japanese accent over a British one. And they nearly made you fall to pieces.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He sat down on the sofa kitty-corner to yours and you noticed that his mug, like yours, was only half full. You didn’t love tea—you’d never drunk it much in America, but it was ubiquitous here. Yaoyorozu was all but forcing you to acquire a taste for it. Still, the gesture moved you and you lifted up the too-hot cup, blowing on it as you let the light herbal scent waft over to you. Todoroki was holding his mug with his left hand and you wondered if it even felt hot to him.

“I apologize if I’ve been cold to you,” Todoroki said. “The truth is that it surprised me, how you’d used your quirk on me. And that you’d seen it as a weak point after only observing me for a couple weeks. I keep on thinking that my past is behind me, but then it never is. It’s why I’m awake right now.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I felt really bad using my quirk on you like that. The look on your face—it felt like such an invasion to use sadness against you. I wouldn’t want to do that just to win.”

“Well,” Todoroki said, the ghost of a smile on his face, “you were playing a villain.”

You groaned. “Ugh, I hope I never have to again.”

“Unlikely,” Todoroki said. “All Might creates many exercises like that.”

Your tea was finally cool enough to sip without burning your tongue. The taste of herbal tea was strange, not particularly food or beverage-like to your brain, but you thought you could understand the comfort of it. The hot liquid felt nice on your throat and you realized that you hadn’t had any water for hours. You took another sip.

“You said before that your past is why you’re awake right now,” you started hesitantly. “Can I ask why that is?”

“Just a dream,” he said simply. A bad one if his grimace was anything to go by.

“I’m sorry,” you said, although you weren’t sure if you were sorry about the dream or asking about it. Probably a bit of both.

“No, I actually…” Todoroki looked at you and you were struck by how captivating his gaze was. His blue eye was piercing, one of the brightest you’d ever seen while his gray eye was dark, almost brown, and mysterious. “I wanted to know how you knew. That exercise was meant to show us how we’ve exposed our weak spots to someone new and it would be a missed opportunity for me not to ask you about it.”

“How I knew…that you were sad?” you asked.

He nodded once, eyes still stuck on yours.

“You just…your friends seem like really happy people,” you explained. “Uraraka, Midoriya, even Iida in his way. Or even when they’re not happy, they’re wearing their emotions on their sleeves. But you, even when you’re joining in with them, there’s usually a cloud over you. Like you’re hiding your emotions. And from there I guessed that that came from somewhere. Probably someplace difficult. And when I strategized with Aizawa-sensei and he agreed that it was worth a try.”

“I see.”

“Like now,” you said, looking at his face. “Do you feel anything about what I said? If so, you’re totally hiding it on your face. Blank eyes, relaxed mouth. And, you know, that’s fine, but if you’re doing that on the outside, then, for a teenage boy, I assume you’re doing it on the inside too.”

That brought some expression to his face. Twin creases between his eyebrows, making his relaxed mouth look more like a frown without moving it.

“But I don’t want you to worry about that or what I think about you,” you said quickly. “For my quirk, I have to be really good at intuiting emotions, especially since I so rarely get to practice with people. I have to be super observant and understand something about psychology. Most villains aren’t that sensitive.”

“But some are.”

“Yes, certainly some are,” you said. “But if you want to start working on whatever underlying things you have, you should be doing it because you want to. Not because you want to be a stronger hero but because you want to love yourself more.”

Todoroki gave a little huff that could have been a chuckle. “How American of you.”

“Hey!” Your exclamation is quiet. “You’re the one who offered to speak in English.”

“You seemed homesick,” he said with a shrug.

“I was,” you admitted. “I am.”

“Okay,” Todoroki said, standing up. You saw that his mug was empty while yours was still a quarter full and now tepid at best. He took it along with his own. “You’re going to sleep now and tomorrow you’re going to ask Yaoyorozu for tutoring. She’s excellent and the two of you seem to be getting along. Our class is full of all good, mostly helpful people. You should say something when you need help.”

You shut your laptop, the screen having gone black long ago and began dog-earing and closing your books. Before Todoroki went to the kitchen you grabbed his arm, only to release it a moment later when you remembered people weren’t quite so tactile in Japan as they were in America, Todoroki especially so. Still, you had his attention as he turned back to look at you. “The same to you. You should say something when you need help.”

Todoroki’s lips pursed together, not quite in a smile, not quite a frown, but in acknowledgment. He probably wasn’t fond of you turning your words back on him.

“I’ll…try.”

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

- 

Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

[litniche]

Love Will Find a Way

Dani x Jamie fluff   Read on ao3

"Pardon, let me see if I’m following you. You’re American, but a resident of England.”

“Yes.”

“And your fiancée is English, but a resident of America.”

“Yes, she’s English, but she lives in America.”

“And you’re having a Catholic wedding.”

“Yes.”

“In France.”

“Yes, we have friends there.”

“That’s fine. It’s a French parish matter, then; they take care  of the paperwork. Did you discuss it with your priest in France?”

“My parish is in England, because I am a resident here. Anyway  yes, we have permission to have the ceremony in France. We still need  the bishop’s permission for the marriage, but that should arrive soon.”

“Bien, then all we need is a certificate that says you and your fiancée have never been married before. Then we can process the documents.”

“See, that’s why I called. America doesn’t really have that certificate.”

“Did you check with the American embassy in England?”

“Yeah. They say they have nothing to do with this.”

“Mmm…I’m afraid I have no idea then.”

**

The lady at the French embassy had been no help. Just like the  British embassy in America and the American embassy in both England and France. “I don't know what to do, Jamie. Why don’t we just wait? I’ll be  in the states again soon, and we can get married then.” Dani had called  Jamie with clear panic in her voice. She was on the edge of an attack  all morning, but had waited a few hours to call her fiancée so that it  wouldn’t be too early in the morning for her.

“I don’t fancy waiting to marry you, Poppins,” Jamie’s groggy  Northern accent replied over the phone. “I quite like the idea of you being my wife as soon as possible.”

“But this isn’t going to work,” Dani said. She shook her head as  she held the phone to her ear, looking up to see which bus stop she was  nearing next.  

“Dani, when you asked me to marry you, what kind of wedding did you picture?”

“The one we’re planning.”

“I reckon we should carry on then. We’ll sort out the paperwork.”

Dani sighed, knowing Jamie was right. Somehow they’d work it all  out. It was just a bit of red tape. “‘Carry on.’ On a scale of zero to British, that was very British  of you.”

Jamie laughed; it was that perfect, giggly laugh that Dani had only ever heard herself elicit from the gardener. “I have to keep it up  whilst on American soil.”  

“‘Whilst’ - also very British.”  

“You like it,” Jamie said, her tone dropping and her voice lowering to a seductive almost-whisper.  

Dani was silent, stunned by the overtly flirtatious remark. It  still shocked her sometimes that Jamie was just as in love with her as  she was in love with Jamie, and that she wanted Dani just like Dani  wanted her.  

Dani cleared her throat. “Oh. Yeah,” she finally managed. “I do.”

The blonde could practically hear the grin in Jamie’s voice. “You’re blushing. I can tell.”

“Am not,” Dani said and bit her lip. Of course she was blushing.

With another laugh, the gardener gave her a happy sigh. “The  date is set, Poppins. Invites sent. We’ll have our fairy-tale wedding  before you know it. I, for one, can’t wait.”

“I can’t wait either,” Dani said. An older woman was sitting  across from her on the bus, looking at her with a knowing smile.  Apparently, she was being obvious. “Does it have to be Catholic, though?  I know we both love the venue that Owen found, but-”  

“And miss out on a compulsory two-day course on family values at a French nunnery? Not a chance, Poppins.”

With a roll of her eyes, Dani let herself relax against her seat  and grinned at her fiancée’s antics. “I still think it’s funny that  they have separate floors for the sleeping quarters for men and women in  order to keep the couples apart. They didn’t think of us when they made  those rules, did they?”

“Pretty sure that’s why the Church refused to let us marry for so long. Not enough rooms to keep our chastity intact.”

Dani chuckled. “You know, I think you’re right.” She stood as  the bus slowed to her stop. She waved at the driver in thanks and  stepped into the gentle rain, lifting her briefcase to cover her head.  “I’m almost home. Can we video chat?”

“Absolutely. I have a few hours until the shop opens.”

“Sorry,” Dani winced. “I waited as long as I could.”

“Don’t be,” Jamie said. “It’s about the time I normally wake up anyway. Besides, it just means you get to see me in my pajamas.”

“You don’t wear pajamas,” Dani grinned as she felt herself  flush. She arrived at her flat and fumbled with the keys in her rush to  get inside.

“Hmmm, that’s right,” Jamie teased. “S’pose I’ll get dressed then.”

“Don’t you dare!”  

“Blimey, Poppins. You flirt.”

Dani scoffed.

“I’ll hang up to put the kettle on, though, love. See you soon?”

“I just got in. Message when you’re ready.”

“Will do.”  

“Love you,” Dani said as she stepped into her flat. She  deposited her briefcase and hung her jacket, bounding up the steps to  start her laptop.  

“Love you, too, Poppins.”

. End note:  This was inspired by A Super Strange True Love Story: My Disappearing Fiancé by Annalisa Merelli.  

[ggukkiedae]

request! hannah trying to teach mark an english accent only to fail miserably 🤧 - eri (gl with ur reqs, ate c 🥺💚)

awwww thanks eri 💖💚

here’s hannah trying to teach mark her geordie accent bc why not?

disclaimer: im not trying to mock anyone please dont fight me aksjdjfj

“Say it with me. Potato.”

“Poetaytoe.”

“Honestly, Mark, do you want to sound like me or like Tom Holland?”

“There’s a difference?”

Hannah sighed. Mark had bugged her to help him perfect his fake accent ever since that one vlive he did with Johnny. Now, she was trying to teach him, but he kept sticking to the accent he heard from Johnny. Not the best example if you ask her.

“He sounds like what you Americans think we all sound like,” she explained. “My accent is more Geordie because I kinda grew up in Newcastle.”

“Then teach me how to sound like you,” he said while shaking her shoulders. “I need to know how to talk like my sister.”

Hannah smiled slightly at Mark calling her his sister. She’d never tell him how happy she always got when he calls her his sister. She got an idea. She pulled out her phone and called someone. She put her phone on speaker, and eventually a familiar voice spoke.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice answered. Perfect. Her accent was always stronger when she was sleepy.

“Hi, babe, what are you doing?” Hannah asked.

“I was napping,” Yoonmi replied, “but you woke me up, so I guess I’m gonna go read a book or watch a film after this.”

“Favor,” Hannah began while looking at Mark and pointing to his ears then to her phone. “Can you tell me when the station we did together was released?”

“It was early 2018, wasn’t it?” Yoonmi asked. “That was the most random question ever.”

“Okay, now say a long sentence.”

“Okay, uh, Jisung called me the other day. He told me to play Call of Duty with him, but I told him no and that I’d stick with watching superheroes instead.”

“Wanna go out for dinner later?”

“Sure. Just text me!”

With that, Hannah hung up. She looked at Mark who sat there with a fond smile on his face. Hannah rolled her eyes.

“It’s so cute how she says filem instead of film.”

“That’s the only thing you got from that?” she asked him.

When Mark nodded, Hannah facepalmed. She could only shake her head as his laughter grew louder. She sat at the foot of his bed and began her explanation.

“Basically, we have a more glottal sound than people from like the south or central England. And don’t drop the Hs, I swear to God.”

Mark raised his hands up in surrender. Maybe the only thing consistent in his fake accent was how he’d always drop the h when he tried. If he was trying to copy her and Yoonmi’s accent, then that wasn’t the way to go.

“Do you know my favorite British group?”

“Little Mix.”

“Name me one of their songs.”

“Shot ut tyu mah exah.” Mark’s exaggerated accent made him laugh. That was overkill for sure. Hannah groaned.

“Now you’re just doing it on purpose!”

Hannah threw a pillow at Mark’s face. He caught it and set it down next to him on the bed. She covered her ears while Mark tried a few more phrases in his experimental accent. While he was doing this, she opened up her laptop and looked for Little Mix videos. She sat next to him on his bed and forced the laptop onto his lap.

“We are watching Little Mix interviews,” she said with a tone of finality.

“Why can’t I just listen to you talk?”

“Because I want to see Leigh-Anne’s gorgeous face.”

Hannah pressed play and watched as Mark gave all his attention to the screen. He looked so focused that she throught he’d manage to pick up on the accent. She thought wrong. Ten minutes into watching interviews, Mark pointed out Jade.

“She sounds just like Miya,” he said in realization.

“That’s cause she has a Geordie accent,” Hannah told him. “If you can remember my accent and Miya’s accent enough to point that out, you should be able to imitate it. Even Jisung’s starting to sound like us!”

“He calls you and Miya for English practice all the time!” he exclaimed. “I talk to Johnny hyung everyday.”

“Excuses.” Hannah waved her hand. “Now say this sentence. Mom, I want to invite Spiderman over for dinner someday.”

“Mum, I wont tyu invait Spaidahmun ovah fa dinnah somdi.”

“Oh my Jesus, I give up.”

[glogstertrialexpired]

Hey guys,

I think, as students in Education, some us of were waiting for a video like John Baugh’s TED Talk “The Significance of Linguistic Profiling” because he acknowledges the use of people making assumptions about someone’s character based on his/her voice—in positive manners such as a baby in the womb learning his/her mother’s voice. Although, Baugh still makes the point of talking about linguistic profiling in which there is discrimination based on the language that a person uses. For example, the video that showed a man getting apartment offers rescinded because he put on a “non-white voice” over the phone, and then when he used a generic voice that is typical of a U.S. white male, the apartment offer was not taken away.

Right, I feel like this is nothing new of living in the U.S. We even have skits based about this sort of stuff—of having to adopt different personas to avoid discrimination:

So, this is my first time coming across the concept of “raciolingustic ideologies” which Nelson Flores and Jonathan Rosa both discuss in their article “Undoing Appropriateness: Raciolinguistic Ideologies and Language Diversity in Education.” This means that educators also have to be wary of how language is connected to race and what ideologies spur from it rather than just focusing on linguistic profiling—we’re not all going to talk to our students over the phone, right? Maybe just their parents? It’s bad enough that things are on Zoom and the other online platforms that districts/schools are sprinkling in with online learning—but we should probably take time to think about how this can relate to us.

Hopefully, *fingers crossed*, I’m not the only one who is thinking about assumptions that I have made, or thoughts that I have about certain characteristics of language being applicable to certain races—and minorities for that matter—when it comes to communicative interactions. Even if we don’t want to admit it, I’m positive that we’ve all thought “Oh, this person is probably [insert race or ethnicity] because of how the person is speaking.”

Right?

Right??

In his book: Black Linguistics: language, society, ad politics in Africa and the Americas, Baugh points out the societal expectations of accents and languages, which I find really interesting. In my experience, the "British accent" is praised because it is either "attractive" or "sounds intelleginent" but I am not sure if they have come across the Yorkshire accent/dialect (joke)—because that is, arguably, difficult to understand when it is thickly used. I am thinking about the societal standards of what "good English" is and what constitutes an "undesirable" accent in the U.S. (Baugh, 2003, p. 163)

Anyways, I am thinking back to the United States being a “country of immigrants” because the readings that we’ve done for the week have focused on multi-lingual students (which is great—especially since there has been an equal emphasis on Spanish speaking students). I’m still frustrated by how the construction of “academic language” has thrown pretty much all of the other languages used in the U.S. under the bus.

Yet, this research is doing well by stressing that the variations of languages in the U.S. should be validated (Flores & Rosa, 2015, p. 3). Also, that we should approach students who use different languages outside of the expected ones in classrooms in a manner that is an "additive approach" to where their use of home languages isn't put down in any manner or even "eliminated" (2015, p. 165). I thought that we were past the state of cultural destruction when it came to schools (looking at you, "Indian Residential Schools).

Thus, we should all have some sort of language tolerance when it comes to living and functioning in the U.S. We shouldn't really want that repeat of history.

Also, approaching these readings as someone who is interested in teaching has been further solidifying my idea that some of the problems that occur between white educators and non-white students lies at the basis of confusion (I don't want to put ignorance here, because of its strong negative connotation). Of course problems arise from lack of communication, this happens to me all the time (unfortunately) on a daily basis, but that is mainly because I consider myself socially awkward and I'm locked up in my room 24/7 staring at my laptop screen trying to gain some sense of reality with the lack of Spring Break and upcoming finals.

(accurate representation of me—but we all can't be winning.)

Furthermore, with the example that Flores & Rosa bring up about the Alim, a researcher, identifying an issue that the teacher had with African-American students with "vernacular English" is really interesting because it seems like the teacher was adamant about negatively perceiving the "vernacular English" used by the students instead of coming at it with an additive approach.

Maybe the teacher framed it as a you vs them moment? I.e. Vernacular English vs Academic Language? An additive approach could have had the teacher recognizing the differences, acknowledging them in a positive manner (oh! this contributes to the students' cultural backgrounds), made a neutral observation that emphasized that there needed to be a use of academic langauge in the classroom at that moment but vernacular english is also valid—instead of seemingly getting defensive and thus, going nowhere.

So, I think that there has to be an active validation of languages outside of the academic language that is used in school settings. I'm not suggesting any praises, but—acknowledging that there is a time and place for certain languages, e.g. academic language to make sure that students test well, while creating an environment that allows academic language and other languages to function side-by-side without "eliminating" a student's use of a language.

For lingustic justice, we have that suggestion that Baugh made in his TED Talk, for people of the "standard accent" in the U.S. to not put down any other accents that deviate from the mainstream. That perhaps, normalizing and validating the different accents will put a lot of work into minimizing linguistic profiling.

References:

Baugh, J. (2019). The Significance of Linguistic Profiling: TEDTalk [video] Youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjFtIg-nLAA.

Baugh, J. (2003). Black Linguistics: Language, Society, and Politics in Africa and the Americas. Routledge.

Rosa, J. & Flores, N. (2015). “Undoing Appropriateness: Raciolinguistic Ideologies and Language Diversity in Education.” Harvard Educational Review Vol. 85(2). Harvard Education Publishing Group.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Holly Jolly Grinchmas

It is Christmas morning, and Harry wakes Jazz up far too early for her liking so they can facetime the other boys.

MASTERLIST

OC Used:  Jazzmine

Word Count:  1,057

Warning(s):  Mentions of ‘that time of the month’

~~~~

I was rudely shaken awake by my extremely excited boyfriend, Harry.  He was shaking me rather roughly, and as I woke up, I turned to look over at him.

“What in the bloody world do you need this early?”  I asked him, my voice raspy with sleep, and he stopped his shaking.

“Oh, is it, uhm, that time of the month…?”  He asked hesitantly, and I couldn’t help the smile that flashed quickly across my face at the sight of his wary expression.

“No Harry.  Why would you think that?”  I asked him, rolling onto my back, and staring at him.

Harry smiled, breathing a quiet sigh as he lay down next to me.  “You never use ‘bloody’, so I thought…”  His voice trailed off.

I closed my eyes again, snuggling close to Harry as I tried to salvage my interrupted sleep.  But Harry pulled away from me.  Whimpering, I looked back at him.

“It’s Christmas morning!  You have to get up!”  He said, but I only groaned and pulled the covers over my head.  

“That’s why I’m now awake at…”  I felt around for my phone and looked at it.  “Four A.M.  I should have known…”  I growled irritably.

Gently, Harry sat beside you.  “Love…”  He called softly, pleadingly.  “It’s been us boys’ tradition to get up early and open presents.”  He continued.

I peeked out of the covers, my heart softening at Harry’s pleading gaze.  “Fine.  I didn’t know tha’ it was your guys’ tradition ‘arry.”  I said affectionately, the accent I’d tried so hard to suppress somehow slipping in.

Wrapping my arms around Harry, I sighed with contentment.  He grinned and quickly leaned down to press a lingering kiss to my ruby lips.  “That’s okay Jazz.”  He whispered, his eyes twinkling with pleasure at hearing my accent.

“Why don’t you like being British anyways?  Everyone loves the accent.”  He said, but I shook my head.  I didn’t want to answer questions at the moment.  Perhaps later.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to answer him, Harry grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the living room where a magnificent Christmas tree waited, presents stuffed underneath its wide base.

Harry knelt and began sorting the presents.  “Here’s one for me from Niall.  One for you from Zayn, where’s mine from him?”  And on and on.  I just laughed at Harry’s commentary until my sides hurt.

Finally, we both had a nice sized pile of presents.  Grabbing one from Harry, I was just about to tear into it when Harry grabbed my arm.  “Wait!”  He said, and I looked up, startled.

“What?  Can’t I open your present?”  I asked, but Harry shook his head.  

“Not yet Love.  I got to call the boys.  It’s tradition that if we can’t all be together on Christmas, then we video call while we open presents.”  

I gaped at him as he grabbed his laptop and opened it up.  He was just about to start the video call when I screeched,  “NO!  I look a fright, Harry.  Stop and let me go comb my hair and put on some make-up or something!”  I said frantically, standing and heading back to the bedroom.

But Harry caught my arm and pulled me back down.  “You don’t need to brush your hair or put make-up on.”  He said, smoothing my hair and pressing a delicate kiss to my forehead.  “You’re beautiful just the way you are.  This is the girl I love.”  He said, his green eyes staring into mine.

I reluctantly sat back down.  Harry started the video chat, and we both waited for the rest of the boys to call in.

And sure enough, Louis’ popped up first, and then Niall’s, Zayn’s, and Liam’s.  “Hello mates!”  Louis called, and everyone laughed.  But then Louis caught sight of me hiding behind Harry, intimidated by all the guys’ boisterousness.

“So this is the pretty girl you keep talking to us about, mate.”  Louis called, and I blushed.  Harry pulled me around next to him, smiling at my embarrassment.  

“She’s gorgeous!”  Niall said, and the rest of the boys nodded.  Harry looked quite pleased with himself as he tugged gently on my arm.

“Come on Love, tell ‘em hello.”  He whispered to my star-struck self.  I waved a timid ‘hello’ and the boys all grinned.

“She’s a quiet one, eh?”  Niall said, and Harry laughed.  

“Not at all!  You should hear her when she thinks she’s alone!”  He said, chuckling.  I blushed even more, it wasn’t my fault I liked their songs, and would sing them when I thought I was alone  

in the house.

The boys continued to banter on, but Harry still continued to hold me close against him.  It almost seemed like he was protecting me from them.  But I couldn’t understand why.  They weren’t interested in me at all.

“Love?”  Harry’s voice called, snapping me out of my thoughts.  “The boys want to know which of them you’d fancy if you couldn’t have me.”  

Looking over at him, I couldn’t help but smile at the disgruntled expression on his face.  He was very protective of me, and the mere fact that the boys teased him like this, and succeeded was quite funny.

“Hmm..”  I thought for a moment, then smiled.  “I’d go with Niall.”  I said, and the rest of the boys laughed as Louis made a disappointed noise.  

“Thought she’d choose me!”  He pouted, but he was smiling, so I knew he was just joking.  Then he looked thoughtful.  “Aren’t you British though?  Like us?”  He asked, and I nodded.

“Then where’s your accent?”  He asked curiously.  I sighed and looked at Harry.

“I’m actually English/American, and I taught myself to speak like my Dad.  But everyone always imitated and made fun of my accent growing up, so I just stopped using it.  But it still kinda pops in there every now and then.”  I said, and everyone nodded thoughtfully.  Liam looked impressed.

Then a gentle pressure on my hand made me turn to look at Harry.  He was grinning.  “For that answer Love, you earned a kiss.”  He said, and snatched at my lips with his own.  

There was muffled groaning and gagging from the boys.  I laughed against Harry’s lips as I heard Louis’ shout.

“PDA mate!  No PDA!  We’re on camera!”  

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #234

“don’t take care of me - be scared of me.”

Does it bother you when people beg? I mean, it depends on the consistency, intensity, and the subject. Do you ever eat cookie dough raw? I have, but salmonella will punish me some day. Are you one of those people who are always cold? I am the exact opposite. When was the last time you rode a rollercoaster? Pf, never. Don't want to. Do you like hot dogs? I hate the fact that I love them lol. Do you have any weird rings? I wouldn't consider any "weird," no. Have any bad addictions? Ugh, caffeine. Are you anything like your siblings? I am very, very different from my two immediate sisters. Ma says I'm extremely similar to Katie, my half-sister, though it's odd because we don't seem to agree on very much? I don't even think she likes me. When was the last time you shaved your legs? Literally not since like... February. It's not like anybody but family sees my legs anyway. It's just stupid societal expectations for a woman, and I've never been prone to obeying those to begin with. Do you like long bike rides? I used to LOVE riding my bike when I lived in the woods/by an almost-dead road, but I haven't that in... god, years. I don't even have that bike anymore. My knees would never, EVER survive riding one right now. Do you know someone who is blind? My sister is in one eye, but I can't remember which. Do you have a YouTube account? how else would I like every Mark video in existence and I wish I was kidding?????????????? How many cell phones have you had? No clue. Not many. Maybe like, four or so. When was the last time something bothered you? Yesterday 'cuz I was getting weird fuckin phone calls. Do you ever try free samples at the store? Sure, if they seem like something I'd like. Can you speak French or Spanish? No. What school year do you think will be/was the saddest? 8th. Anxiety and depression were getting bad, puberty was A Thing, confused about life in general and why all this sadness and fear was happening to me. Do you like boys with long hair? I mean this depends on the person, but in general, yes. I think I prefer it over shorter, in most cases. Have you ever had plum juice? No, but that sounds decent. If I can even remember what a plum tastes like... I loved them as a kid, haven't had one in like, years. Have you ever passed out? Once, almost twice not long after the first time. Was today someones birthday that you know? No. Have you drank any water today? A little bit. When was the last time you had a crowd at your house? Holy shit. Probably not since we MOVED here in '17. Are you worried about anything right now? When aren't I at least a bit worried about something, really. Are you keeping anything from your best friends right now? No. Do you currently have any mosquito bites? Not currently. A- blood, hell yeah man. Do you have Twitter? Yes. Literally to like. um. one somebody's stuff. If you found out you were pregnant, who would you tell? God FUCKING forbid. Obviously my family. Sara. If it was from consensual sex, I'd tell friends eventually. If it was, uh, any other way, probably not EVEN some family because there are some that would probably never speak to me again if I got an abortion. Is your driveway stone or pavement? Stone. Have you ever caught something on fire? Yeah. Y'know, s'mores, sparklers, wood when making a bonfire or something. Regular stuff. How many people have you kissed in a car? One or two. Idr if Sara and I ever have. Do you and your best friend have an inside joke? "buzzfeed" Do you have a gym membership? Not anymore. How long was your last shower? Not even ten minutes. Get clean and get out. What is your favorite color fingernail polish? I think red tends to be the prettiest. If you had to get a tattoo, what would it be of? Man, don't ask me this. I have a billion ideas. If I had the money for it though, I'd probably finally get this (Denialism) as a tat on my left upper arm next. It's like, my favorite drawing ever, and I've already gotten the artist's permission. What is the best fast food place, in your opinion? Sonic has had my heart lately. What is your favorite eye color in the opposite sex? I just generally like vibrant and/or light blue eyes, but I really don't care about someone's eye color. What is your mom’s maiden name? Yeah, let's share that on the Internet. Would you rather receive balloons or flowers for valentine’s day? Flowers. Balloons are nothing but waste and wind up as litter anyway. Do you follow the crowd when it comes to trends or do your own thing? Do my own thing. Trends 'n shit don't matter to me; I don't care how "cool" or "uncool" something is. I like what I like. What is your worst bad habit? Assuming the worst of absolutely everything within .01 seconds. Do you believe in happily ever after? No. Things aren't always gonna be happy, sorry. What is your average phone bill? I don't know, Dad pays it. Which is better: chapstick or lip gloss? Chapstick. Have you ever been proposed to? No. Do you take certain medicine on a daily basis? A decent number. Have you ever seen two people together and you got sick to your stomach? I remember seeing a picture of Jason and his girlfriend after me once after they got together and I. Don't know how to describe that feeling. I think I felt more murderous than anything. Do you prefer laptops or desktop computers? Laptops for portability's sake. Have you ever had a really bad haircut? Looking back, the haircut I had before this one wasn't great. Only at some angles did it look good. I mean I don't regret it though, it's how I realized I think I'd like short hair. Did you ever order any clothes from the Alloy catalog? Never heard of them. What brand, color, and type is your favorite eyeliner? I love black eyeliner, but I don't have any favorite brands. I hate liquid, though. My hands aren't steady enough for that, and it's just messy. What’s your favorite type of yogurt? Meh, not a big fan. Idk. Do you have any overdue library books right now? No. Do you have a piggy bank? No. Do you remember your locker combinations from high school? Nope. Do you own plaid pants? No. Have you ever had to wear a school uniform? Yeah, through all of middle school. What was your high school’s mascot? A firebird. Who were your best friends in high school? I had various ones. Excluding The Ex, there was Hannia, Alon, Megan, Maria, Girt... There was a few. Have you ever been to Chicago? Once, with Sara and her dad. At night. And the lights and cars and shops and towers and everything was too much for my rural ass. I'm not a city person, but because it was SO different and just incredible in scope and all, I still thought it was absolutely beautiful and so exciting. Would you rather sleep on the top bunk or bottom bunk? Bottom. When my sister and I were little and shared a room though, I almost always had the top bunk. As I got older though, that inverted. Have you ever had a secret admirer that left you notes? I THINK Aaron did once, but I can't remember for sure. Are you close with your cousins? No. Are you close to any aunts or uncles? Not especially, but only because, like my cousins, I pretty much never see them. Are you close to your grandparents? All but one is dead, and that one is dying. Barely knew any, save for my remaining grandmother, and we've never gotten along well/agreed on much, but I mean, I still care for her. I also pretty much never saw her. Who betrayed your trust? Plenty of people. Who was your first best friend (apart from a sibling)? Brianna. What was your favorite thing to do at sleepovers when you were younger? I don't know. Probably play make-believe or go swimming. What kind of popcorn is your favorite? Normal with butter and salt. Does your town have a big fountain in it? The next town over does. What is your town known for? "You mean Tennessee?" Don't think that's too much of a giveaway. What’s one way in which you’re still a child? I am very dependent on Mom. What’s one way in which you’re old? My knees are at least 107. Do you know what you want to do for your next birthday? gooooooood take me to get a tatTOOOOOOO What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? Mom buying tickets to the Ozzy concert next year alksdjfalwe. I've been losing my fucking mind since the new single came out and album was announced. Do you usually forgive when someone hurts your or try to get revenge? I'm not a vengeful person at all, really. I tend to forgive. Were there any subjects in school that were really easy for you? English has always been a breeze, and usually science. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No. Do you think you look better with dyed hair or natural hair? Just about anyone looks better with dyed hair to me. I just like colorful, interesting hair. Has your hair color changed since you were a toddler? Yes. I was born dirty blonde. Do you own an American flag shirt? No. Do you own a British flag shirt? No. Do you have a seashell collection? No. We used to have a box of them, though. Do you have a rock collection? No. What is your favorite thing to do in the pool? Just chill. Casually swim around aimlessly. Cacti or seashells? Hmmmm. I think seashells, but that's tough. Dreamcatcher or wind chimes? MAN, this depends on the design. Have you ever taken a picture at the perfect moment? The only one I have that I consider the absolute *perfect* moment was at Ashley's gender reveal when she and her husband found out the baby is a girl. Her face especially is priceless. What color was your first car? N/A Was your first car used or new? N/A What was the last thing you said in complete caps? HAHAHA I sent Sara a fucking CURSED picture of Pennywise as a good morning text. Do you enjoy playing board games? Not really. Are you good at playing Hide and Go Seek? I guess I was as a kid. I'm sure I wouldn't be now. Elephants can't really hide. :^) Do you live in an apartment or a house? A house. Is there a music artist that never ceases to amaze you? As far as truly *amaze* goes, probably Amy Lee. Her voice is just fucking incredible. What is your favorite term of endearment? Probably "love." Or "dear." I dunno. Do you like Twizzlers? NO. They're gross as hell. Do you sneak in candy/soda when you go to the movies? Yeup. Fuck those prices. What was the last song you had on repeat? I adore Ozzy's new "Under The Graveyard" beyond words and so have been binging it like mad since yesterday lmao. Where are your favorite pair of jeans from? I don't have jeans. Do you tap your foot when you listen to music? No. If I respond to it in any voluntary way, I'll most likely be tapping my hand with the beat. Will you get your hair cut anytime soon? I need to, yeah. I hate when my hair starts getting long enough to curl a tad upwards in the back. Are you uncoordinated? VERY. Have you ever listened to Jane’s Addiction? I know and enjoy "Jane Says" and "Been Caught Stealing." What’s the worst thing you’ve ever experienced? Heartbreak. What’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? I dunno, there's a lot. Do you write “Dear Diary” when you write in your diary? I don't have a diary. I don't think I ever did. What is your escape from your problems? Music, playing WoW, stuff like that. Just give me a distraction. Do you watch YouTube videos a lot? Literally every day throughout the day. It's at least background noise. Do you have an embarrassing period story? No, thankfully. Would your life be at risk if someone knew everything about you? No. Is your life at risk? I mean, more than like by disease, some psycho, an accident, shit like that, no? Do you feel safe in your hometown? No. Never did. I miss our house and the childhood memories, but that place was dangerous. Where do you dream of moving to? The mountains of NC. What fascinates you more: outer space or the bottom of the ocean? Space. Have you ever seen a UFO? I guess by the definition of "unidentified flying object," yes, but I think it was some sort of natural phenomenon with a star, not an alien. Maybe. Does anyone encourage you to go after your dreams? Yeah. :') What is the stupidest thing anyone’s ever said to you? "i'Ll AlWaYs LoVe YoU, bRiTtAnY!" What’s the most amount of weight you’ve gained from a medication? LET'S. FUCKING. NOT. Do you name inanimate objects? No. What do you think the constellations mean? "Nothing? Just humanity reaching to ascribe some type of meaningfulness to the world around them." <<<< This, I like this. Did you like the venue your senior prom was held at? I mean it was at the local college's gym. Nothing special. Which spelling do you like best: Hayley, Hailey, or Haley? Hm, I think "Hailey." Which name is better: Hailey, Bailey, Kailey, or Shailey? Ummmmm I think "Kailey." Are you mad at someone? I'm always going to be mad to a degree. Do you feel like your life was stolen from you? I guess in a way by mental illness? Do you have a professional camera? Yeah. What would you change about your hair? Ugh, I want to COLOR it. I really want silver hair atm. When was the last time you changed your hairstyle? Last year. Do you like rose gold? I love it. What’s your favorite color gummy bear? I don't... care? Oh wait, maybe green. Those normally have an apple kinda feel, right? Or do they all thaste the same? What is the sexiest part of the opposite sex’s body? I like s h o u l d e r b l a d e s. Have you ever made up/sang a song for someone you cared about? Only ever poems. Ever had a song sang about/for you? I mean, I've had like songs /dedicated/ to me, but never actually made for me specifically. What is your middle name? Marie. Like every other white girl known to man. What do you smell like? My house, I guess? Ever hurt yourself playing Wii? I don't believe so. Do you have freckles? Not on my face, but random ones on the rest of my body, yeah. Can you do the alphabet in sign language? No. Do you like your feet? I seriously hate feet. That includes mine. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever had in your mouth? uhhhhhhhhh Has anyone ever threatened you with a knife? No. (If you’re a girl) Has anyone ever called you "shorty" instead of "girl"? Ugh no, thank Christ. Have you ever sent an embarrassing moment of yours into a mag to be printed? No. What IS your most embarrassing moment? I've told it before but now I don't remember it??? What’s the last thing to make you scream? Like a small, quick one, I think a loud noise scared me. I've been extremely sensitive to those lately and idk why??? Do your parents knock before coming in, or just barge on in? My door's never really closed, but when it is, Mom doesn't. Dad does. Do you think you’re more cute or sexy? BOY neither. Do you own any mini skirts? Bitch I wish I could wear mini skirts but I would blind people with my body rn. Do you draw little hearts and stuff with eyeliner next to your eyes? Nah. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever lost? Good question, idk. Has your mom ever lied to you? Yeah. Do you have a deep voice? It's definitely deep for a girl, but it's not like, manly. When’s the last time someone made breakfast for you? I guess the last time I was out for breakfast? Idr. When someone knocks on the door, who do you think it is? A mailman/woman. No one else comes here unexpectedly. Has anyone ever licked your foot? UM NO Do you play games with boys/girls, like "hard to get"? I never did and never will. I'm definitely not easy, but I don't play games. Oh wait, unless we're already a serious couple and I'm sexually being a tease. Hobby. When’s the last time someone told you they were in love with you? Some time back. Is there a Sonic where you live? mmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM- Do you smile with your teeth? Usually. What do you like on your pizza? Pepperoni, jalapenos, sausage... stuff like that. I'm WEAK for meat lovers pizza sobs heavily in wanna-be vegetarian Do you know anyone who lives in Newfoundland? No. How ‘bout Alberta? No. Anyone in Canada at all? Yeah, a friend's ex. She's cool. If you could trade houses with a friend, who would it be? I wouldn't damn anyone with this house, lol. I mean it's not bad, it just has its issues. Are you a good person to come to for advice? It depends on the subject we're talkin' here. Do you sleep naked? No. I'd feel so vulnerable. Favorite place you've been: Through the NC mountains. Which of your Facebook friends lives closest to you? UHHHHHHHHH how do I not know this?? When was the last time you cried? Idr, actually. Who took your profile pic? Where? What’s your favorite season? Autumn. What was the last book you read? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. Fucking read it. Are you a good influence? This also depends on the area of focus. Does pineapple belong on pizza? NO. Sweet and savory do noooot mix in my world.

[hershelsstyles]

Lost in Japan

Part 3 - Harry gives Nina a backstage tour

word count: 2,281

Series masterlist

The city gets dark and after having dinner at a local restaurant, I go back to my hotel. After I check in and get up to my room, the first thing I do is pull my SD card out of my camera and shove it in my laptop.

I look at the amazing images I got from today, I choose my favorite and post it to Instagram. I tag the location and write a small caption.

Less than a few minutes later, the picture has over 2,000 likes, and so many comments saying the same thing.

"Omg Harry's in Tokyo to!! Is that why he followed her?"

I remember how Harry said he would be in Japan soon. My stomach starts to feel bubbly. Why am I feeling nervous?

After chilling, I open my laptop again and decide to read through my emails. It's crazy how when you gain a small following on Instagram the number of random companies email you with all sorts of weird brand deals. Almost all of them are spam, but I come across one email from a personal Gmail account that I don't recognise. I click on it.

From: Jefferyazzof@gmail.com

Hello, you have been invited to Harry Styles live on tour in Tokyo on the 12th of May. Please be at the venue at 7 pm, give your name to the box office to collect your tickets. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Kind Regards

Jeffery Azzof,

Full Stop Management.

This is insane. I immediately check the date as I have basically been jumping time zones throughout the last week, I have no idea what day it is. Today is the 11th of May, that means the concert is tomorrow. My heart is skipping beats, I feel so excited. This is actually crazy, Harry has invited me to his show! How does he know I'm in Tokyo? I know I told him I was going to be in Japan soon, but I never specified dates. My phone buzzes in my lap. Its a notification from Instagram, @harrystyles liked your post. I open the app to see which one he liked, it's not even my latest post, he's looking through my feed.

I don't even have to think about whether I'm going or not, there is no question about it. I don't know if I'm supposed to reply to the email or not. I decide against replying because firstly I would know what to say or not sound desperate. I sit on my bed and try to comprehend what just happened. I think about what I'm going to wear, what is it going to be like? Am I going to see him? Obviously, I'm going to see him perform, but will we get the chance to see each other again?

I decided I should probably listen to his album some more if I'm going to his show. As I'm getting ready for bed I'm singing the words to 'Sweet Creature', his album is actually really good. It so different to One Direction but I find myself starting to really like it. I wonder if it's going to sound different live, what kind of show he will put on. I fall asleep listening to ‘From the Dining Table.’

The next morning when I wake up, I remember the events of last night and my evening plans and my stomach is doing flips. I'm so excited, but nervous. As I hop in the shower and get ready for the day I can't wipe a smile off my face.

Today I was planning on going to the gardens Harry suggested I visited, and since the show is at 7 pm I still have the whole day ahead. After spending the day around Tokyo shooting the whole time, I head back to my hotel around 5 pm so I can get ready.

After I shower, I straighten my hair. I put on a bit of light makeup which consists of a tinted moisturizer, bronzer, a swipe of highlighter on my cheekbones and eyelids, mascara, and lip balm.

I put on my outfit which is a red dress which comes above my knees and has buttons down the front. It light and summery as Tokyo weather is warm, and so is a concert. I decide against any fancy shoes and settle with my old skool black vans, I'm going to need comfort as Ill probably be standing the whole night.

After spending about 20 minutes trying to figure out a route to get to the venue on public transport, I decided to give up and call a taxi. I don't want to risk getting lost and being late. I make my way down to the hotel lobby just as the taxi arrives.

When I get to the venue I'm overwhelmed with how large it is. I quickly spot the box office in the crowds of people and make my way over. Next to me is the merchandise tent with very long lines. I look at the merch being sold as I join the much shorter line for the box office, my eye is caught by the 'Treat People With Kindness' t-shirts, I love that, he's using his platform to spread such a nice message. I really want to get one but the line is so long and I'm already in the line for the box office.

Soon it's my turn to step up to the window. I begin to realise the person working probably doesn't know English, and I don't think my Japanese is good enough to explain why I'm here. My worries soon disappear as when I approach the window she greets me in English.

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hi, um I was told to come here and pick up a ticket for Nina Grey"

"One moment please," she says as she types into her keyboard. I nervously watch her in anticipation, maybe that email was a joke, my email is in the bio of my Instagram, anyone could have sent it.

I start feeling hot, and not because of the warm weather, my nerves are kicking in. She then picks up the phone next to her and starts speaking quickly in Japanese. I can't understand anything she's saying other than when she says my name.

She puts down the phone, I'm fully preparing myself for her to start laughing at me and tell me there no ticket for me.

But she instead smiles at me "I will just print your ticket now, Jeff will be here to take you inside soon"

I recognise the name Jeff, the guy who sent the email. A flood of relief comes over me. The lady hands me my ticket and tells me to wait by the VIP check-in area for Jeff. I thank her as I walk away.

Not long after, a tall man in his early thirties walks over to me, he reaches out his hand to shake mine. "Hi, you must be Nina, I'm Jeff, Jeffery Azzof. I'm Harry's manager, the guy who sent you the email."

I shake his hand, "Hi yes I'm Nina, nice to meet you."

"Well, we better get you inside, ah and before I forget you will need this." He hands me a lanyard with backstage written on it.

"Follow me." He says.

"I really wasn't expecting this, thank you"

"No problem, now I'm just warning you, backstage can be pretty chaotic, so try not to get in the way, everything needs to run smoothly." I nod while we keep walking.

I can tell Jeff is good at his job, his tone wasn't rude or mean, just simply being honest, which I appreciate.

We pass a security guard as we enter through a large door, Jeff waves and smiles. The security guard doesn't say a thing. Jeff was right about backstage being chaotic, there is staff running around, people chatting, eating, and getting ready.

Jeff takes me to the main area where there's a food and drinks table, there's also couches and tables all around, and a ping pong table in the middle of the room. The table has the same words written on it as the merch, 'Treat People With Kindness'.

There are two people that are playing a seemingly serious game of ping pong. One of them looks to be a sound engineer as he's wearing all black and has earpieces, walkie-talkies, and many wires sticking out of his pockets. He hits the ball to the other person playing with him. It's Harry. He's wearing sweatpants, black vans, and a white t-shirt which I recognise, it's his own merch.

I stand and watch the game with Jeff, "Harry is very serious about his ping-pong" He says.

When Harry goes to hit the ball he looks up at me and smiles. He completely misses the ball and it bounces off the table onto the ground and under a couch. The sound guy throws his hands up in the air.

"I finally won! I bet the unbeatable Harry Styles!" Harry doesn't seem to care very much as he puts down his bat and walks over to me.

"Nina, how lovely it is to see you again!" He says going in for a hug. "Thank you for inviting me"

"No problem, I figured since you're here and all you might as well come! I didn't think you would to be honest, we have only met once."

"Of course I was going to come, who would say no to a free show?" I say laughing, he laughs too.

"No seriously, I had nothing else better to do, and I listened to some of your stuff and it's actually pretty good"

"Thank you, that means a lot. You look incredible by the way, red is defiantly your colour." I feel my cheeks starting to blush, and before I can say anything back he grabs me by the hand. "Okay let me show you around"

He first takes me to some dressing rooms, there is a hairdresser styling a guys hair sitting in a chair.

"Nina, this is Ayae our hairstylist, and Adam my guitarist getting his hair styled, because he defiantly needs it," he says jokingly.

"Adam, Ayae, this is Nina."

"Hi, nice to meet you guys"

"So this is the girl you met in business class while the rest of us were sitting in coach?" Adam says in a thick British accent.

"Yes actually it is, and I offered to upgrade you guys, but you all said no"

"Well, we will see you guys later, better get on with this backstage tour." Harry says as he walks out the door, I wave goodbye. The door to the next room is shut, as Harry knocks, I read the sign above it which reads 'Wardrobe'.

"Its always good to knock, I've definitely walked in on more people changing than I would have liked to," He says laughing.

"Come in!" An American voice yells out. Harry opens the door and there are two people standing there looking very suspicious.

"You guys were definitely making out weren't you?" Harry asks. "Definitely not!" the woman exclaims too overprotectedly.

"This is Mitch and Sarah. Mitch is my best friend and guitarist, and Sarah plays the drums, very well might I add." They both acknowledge me by nodding their heads.

"Hi, I'm Nina"

"So this is wardrobe where we keep all our clothes" Harry says as he runs his hand over all the clothing on the racks. "Okay we better be moving on" Harry says as he walks out of the room.

I'm shown around more places, and basically introduced to every person we see. Helene his photographer, Claire his pianist, and many more people I can't remember the names of.

He looks at his watch, "I'm going to have to go and get ready for the show soon, but I want to show you one more thing." He says excitedly.

I follow him as we wind down more hallways, through more doors, and the further we go the louder it gets.

"Warpaint the opening act is on now, but you have to see the crowd from here," he says as he runs up the metal stairs leading to the side of the stage.

I look out at the crowd, "Woah, this is insane" I say. The whole arena is filled. "Don't you feel nervous?" I ask "All these people have come to see you"

"I don't really get nervous anymore, only when there are people in the crowd I know, like you." He says, I smile and laugh, this is so crazy.

"Well we better go back now, I'm due on stage soon, this is their last song."

When we get back to the main backstage area, Harry goes up to Jeff and puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Make sure Nina gets to her seat alright"

"Sure thing" he says then gets distracted by his phone ringing. "Sorry gotta take this" he says walking away.

"Well Jeff is going to kill me if we get behind schedule, so I better be off to get ready. Thank you for coming tonight, I know its kind of odd I just met you, but I really wanted you to be here."

"No thank you for inviting me, that was really nice of you."

"Enjoy the show, see you after?"

"Sure, good luck Harry," I say smiling as he walks off down the hallway.

Jeff walks over to me and puts away his phone. "Okay should I take you to your seat now?"

"That would be great, thank you," I say as Jeff gestures me to follow him out the way he showed me in.

Part 4

[royalromancefanfic]

Chapter 7

Harry’s POV

“Over here!” “Prince Harry!” “Prince Harry!” “I love you!!” I heard shrieks and cries in many different directions (some in English, others in unfamiliar tongues -- South Asian languages I presumed), as I made my way through the crowd that had gathered once myself, my private secretary, Edward and POs exited our car.  

People had come from far and wide to see me open a new primary school at Banganga -- a village just on the outskirts of Mumbai. It was a place where red sandy dirt roads rolled on for miles and entrepreneurial women sold freshly caught fish, spices, local fruit and vegetables from baskets along the roadsides, and barefoot children played with tires, footballs, bottles and whatever else they could make a game out of. The best part of it all was how they played without a care in the world and better yet, with the biggest smiles on their faces. From my experience, the people were kind and humble. It was a place that was colourful, bold, bustling and seemed like a real community. I had tried my hardest to stop when I could to shake hands and wave at the women, men and children who’d come out in the blistering 30 degree heat. I was thankful that they’d invited me to their village and welcomed me (and unfortunately the annoying media) with open arms.

Four days into the tour, Gran and Grandpa were having a ‘rest day’ whilst I ventured out on an engagement to unveil the opening of the school. The school was run by a small local charity that aims to lift children out of poverty through education. Gran’s office were keen on me coming on as a patron, but I wanted to come out and see the charity first. Sentable, my commitments in the UK as well as my other global projects did take up most of my time. I was happy to show some support and come out to unveil the new primary school though. 

Arjun Kapoor, the founder and Head of Outreach for the charity was giving us a tour of the grounds before the ribbon cutting ceremony. He introduced himself before continuing on. “Pleased to meet you royal highness,” He bowed on first sighting and reached out to greet me.

“You too,” I shook his hand. “You can just call me Harry. It’s a pleasure to be here. Thank you for inviting us down.” I took off my sunglasses and allowed them to balance on the top of my head, squinting at the sun, before introducing Arjun to Edward and the rest of the group. 

Arjun introduced me to various members of staff, as we walked around the site. The school had several large classrooms (enough to house years 3, 4 and 5), a canteen, medical room and large outdoor gardens. They had planted trees in the back and had beds of soil ready for the first round of students to start planting smaller plants as part of school projects. After a quick 30-minute tour we had made it full-circle and I was ushered forward to say a few words before the ribbon cutting. Local press had surrounded us and there were a few international news wires that were hoping to get some photos. I recognised a few faces, as it always tended to be the same people covering the Royal beat. I made a quick speech and then we’d been invited by Arjun to play a round of footy with a group of kids who would start attending the school the following week. 

It was meant to be 5-a-side, but due to the large amounts of people there it just became a random kick-about. And at one point I had four kids tackling me at one time. I found it amusing when someone’s five-year-old girl came onto our makeshift pitch only to just grab the ball and curl into it. She’d decided the ball was a giant lollypop and decided on licking it until some of the kids and I playfully tickled her off.  We found out her name was Nisha. We played peak-a-boo until Nisha got tired and lay on the floor giggled out. The kids had absolutely made my day. I had a fantastic time and was happy that I’d made the effort to come out. By the time we’d finished and got back into the car I was covered in red dust. Although I knew I wasn’t going to become a patron, I knew I’d have a special place in my heart for the school. 

We had a long ride back to our hotel, so I took it as time to tend to my phone. “Did you see that adorable little kid grab the ball?” I laughed as I sorted through some photos on my phone. Josh had taken a few snaps, as I’d asked him to. I wanted to keep some photos for my own memories. 

“I did. You did very well to pry her off,” Ed laughed. “She certainly stole the show with onlookers.” Ed tilted his phone to me and showed me a video that had been uploaded onto Twitter by someone. It was already starting to go viral. “They love Nisha online.”

“Ha! Good!” I laughed and then turned back to my phone. “Those kids were precious.” I was happy that the focus was on Nisha and the rest of the children, rather than on me.

In the last two days there had been rumours about me dating a mystery woman swirling about in the tabloids. It was worrying to me how close the descriptions matched that of Leonie’s profile. Somehow they’d been told my mystery woman was tall, tanned and brown-haired. For some reason the press had wrongly picked this up as her being a tanned American brunette. 

The press were now very much playing a game of ‘Guess Who’. Trying to pair me with any brunette I’d ever spoken to in my life. It was almost like whoever talked to the press knew Leonie and I or had seen us together. My POs Josh and Scott were the only ones that had seen Leonie and I together, but they knew better than to go to the press. I’d also made them swear to not tell anyone, not even Ed. I hadn’t told anyone that we’d been dating and even denied the rumours when asked outright by those close to me. “Anymore rumours going round?” I asked Ed as I tried to play casual.

“No real updates,” He looked up from his phone then across at me. “I mean they’re just rumours after all right?” I could see him watching me from the corner of my eye. I continued looking down at my phone scrolling through photos -- avoiding his gaze. “It doesn’t matter unless you actually are seeing someone... because then those rumours may actually affect them.”

Scott coughed, making me draw my eyes up to him in the front seat. It was his way of trying to get me to be honest with Ed. “Might want to get something for that nasty cough, Scott.” I said as I looked at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry, Harry. Just had something in my throat.” His eyes fell and he went back to looking straight ahead. “Apologies.”

“I don’t know what you’re up to Harry.” Ed started sternly. “But I have a feeling you are seeing someone.” He began pointing his phone at me. 

“What? Women’s intuition?” I scoffed teasing him. “You sound like a scorned lover. I’m not seeing anyone Ed.” I wanted to protect the beginnings of what I had with Leonie and I felt like I had to keep people out of it if there was ever any chance of it lasting. In the past I’d been so naive and complacent when dating. Chelsy was splashed all over the papers within a week of knowing her and Cressida was the same too -- only because I tried to use her to make Chelsy jealous. I was hoping to keep Leonie to myself for a while. I had to deny everything to Ed.

“Okay. Then maybe you’re messing around with someone on a frequent basis.” He tried to rephrase himself. “Chilling? Is that what you young people call it nowadays?” He rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, if there is someone... you have to let me know. Not only does she affect your reputation, but you affect hers too.”

I thought about that for a while and agreed with Ed. But I still wasn’t ready. “What time’s dinner?” I quickly changed the subject. 

Ed just shook his head, before reeling off our plans for the rest of the day. Deep down he knew I was dating someone, but he couldn’t quite prove it. Yet.

Leonie’s POV

“Ooo I’ve got a good one,” Jessica (our Fashion Editor’s EA) started, as she cupped her mug of tea. She frequently came over for a natter with my EA Aster. “Who’d you rather? Tom Hardy or David Beckham?”

Aster was so into their conversation that she hadn’t noticed me walking towards my office. Her desk was stationed just outside of my office. “Easy. Tom Hardy any day.” She inhaled drawing in air. “That guy is so beautifully rough and ragged.” She fanned herself. “His wife is one lucky woman.”

I cleared my throat slightly to draw their attention. Aster jumped up and Jessica stood wide-eyed. She jumped away from Aster’s laptop screen and stood up straight, as she smoothed down her black dress. “Oh I’m so sorry, Leonie. Jess and I were just yammering on about our celeb crushes. Did you need something? Anything I can help with?”

Aster had on the cutest houndstooth skirt and white shirt on today. She’d left her medium length auburn hair to sit perfectly just above her shoulders. Not only was she sharp with her fashion game, but also she happened to be the loveliest, most organised EA. She made sure my diary was never too packed and also had worked at British Vogue as soon as she’d left school, so could tell me all the ins and outs of the business. She was my Executive Assistant and also when it came to work -- my secret weapon.

“That’s fine,” I chuckled lightly at her. “Just wanted to check to see if my meeting with Verity is in her office? I know we had to rearrange a couple of times.”

Aster quickly minimised the gossip website on her screen that Jessica and her were drooling over and clicked onto my calendar. She gave it a moment and then nodded. “Yes,” She smiled at me. “It’s in her office in 13 minutes exactly.” She pointed to a small box on her desk. “Also, that box came for you. It was delivered by a courier to the post room.”

“Hmm...” I hadn’t ordered anything and I wasn’t expect anything either.  

“Want me to put it in ‘the pile’?” Aster asked. Everyone at British Vogue had a pile of random things that were sent to them. Our legal team had a never-ending, difficult job of trying to figure out if most of the gifts breached our anti-bribery rule. 

“Nah, I’ll take it.” It had been scanned by security in the post room, so it couldn’t have been anything too crazy. “Thank you.” I went back into my office, but kept the door open. I normally kept the door open, unless I was having a private conversation/on a private call. 

I continued to hear Jessica and Aster chatting about the latest news on gossip sites.

I opened the gift box slowly and inside was a white card and what looked to be luxury Indian sweets. The card read: Wish you were here

I smiled at the thought of how he was still thinking of me. I managed to catch the news that morning, which showed footage of the Queen, Duke of Edinburgh and Harry at a Hindu temple.

“Corrrr look at Prince Harry in that tight shirt. Someone’s been working out.” Jessica said. My ears immediately picked up when I heard his name and my eyes darted over to her and Aster. They were still on a tabloid website. I quickly tossed the note back in the box and closed it. 

“What’s he in India now?” Aster then proceeded to read the headline of the article about him out loud. Aster smiled. “Now he’s a good one. Who’d you rather? Prince Harry or Prince William?”

“Harry... definitely Harry,” Jessica said dreamily. “He’s the hottest royal and still has his hair. Plus I tend to fancy a bit of a bad boy.”

“Is he still with Chelsy or is it Cressida?” Aster asked. “Ooo they were spotted at that party weren’t they? But then there’s these new rumours about a brunette!” She went on excitedly. One thing Aster did love was a gossip. I listened more intently. 

“Ohhh yeah,” Jessica nodded. 

“Means I might have a chance.” Aster flipped her naturally red hair. “Soon he’ll be coming home to us redheads.”

“I heard he’s really dating someone new. They’re not just rumours.” Jessica started off loud and then settled into a lower range. It was almost like she had just remembered she was at work. I leaned forward in my seat and then stopped myself and decided to use my laptop as my prop. I clicked on random things aimlessly as I listened in. “My best friend’s cousin, Katya, is dating of those van Straubenzee brothers. She’s said Cressida is real old news. No one in their group likes her, only Princess Eugenie.”

Aster gasped. “Hmmm she seems the type no one would like.”

Jessica continued. “Chelsy is the only one Harry actually really loved, but she’s sleeping with some tennis instructor. And Harry’s apparently dating someone knew. She’s foreign... American or something. Real tall, tanned and brunette.”

Jessica and Aster were so into their conversation. The aristo’ circle in London was so small and well connected that there was no wonder Jessica’s contact knew Van/Charlie. I just hoped the news about Harry dating someone would stop spreading. The press had picked up on it in the last few days. Their profile/description was wrong, but it wasn’t too far from me. Unknowingly of my background, I could have been classed as ‘tanned’ and my hair was dark brown (although I was not a brunette) and I was seemingly ‘foreign’ (although not an American). The thought of the media finding out who I was made me nervous. I stopped listening in on Jessica and Aster.

I picked up my phone and casually went through my Instagram feed to distract myself. I began scrolling and ‘liked’ most photos. I then saw Jas had posted. She was in New York for a few days, before she had to fly to Toronto. I commented on the picture ‘Miss you lady!’. I continued scrolling and saw Papa’s Instagram feed. I tried to get him off Instagram a while ago, but for some reason the French Embassy thought it was great that he had a ‘human face’ with a personal account. There was a photo of Pa and Prince Charles mid-conversation sharing a glass of whisky in my parents front room. Their front room! 

My heart dropped.

What. The. F*ck. What the actual f*ck?!

I glanced at the photo again to see if there was a caption. There was no caption, but everyone knew it was Prince Charles in the photo. It was freaking Prince Charles!

“Leonie --” Aster’s voice snapped me out of my haze. “You’re going to be late.”

“Sorry,” I looked up at her annoyed at having been interrupted. 

“Your meeting with Verity.” She reminded me. 

I snapped out of it instantly. “Yes, Verity,” I quickly got up from my seat. I grabbed my notepad and pen from my desk. “Thanks, Aster.” I then made my way to the meeting. 

What Pa was doing having Prince Charles at the house. I did not know. But I had to find out what was going on and why they’d become friends all of a sudden. Did he know something I hadn’t? Did Harry let him know we were dating? Did Harry know they were having regular rendezvous?

[peter-parkouuuur]

Spider-Boy (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

Note: This is my first Spiderman fanfic, so I apologize if it’s a bit off… Also, please note that the prologue contains the female character’s life background which will help you a lot in the chapters to come. Enjoy. Xx

(P.S. Just imagine yourself as if you’re French, because that’s kinda how I made the character in the first place; my apologies.

The original story is on wattpad and it’s a Tom Holland fanfic not Spiderman, but I really want to make one in MCU’s point of view.

P.P.S. Peter is 16 in this fic.)

CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5, CHAPTER 6, CHAPTER 7, CHAPTER 8, CHAPTER 9, CHAPTER 10, CHAPTER 11, CHAPTER 12, CHAPTER 13

(credits to the owner)

PROLOGUE

“Y/N Stark, French-American Socialite and the heiress of Stark Industries is expected to attend the Bal des Débutantes coming November. Stark is the second child of divorced-couple CEO Tony Stork and French socialite and fashion designer Denise Martin-Blanchard. The second-born Stark is currently spending her holiday in the French capital and will return to Spence for her second year in High School at the prestigious all-girl institution next week.” - The Daily French

Y/N turns off the television after soon realizing that you are recognized again by the French media after spending all your time in the United States studying at Spence since she could learn how to count.

“Looks like I’m going back to New York a bit early.” you smile at the screen that is now staring right in front of you, your reflection seen clearly on the blank screen.

You stand up from your uncomfortable position on the sofa to gape at your view of Paris. The city that you have by the finger with the view of the French capital in your mom’s estate located in the prestigious 16th District.

“Miss Y/n, your dad has been calling you non-stop. I’ve told him that you’re not interested but he insists on talking to you.” Helena, your trusted 50-year-old British helper barges in.

“Ah yes! I applied for an internship at my dad’s company. Hand me the phone.” Y/n gushes.

Helena, at first a bit hesitant, gives the phone to you whom you then signal to walk away.

“This is Y/n..” She begins.

“Hello my little princess, haven’t heard from you since you left for summer. It has come to my attention that you’re applying for an internship here.” Tony greets.

“Bonjour papa.. Yes, I am applying. I trust that your judgment is clouded by the fact that I’m your daughter.” you reply, slightly off.

“Now I know you’re my daughter and everything, but honey, why Stark Industries? I’m sure your mom would love it if you worked for her this summer, rather than doing an internship for me in New York. I’m sure applying for an internship in your dad’s company is a good opportunity, however, the slots are given to those who are in need and are truly enthusiastic about the beauty of Stark Industries and of course, SHIELD.” Tony reasons out.

“Dad, I know you and mom have a shared custody of me and my siblings and that we get to study there in the States and live with you and live with mom in France for the summer but, I think this would be the perfect opportunity for me to grow. I’m top of my class at Spence and I know Nicholas is going to inherit your company, but at least give me a chance to prove myself. I can do it, you know that. I can balance Spence and the internship. Plus everyone knows that I’m the Stark junior. If there’s anyone who can compete with your tenacity, it’s me and you know that as well. ” Y/n reasons out.

“Well, it looks like I got an answer from you already. Congratulations Ms. Y/n Stark. We hope to see you next week for your internship. Spence comes first before your internship though, alright? Also, don’t forget to bring me one of Helena’s God-sent cookies.” Tony reminds her.

“Thank you so much, Dad! I’ll tell Helena to bake a batch the moment we arrive in New York.” Y/n tells her dad.

“Alright. Au revoir” Tony ends the call, imitating the French accent.

“Bye!” You hang up the phone and throw the phone on the couch.

You squeal in excitement and calls the family pilot who is on speed dial.

“Miss Y/n?” Andrew picks up the phone.

“Andrew, I’m leaving for New York on Saturday. Mark your calendar.” You state and quickly hangs up.

You grab the rose gold bell located at the coffee table to signal Helena.

“Yes, miss Y/n?” Helena inquires.

“Can you grab my laptop from my room? I have to do some research.” She smiles at her helper who nods before walking away.

She scrolls through her phone to see the viral video of the New York-based hero, Spiderman.

Helena hands her the laptop and does her research. She scrolls through google and does not miss the different articles stating that the hero is rumored to be joining the Avengers.

“Sorry to intrude miss Y/n, but was it good news?” Helena peers at the laptop screen.

“As a matter of fact, yes Helena. It is good news. Very good.” You smile at your laptop screen smiling at the image of the new Spiderman.

‘Okay, so he looks kinda cool. I wonder how I’m going to meet this Spiderboy fellow…’ You thought to yourself.

“Very good news, indeed.” Y/n sighs.

“Hi mom! I just landed in JFK.” you tell my mom who is in Fiji along with her 2nd husband, Theo and your two siblings; your older brother Nicholas and your little sister Eloise.

“That’s good. How was the flight? It wasn’t too bumpy or anything? No turbulence of some sort? Did Helena pack everything you need?” Your mom asks without any pause.

“It was fine mom! Don’t worry, I’m fine. Helena is fine, she packed everything I need, she is expected to come with me everywhere I go, right? We’ll be fine, She’ll help me with everything.” you reassure her.

Happy opens the car for you as you slide in, Helena following suit.

“What?! Darling, you’re turning 16 this year. You don’t need Helena to do your chores and tasks for you.” Mom protests.

“Actually, mon père is pretty fine with it.” you reply.

The car pulls into the JFK road leading to New York.

“Well, ton père is often wrong. You need to do things on your own now, mon chéri.” She scolds you.

It is kind of ironic that you’re half-French but can barely talk in French. In your almost 16 years of existence, You’ve lived in New York longer than you have ever lived in Paris. Your mom never even talks to you in French, her English comes to her naturally; probably because she studied in Columbia and met your dad in New York after graduation but you still don’t understand why she never taught you and your siblings, French, You could’ve killed those prep schoolboys from New York with your French and lure them into making Y/n Stark the real-life Blair Waldorf.

“Mom, don’t be ridiculous. I can barely help myself when it comes to dad’s demands, he knows that and actually suggested that I bring Helena with me. Why are we even fighting about this? Please let Helena stay with me? I promise to keep her safe.” you joke.

You look outside the window to see cars in all shapes and sizes, your dad’s tower however, stands out from the rest.

“Ha ha. Fine. Gotta go, Eloise is asking me to make sandcastles with her. Au revoir mon amour.” My mom hangs up.

“Can we stop by McDonald’s? I need my chicken nugget fix.” you tell Happy, your stomach, grumbling with anxiousness.

“Whatever Miss Stark wants, she gets.” Happy replies.

‘Good answer.’ You think to yourself.

[themadcaitlin]

Hawaii 5-0 Pilot- Hou

Heyy guys!! So this has been sat on my laptop for ages and I wanted to share it with the world. This is probably going to be five parts just for the pilot because it is 22, 341 words. The main plot follows the show but some sub plots and Joey is mine. I am such a sucker for Hawaii 5-0. This is more of a teaser for the rest of it but I hope you guys will enjoy it!!

Words: 2271.

Fandom: Hawaii 5-0.

Pohang, South Korea:

“Commander McGarrett has the prisoner secure. Over.” 

The voice through the com crackled as the armoured vehicle made its way over numerous bumps and dusty roads. The four men -including the aforementioned prisoner- jostled around the small space as the driver took another sharp turn to avoid what was most likely a large boulder. The dirt roads did not have many obstacles but the ones where they did, the obstacles were hard enough and large enough to stop a vehicle like the one McGarrett and his team were in.

The tallest and best armed of the group –McGarrett- kept his eyes forward on the prisoner, his hands tight around his machine gun. The prisoner smirked around the blood in his beard and pulled at the rope around his wrists. McGarrett kicked him the shin, a sign for the prisoner to stop moving, which he did but opened his mouth instead, “You know it’s funny,” McGarrett narrowed his eyes and pointed the gun at the Scottish prisoner’s face. “You don’t look Hawaiian.” 

McGarrett let out a laugh along with his team and gave the prisoner his own smirk.

“You’re going to tell us everything,” was the Commander’s reply.

“But you were born there, weren’t you?” The prisoner refused to be quiet or at least, refused to give them any helpful information.

McGarrett persisted, “Every terrorist that you and Victor helped arm, every supplier you worked with,” he took a breath, “all your trafficking associates and anyone you’ve ever sold weapons to.” The prisoner did not look fazed, his eyes held boredom and his hands relaxed in their bindings. His smirk never left his face, not even when the Commander’s stern expression fell back into place.

“Chasing me and my brother around the world for five years, you’re like a little doggy looking for a bone; did you not think we would do our homework on you? Or even on your friends across the world?” 

McGarrett’s eyes widened and automatically reached for his phone hidden in one of the five pockets he had in his camo-trousers. He found it quickly and typed in a familiar number, the air caught in his throat in anticipation. After only three rings an English voice answered his call which allowed his breath to return and his heart-rate returned to normal.

“Joey are you-?”

“You absolute ass! Do you think it’s funny, stealing my client? Huh? He is under England’s custody and last time I checked, you were not English! I have the British Army on my ass because you meddled!!”

Joey was fine, in the physical sense at least, but despite her obvious anger, the Commander could not stifle the smile that threatened his cheeks. Yet, that smile faded when he heard his team’s laughter; Joey’s voice must have been loud enough for them to hear which didn’t surprise him. The Commander’s eyes squeezed shut and he raised one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck. His apology was on the tip of his tongue but two short beeps in his ear told him that another call pended. Therefore, instead of apologising he told her, “I’ll make it up to you later,” hung up, checked the caller I.D and allowed the other call to follow through.

“Dad,” McGarrett’s greeting sounded like an accusation.

“Hey Champ.” 

Champ? His father had never called him ‘Champ’. McGarrett and the prisoner exchanged a glare before he enquired as to his father’s health. 

“Who are these people Steve?” McGarrett heard the waver in his father’s voice and he felt his chest clench. Victor had his father and he had Victor’s brother, he easily predicted what the next few minutes entailed.

There were muffled scratching sounds before a deep, Scottish voice started to speak to him, “I now know where you get it from, you’ve got a tough old man here, Steve. Now, I’m willing to offer you a trade: my brother, for your father. All things considered, I think it is fair, don’t you?” As Victor tried to bargain with Steve, the Commander scribbled on a small notepad, the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. The note read:

Send Honolulu P.D to my father’s house ASAP.

He handed it to the man next to him and received a nod in return. Then the man proceeded to fish for his phone whilst Steve returned his attention to his own.

“You’re smart enough to know that’s not going to happen.”

“I appreciate the compliment.” Victor sounded desperate and vexed. Steve practically saw the veins pop out of his neck and the perspiration that dampened his shirt.

“You know the drill, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Oh, are we negotiating?” Steve sighed, it was bad enough he had to deal with one sassy Brit that day, he did not want to deal with another.

With his brow furrowed, Steve leant forward in his seat and informed Victor that he ‘gets nothing’. On the other end of the line he could hear his father’s pleas for the Scotsman to give him the phone, which Steve deeply hoped he would. Yet, it sounded like his father was trying to negotiate with Victor which Steve made a mental note to reprimand him for. Huh, he never thought he had to ‘reprimand’ his father for anything. Throughout his entire life, his father had taught him the difference between good and bad and last time Steve checked, negotiating with terrorists was on the ‘bad’ side of things.

“Listen to me Champ,” Steve’s brow furrowed deeper, there it was again, “I’m sorry that I lied to you,” cue Steve’s deeper confusion, “I love you son and I didn’t say it enough.” The Commander knew exactly where that conversation was going but every attempt he used to dissuade his father from talking failed. “Whatever these people want Steve… Don’t give it to them.”

There was a thud on the other end of the receiver and Steve called for his dad not once, not twice but three times before Victor’s furious voice exploded through the mic, “Enough games!”

“Hey,” Steve’s attention was turned away from his phone and Victor to his brother, “boom.”

He barely had time to look confused before the armoured truck that lead the way flipped over and burst into flames. The cause of said explosion came from the roaring helicopter that decided to join the party. Bullets rained down on them as the vehicles stopped and the soldiers and officers used their own bullets against the attack. The helicopter took a few hits but after a few minutes it flew off in the direction it came without warning. However, they did leave three packages for Steve and his men to clean up, three dangerous and armed packages that had the same accents as Victor and his brother.  

Steve sent a couple of hand signals at his men which they understood and continued to fire, that gave Steve his chance to move the prisoner to a safer place. If the prisoner died, not only did his father but Joey would have his head on a silver plate if he did not return him and he did not fancy dying that day. Thus, Steve shot at any man that tried to shoot at him and protected the prisoner with his own body. He heard his men dying, their grunts of pain echoed in his head but he pushed himself to keep moving, to keep them both moving.

Then, it all happened so fast, one minute the prisoner was in his grasp, safe from harm and the next minute he had run for a gun, pointed it at Steve and had been shot. By Steve. Once realisation hit the Commander, the only option for him was to curse and try to save the prisoner. He had to applaud himself, he was a good shot but it was unfortunate that he wasn’t as good of a medic as he was a gunman. Yet, all he could think about was how Joey was going to murder him in his sleep if he did not save his –her- prisoner.

“C’mon Anton!” It was too late, the prisoner could no longer hear him and his pale eyes had glazed over. Steve did not have long to process that fact because his phone vibrated in his pocket milliseconds later. With hesitant hands and desperation on his face, he answered.

“Put Anton on the phone,” With a glance at the body, Steve remained silent. “My brother’s dead, isn’t he? Isn’t he?!” It was silent on both ends and Steve double checked his phone to make sure they had not lost connection. “Then so is your father.” Horror overtook Steve’s features and he called out to his father once again. As soon as the word ‘dad’ left his lips, the trigger had been pulled and the shot sounded through the receiver.

***

Frustration, was the key emotion Joey felt, there were other emotions such as anger, agitation and exhaustion but her frustration was overwhelming. There she stood, her hands clasped behind her back and her chin forward, legs shoulder width apart and dressed in her best suit but she couldn’t help the look of impatience that crossed her features as she stared at the old man, the old man who enjoyed being focused on his cigarette instead of talking to her.  His beard was trimmed immaculately and he was dressed in an emmaculate uniform and on his chest gleamed numerous medals and badges whereas hers shone with her ID badge. His entire posture screamed superiority whereas she was sure hers screamed ‘stubborn teenager’.

“Why am I here Major?” She ground out through clenched teeth.

“Miss Robertson, you are a brilliant lawyer and can rival my men in the field, so we need you to clean up the mess you have dropped on our door. You will be going to Hawaii to retrieve Steve McGarrett and bring him back here for questioning.”

Joey took a deep breath and reminded herself that he was her superior and helped pay her; ‘Don’t say anything Joey, don’t be a smart-ass,’ she thought as she squeezed her eyes shut. Still, it was strange that they would send her to American soil just to retrieve a single man and not the men whose jobs actually entailed retrieval. She knew the regiment only had to make a call and the problem would practically be resolved. Unfortunately for her, the Major had it out for her.

Once she re-opened her eyes she spoke, “with all due respect Major, Commander McGarrett is not a part of our Military nor is he a threat to you in any way so that is not your call to make.“ She mentally reprimanded herself as her eyes locked with the man’s over the desk; as irritated at the man’s demands as she was, she knew better than to break form in front of an officer. She wasn’t technically a member of the British Army but she was under their pay as she was hired to be their lawyer due to her lack of a losing streak. Therefore, she was given the title of Legal Officer but stayed away from the field which gave her time to be trained by the Officers when she wasn’t saving their asses in court.

The older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; frustration was written all over his face which did nothing to calm her urge to storm out and never speak to him again like a petulant child. Once he released his nose he pushed a beige folder across the desk. She eyed the Major with caution before breaking her stance and reaching for the folder. Printed on the front was her name and file code: Joey D. Robertson MS09217. They only gave out personal files when the task was urgent and the receiver needed a reminder of their place in the Army. She grimaced and tucked the folder under her arm. She hated her file, it reminded her of how much her bosses knew about her, how vulnerable she was to their scrutiny and disapproval. Her ‘Military’ career was what she took pride in and the knowledge that she had let Steve slip under her radar because he was a friend made her sick.

“These orders were sent from Colonel Moulton, Robertson. I was simply told to deliver them.” She knew he enjoyed delivering those orders just as much as she hated receiving it. However, she nodded and was about to walk out when his voice stopped her, “The flight is at 7:35 pm tomorrow, do not be late.” She looked over her shoulder and smirked, a plan already formed in her mind. They wanted her to clean up the mess, then that was what she intended to do.

The smirk stayed in place but she didn’t notice. Only when she glimpsed her reflection in her bathroom mirror did she drop the smirk from her face. Her pale eyes behind the black rimmed glasses matched the badge clipped to her chest which reminded her to change into something more suitable for civilian travel: black jeans with a few faded marks and tears due to their age, a red muscle-tee which had surprisingly remained in good condition, leather vest and combat boots which both smelt like new leather despite their worn out states. Lastly, she gripped the elastic in her hair and pulled, her dark locks fell past her shoulders and added to her intimidating look.

She flicked the light switch before she grabbed her duffel bags and locked the door. ‘Hawaii, here I come.’  

Please do not reblog unless it’s directly from me!! Please do not use my works without crediting and tagging me. Thank you!!

[litniche]

Love Will Find a Way

Dani x Jamie fluff Read on ao3

"Pardon, let me see if I’m following you. You’re American, but a resident of England.”

 “Yes.”

 “And your fiancée is English, but a resident of America.”

 “Yes, she’s English, but she lives in America.”

 “And you’re having a Catholic wedding.”

 “Yes.”

 “In France.”

 “Yes, we have friends there.”

 “That’s fine. It’s a French parish matter, then; they take care of the paperwork. Did you discuss it with your priest in France?”

 “My parish is in England, because I am a resident here. Anyway yes, we have permission to have the ceremony in France. We still need the bishop’s permission for the marriage, but that should arrive soon.”

 “Bien, then all we need is a certificate that says your fiancée has never been married before. Then we can process the documents.”

 “See, that’s why I called. America doesn’t really have that certificate.”

 “Did you check with the American embassy in England?”

 “Yeah. They say they have nothing to do with this.”

 “Mmm…I’m afraid I have no idea then.”

 **

The lady at the French embassy had been no help. Just like the British embassy in America and the American embassy in both England and France. “I don't know what to do, Jamie. Why don’t we just wait? I’ll be in the states again soon, and we can get married then.” Dani had called Jamie with clear panic in her voice. She was on the edge of an attack all morning, but had waited a few hours to call her fiancée so that it wouldn’t be too early in the morning for her.

 “I don’t fancy waiting to marry you, Poppins,” Jamie’s groggy Northern accent replied over the phone. “I quite like the idea of you being my wife as soon as possible.”

 “But this isn’t going to work,” Dani said. She shook her head as she held the phone to her ear, looking up to see which bus stop she was nearing next.

 “Dani, when you asked me to marry you, what kind of wedding did you picture?”

 “The one we’re planning.”

 “I reckon we should carry on then. We’ll sort out the paperwork.”

 Dani sighed, knowing Jamie was right. Somehow they’d work it all out. “‘Carry on.’ On a scale of zero to British, that was very British of you.”

 Jamie laughed; it was that perfect, giggly laugh that Dani had only ever heard herself elicit from the gardener. “I have to keep it up whilst on American soil.”

 “‘Whilst’ - also very British.”

 “You like it,” Jamie said, her tone dropping and her voice lowering to a seductive almost-whisper.

 Dani was silent, stunned by the overtly flirtatious remark. It still shocked her sometimes that Jamie was just as in love with her as she was in love with Jamie, and that she wanted Dani just like Dani wanted her.

 Dani cleared her throat. “Oh. Yeah,” she finally managed. “I do.”

The blonde could practically hear the grin in Jamie’s voice. “You’re blushing. I can tell.”

 “Am not,” Dani said and bit her lip. Of course she was blushing.

 With another laugh, the gardener gave her a happy sigh. “The date is set, Poppins. Invites sent. We’ll have our fairy-tale wedding before you know it. I, for one, can’t wait.”

 “I can’t wait either,” Dani said. An older woman was sitting across from her on the bus, looking at her with a knowing smile. Apparently, she was being obvious. “Does it have to be Catholic, though? I know we both love the venue that Owen found, but-”

“And miss out on a compulsory two-day course on family values at a French nunnery? Not a chance, Poppins.”

 With a roll of her eyes, Dani let herself relax against her seat and grinned at her fiancée’s antics. “I still think it’s funny that they have separate floors for the sleeping quarters for men and women in order to keep the couples apart. They didn’t think of us when they made those rules, did they?”

 “Pretty sure that’s why the Church refused to let us marry for so long. Not enough rooms to keep our chastity intact.”

Dani chuckled. “You know, I think you’re right.” She stood as the bus slowed to her stop. She waved at the driver in thanks and stepped into the gentle rain, lifting her briefcase to cover her head. “I’m almost home. Can we video chat?”

 “Absolutely. I have a few hours until the shop opens.”

 “Sorry,” Dani winced. “I waited as long as I could.”

 “Don’t be,” Jamie said. “It’s about the time I normally wake up anyway. Besides, it just means you get to see me in my pajamas.”

 “You don’t wear pajamas,” Dani grinned as she felt herself flush. She arrived at her flat and fumbled with the keys in her rush to get inside.

 “Hmmm, that’s right,” Jamie teased. “S’pose I’ll get dressed then.”

 “Don’t you dare!”

 “Blimey, Poppins. You flirt.”

 Dani scoffed.

 “I’ll hang up to put the kettle on, though, love. See you soon?”

 “I just got in. Message when you’re ready.”

 “Will do.”

 “Love you,” Dani said as she stepped into her flat. She deposited her briefcase and hung her jacket, bounding up the steps to start her laptop.

 “Love you, too, Poppins.”

. End note: This was inspired by A Super Strange True Love Story: My Disappearing Fiancé by Annalisa Merelli.    

[oflgtfol]

every time i think about british “people” i remember this one baffling occurrence from fall 2019 and the guy wasn’t even british

imagine you’re me. some awkward kid, two months into your first semester of college, barely 18 and with the baby face of a 14 year old

it’s exactly one week before halloween, but halloween festivities have already begun. in fact, there is a halloween walk being held in the basement of the main food court on campus

it’s about 7pm and you’re currently sitting in said food court. you’re eating pasta while on your laptop trying to do homework. you’re sitting at an otherwise empty table pushed against one of the walls next to an outlet

unfortunately, all the other outlet tables are taken and filled

some dude comes up to you

“can i sit here?” he asks, indicating the seat across from you. “i need the outlet for my phone”

awkward as you are, you say yes. you expect that the two of you will sit in awkward silence until one or the other leaves. that’s fine by you

That is not what happens.

he sits down. he does not plug anything into the outlet. he stares intently at you even as you avert your eyes back to your laptop screen. the word document open for your assignment is blank. you type gibberish to make it seem like you’re busy but not a single coherent word comes out of you. he continues staring.

"so how old are you?" he asks. you tell him your age. "oh cool. actually i just graduated this spring. they asked me to come back to give a presentation" he tells you.

he asks you what your major is. you tell him you're majoring in astronomy. he mentions something about how there are actually a ton of important british astronomers. a weird comment to make, but you smile and feign interest out of politeness. you continue to type gibberish into your word document. your pasta sits uneaten beside you.

he asks you a lot of small talk questions. somehow you wind up telling him that you're taking a linguistics class, and how you actually really want to learn german one day. he asks you why and you tell him it's because your family is from germany.

"oh really?" he says, totally invested in the conversation. "my family is actually british."

trying to be polite and seem as engaged as he is, you ask him when his family came to the united states.

"the early 1800s"

from here on out, he talks to you as if you are actually german, as if you were born in germany and not New York, USA. he talks about britain as if he is actually british, even though he speaks in a very clear Plain American Accent and his family arrived literally over 200 years ago

he talks about british history as if brits invented literally everything ever. something about the industrial revolution, something about the world owing every technological innovation to britain. he speaks in a very serious voice. he means every word he says.

you continue typing gibberish into your empty word document. you spend half the time looking blankly at the screen as a subtle way to signal your disinterest in the conversation. he still won't stop talking about how great britain is. this goes on for over an hour.

you look around the room for help. everybody is having fun with their friends. nobody notices your distress. your ability to be a wallflower is now working against you.

there's a lull in the conversation.

he asks you what music you listen to. you mention a few bands - conspicuously all US american bands. you don't notice at first, until he says "i personally can't listen to american musicians, actually. american art, music, and writing is so unoriginal. not like british art, though. the english language was born in england so they have a much richer understanding of the language and have been speaking it for thousands of years. americans are so disconnected from the english homeland that everything is boring and regurgitated"

somehow, he has just insulted your taste in music in the most confusing way possible.

you smile awkwardly and mutter something like "oh?" because you genuinely have no idea what the fuck he's talking about and you really regret letting him sit with you

"americans have always loved british art, too" he adds. "like how all the girls went wild for the beatles. american girls always love a british man." he delivers that last line in a weird tone of voice. he stares at you intently.

suddenly your palms are sweaty not out of awkwardness but out of genuine paranoia. you type gibberish onto your word document. nobody else in the room comes to your aid.

the moment passes. he starts talking to you about halloween. he asks you if you're doing anything for the rest of the night.

"there's a halloween event in the basement, if you're interested," he says nonchalantly

being alone with him at all - nevermind in the dark, isolated basement of this building - sounds like a fucking nightmare.

"sorry i can't go, i really have to do homework" you say. you type some more gibberish. your hands are shaking.

"oh. that's a shame"

five minutes of idle conversation later, he finally starts packing his things.

"it was nice talking to you" he says and walks away

literally what the fuck was all that

you leave three minutes later to make sure he can't come back to find you again

[english-learning]

16 June 2020

DIALOGUE

I prefer WhatsApp truthfully.

Occasionally some rock like Metallica.

I think posh British people would say it.

There's only one country artist I really enjoy and that's Colter Wall.

I'm guessing you are a PC gamer?

Since I'm going through

If it happens it's meant to be.

My English is not so good, so I sometimes need to look up what you say.

I don't work now, but usually I wake up early.

TODO: figure out why not used "I'm not working"

It's a cute term of kitten.

Yes, but spelling is actually kitty.

It's not "proper", but it's slang and typically used as an embellishment or accent.

For example, some American literature will write out dialogue like this, to portray regional accents the characters have.

In short, lovin' just sounds less forced and more natural to sing.

Because I had to move in with my parents.

That's why his coat is so big.

My parent's dog won't get along with the male dog, so they wouldn't let me take them.

Yes, people swim, but the Pacific Ocean is cold compared to the Atlantic Ocean. So only in the summer.

Do you partake in that ceremony where people submerge themselves in ice water on January.

I may have some photos from I went there for my visa. They are on my old phone, I will find them later.

7/10 times the headline involves an alligator.

I think you should do it. Maybe you can work from home?

TODO: figure out why not used interrogative word order

You could travel and just work from your laptop.

Russia is so big, and old, lots of history, I think it would be much better to travel.

In America, there is a Russian embassy in NY, SF, Houston. San Francisco has a whole district for Russians and overall in America the language is not common. I think as a computer programmer you may able to get some work visa or at least tourist visa, since you have a stable work.

Lock down is starting to lift. But as soon as it happened, everyone is protesting. I think a second wave will hit.

Yes, the lock down has been going on for about 2 months.

Oh, I meant to say that I will watch, I haven't started yet.

Or to be casual or very short you could say "I get it".

Sometimes saying "I get it" or "I got it" can appear rude, like you're impatient. Depends on the tone. Because Americans are not so blunt like Russian.

Sorry, I'm getting tired that's why my responses are slower and my Russian is getting worse.

UNIT: Would rather or had better

had better

Выражает строгий совет (лучше сделать). После had better идет bare infinitive. Это сослагательное наклонение, здесь глагол had выражает не прошедшее время, а реальность ситуации. Нельзя использовать have или has. Всегда используется had. В отличии от should, had better несет угрозу если не выполнить и относится к ближайшему будущему.

You'd better hurry up.

I had better talk to Mary right now.

Had I better talk to Mary right now?

You had better not take the responsibility.

Может использоваться и стандартный способ отрицания:

Hadn't we better tell him the truth?

You should ask Mr. Brown. - Необязательно

You had better ask Mr. Brown. - Обязательно

[concordiairvine]

Into the Sun: Omotenashi

By Alexander Carr

Hey guys--we're in Japan! It is officially day six of our ten-day journey, meaning our team is wrapping up our time in Tokyo, packing our bags, and prepping to dive into our next location—Niigata. 

Niigata is a prefecture on the north-west coast of Japan where we’ll be exploring small to mid-size Japanese businesses, enjoying a spa day at a Japanese Onsen, and making memories with Niigata residents during our night of home-stays.

According to Professor John Plagens, Professor of English at Japan Lutheran College, a long-standing friend of Professor Kit Nagel and host extraordinaire, Niigata is also home to some of the best seafood in Japan! 

In summary, there aren’t enough thank-yous to express our gratitude for the journey ahead!  

Look forward to future post about our time in Niigata and our business visits in Tokyo! 

A sneak-peak collage of what’s to come!

The rest of this post is a contemplation of our time in Tokyo, reflecting on our experiences and the concept of omotenashi.

Customer service isn’t what it used to be. Every country, every city, every place distinct enough to categorize has its clichés and common beliefs, and in America, “customer service isn’t what it used to be,” is a phrase we hear with increasing regularity. 

On that note, let’s play a game.

If you're reading this on a laptop, pull out your phone and type, "American customer service isn't what it used to be." If your search is like mine, Google's number one result is an Independent article written in June 2017, titled "Why American Customer Service is the worst."

In it, a British woman writes American customer service is "loud," rife with "large doses of small talk," and full of "fakery." The picture she paints is far from flattering, and speaking from experience, it isn’t far from reality. 

But maybe we're leading the question.

If I ease up and type, "American Customer Service," the first three links lead to customer services pages for American Airlines. Better, right? Eh, not really. Because after that, sitting fourth in recently clicked purple pixels, I see our British friend from before. "Why American Customer Service is the worst!" 

Maybe American customer service is the worst. Or maybe its more general, and customer service isn’t what it used to be no matter where you go.

Final round. If I type, “Japanese customer service,” I get a Sora News article title, drum roll please***************************** 

"Why is Japanese customer service so amazing?"

Welp. Japan: 1 America: 0. The cliches are right! American customer service really isn’t so great. 

And I hear you. Maybe three searches on Google isn’t the most sensible or conclusive or academic way to confirm a stereotype. Fair enough. But it raises a question. Why does Google think American service is bad and Japanese service is good?

Honestly, I don't know. However, when I focus my attention on the Japanese side of the equation, I'm not surprised. Service is a concept sewn into the psyche of Japanese culture. They have a word for it: omotenashi. I asked our host Professor Plagens what omotenashi meant.

He told me, “The Japanese concept of “motenashi” combines two verbs: ‘motsu” which means “carry to’ or ‘serve’ and ‘nasu,’ which means to ‘perform’ or ‘carry out.’ In this way, it denotes service but not servility. it is usually translated as “hospitality.”

The concept of Omotenashi recalls to mind Jesus words in Matthew 22 and Luther’s writings in his treatise, “On the Freedom of a Christian.” 

In Matthew 22, Jesus explains the greatest two commands are first, to love God with your heart, soul, and mind, and second to love your neighbor like yourself. Compounding this, Luther writes, “When God in his sheer mercy and without any merit of mine has given me such unspeakable riches, shall I not the freely, joyously, wholeheartedly, unprompted do everything that I know will please him?”

There’s a single idea at the heart of both Christianity and this Japanese concept of Omotenashi: the idea of  joyous service.

When I look back on the first few days of our journey, I see omotenashi everywhere.

I see it in Professor Plagens, who took time out of his busy beginnings-of-semester schedule to escort our team through Tokyo, assist in coordinating our itinerary, and routinely checking that our every need was taken care of. 

I see it in Satoshi Inagaki, a JLC student who studied at Concordia last year, going out of his way to be our translator at dinner and help our team through the city.

Professor Plagens and Satoshi meeting our team at the airport to escort us into town. From Left to Right: Professor Plagens, Professor Nagel, Satoshi, and Isaiah Hobus.

I see it in Tomoki, a student and resident of Japan Lutheran college, organizing the school’s coffee club to serve us drinks and muffins. 

JLC and Concordia students after coffee and muffins in Coffee Club’s room.

And I see it in the welcome party, put on by members of JLC’s English Club, where each student prepared and served us food. 

Beef being prepared by JLC students during the English Club’s Welcome Party

I can only scratch the surface of what this concept means and how it works in practice, but I think its powerful all the same. We may justly recognize that service is rarely emblematic of pure altruism. As business students, services are exchanged for dollars and financial gain.

But if we take omotenashi, Luther, and the words of Jesus seriously, we know service can be about more than mere finances. It can be about laughter. 

JLC and Concordia students laughing during the English’s Club welcoming party.

Music

Amalia, Professional singer and Home-Stay donor, singing Amazing Grace at the welcome party in Niigata

New Relationships.

JLC students touring with Concordia students through the Meiji Jingo Temple in Shibuya Tokyo. 

And simple moments you might never have otherwise.

Professor Nagel enjoying a moment of quiet in front of a Japanese Garden.

Alexander Carr is a Concordia alumnus with a Bachelor’s in Business Administration with an emphasis in Marketing. During his senior year, Alexander operated as the Editor-In-Chief for the university’s bi-weekly newspaper, the Concordia Courier.