#i think he also sometimes makes weird old man coughing sounds randomly

[spasmolytic-convulsion]

you know that weird inward burp thing that alot of old men do? i think medic does that sometimes, especially after drinking too much beer 💀

[linorangge]

Jaebeom as Your Boyfriend ! <3

(pls keep in mind this is a head canon !) requested by @cuzsadd :)

how you met:

- you worked at a cafe and he came by one day with jinyoung

- jinyoung noticed you glancing at jaebeom a lot and he told beom

- beom was like “,,,,,, ok ???”

- nd jinyoung was like “go talk to her”

- beom stared at you for a hot minute while u were making their drinks

- he thought u were cute

- when he went to get ur drinks you asked him where he got his ear piercings from

- he told u the place nd talked abt his ear piercing journey and stuff

- you thought he was so cool

- he smiled a lot during the convo

- you guys had a whole ass convo abt piercings 

- the convo was so long the ice in jinyoung’s coffee had melted nd when jaebeom finally gave it to him, jinyoung was pissed LMAO

- “I shouldn't have told u to talk to her”

- he was joking ofc

- “I got her number tho”

- “rlly?”

- “yea look”

- u guys texted every other day and eventually u guys were like “lol what if we ,,,,,,,, got piercings together ,,,,,, jk ,,,,,,, unless”

- spoiler alert

- you did get piercings together 

- u guys met up at the piercing shop

- you got an industrial ear piercing

- he got another cartilage piercing

- and then he was like “haha imagine if I got a nose piercing”

- nd u were like “do it”

- he was like “DEADASS”

- he impulsively got his nose pierced

- you held his hand for moral support

- he wasn’t afraid of the nose piercing, he just wanted an excuse to hold ur hand

- and he told u this after u guys paid nd left

- “I wasn't scared I just wanted to hold ur hand”

- u thought he was joking 

- “oh ur serious”

- “yes dude, you’re seriously the prettiest girl I've ever met”

- u were screaming internally

- “ask me out then”

- “ok”

- “oK???”

- “how does Saturday sound?”

- “sounds great”

- skip to Saturday 

- he took u to this lil canal nd u guys watched the stars while u floated in a lil boat

- u guys just talked

- u talked about everything and anything u could

- u learned more abt each other and the other’s personalities

- u realized he was actually a pretty introverted and serious guy

- at least for now

- afterwards u guys got dinner 

- he drove u home nd showed u some material he’d been working on

- u genuinely rlly liked it nd it only made him so much cooler to u

- u guys went on a few more dates

- one day u hung out together at the mall

- he just kissed you out of nowhere and started holding ur hand

- and then he called u babe nd u were like

- “wait a damn min”

- “uhhh why the sudden pet name”

- “ur my gf”

- “u never asked me out”

- “I didn't???”

- this then prompted him to formally ask u to be his girlfriend

- u were in the middle of the food court and u were like🧍‍♀️

- u said yes ofc

- and then u continued with ur day

jaebeom as your boyfriend:

- where do I start

- he was serious at the beginning

- and the more u guys hung out together and the more he went over to ur house the more u realized how weird and random he was LMAO

- he randomly just asks u weird questions

- like actual shower thoughts come at of his mouth when ur alone with him

- “what does the inside of a colon look like?”

- “,,,,, jaebeom its literally 3am pls”

- “hold on I'm gonna google it”

- also texts u shower thoughts

- and u entertain it bc thats ur boyfriend, nd he makes u THINK

- he also just randomly texts u shit like 

- “just walked past this old man wearing boxers in public, with literally no pants”

- “wtf”

- “ikr”

- ANYWAYS

- not a lot of pet names

- mostly calls u by ur name 

- when he does he’ll call u babe or beautiful

- not very into pda

- he’ll hold ur hand nd give u cheek kisses and thats it basically

- he’s pretty private abt his love life, especially with u

- he’ll occasionally post u on social media with simple captions

- u don't hang with the sevens a lot but when u do, jinyoung ALWAYS makes sure he says something along the lines of “I DID THAT” “I MADE YALL DATE”

- jinyoung is pretty proud of himself 

- when ur alone he loves to cuddle 

- loves to kiss u

- lots of mouth kisses??

- he gives u so many forehead kisses

- he LOVESSSS when u play with his hair

- sometimes you’ll be like working on business emails or sum shit and he just lays next to you nd he's like

- “give me braids”

- nd ur like “okay ig”

- u actually ended up teaching him how to do braids nd French braids

- sometimes he spends too much time at the studio nd he doesn't have time to hang with u

- he takes u to the studio with him when this happens nd u sit there and work on ur own stuff

- u bring him food and drinks when he needs it

- sometimes u have to be like “ok bruh u have to go outside or something”

- nd u guys walk around or go to the park

- nd then u let him go back to the studio and wish him the best

- you've gotten into the habit of taking care of him bc sometimes he’s just BAD at it when he gets too deep in his work

the first time I love you was said:

- he said it first

- he was sick as FUCK

- I mean like sick sick

- mans was throwing up, diarrhea, cough, fever

- he was on the brink

- nd ofc u being the caring girlfriend u are

- u took care of him 

- u were making him chicken soup

- he was in bed, full fever, face up with a rag on his head

- u brought him the soup and set it on the bedside table

- “I want to shower”

- u were VERY stuck

- “ok then”

- and u helped him undress himself and helped him shower

- u were cautious and u washed his hair for him and he washed his body

- u helped him out of the shower and u helped put new clothes on him

- and u helped him back into bed nd fed him the soup

- nd halfway through he just stared at u 

- “what?”

- “I love you”

- u were stuck AS HELL

- but he was groggy and he had the softest smile on his face

- nd u could tell that even tho he was literally decaying

- he meant it 

- although he was sick u still took care of him and helped him with everything

- “I love you too”

- beom was sick as hell but god he never felt happier

- nd then he threw up ur soup as u held his hair back

- but he was forever grateful

- he knew that he never wanted to leave ur side

- u were the best thing that had ever happened to him

- in conclusion

- jaebeom SOFTEST BF EVER

- lmk if yall want one of these for another member or for skz

[lifeofroos]

1984 Gift Exchange Entry

Alright, I did something for the 1984-event by @th0ughtcriminal.The prompt was… strange to me, I have to say, being ‘1984 but Winston is Kermit the Frog.’ Yet, I tried my best. Also, sorry if there are weird mistakes in the spelling or the grammar or if I got some names wrong, my native language is Dutch and I read the book in Dutch as well. 

While pretending to look at his typewriter, Kermit scanned the other people in his department. He saw a few of his co-workers doing the same. He felt a little stint of fear whenever he and someone else accidently made eye-contact. Did they know something about him? Did the man in the back of the room know his secret? Did mister Nint know? He swiftly looked back at his typewriter with shaking green hands and whited out a part of the document he was working on. 

A few minutes later, he heard the people around him get up . They were whispering to each other. Oh, was it time for the Two Minutes Hate already? Kermit swiftly stood up and walked to the entrance of the room as quickly as his froggy feet allowed. While walking into the room of hate, he caught a glimpse of Her. His blood immediately started to boil in his veins.There was something about… Her. He quickly looked away. Yet, he could feel Her presence in the room, the way you could feel a threat looming around you. 

Goldstein begun speaking on the screen. One person started yelling. Three more joined in. Soon, the whole room was yelling, and Kermit couldn't help but join in as well. The pressure became too much every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stay quiet. He noticed that the woman next to him gave him a weird look. Kermit quieted down a bit under her gaze. He knew other people found his peculiar voice annoying. Of course, he couldn't do anything about it. Only the ministry could, if they decided croaking was against the party. 

He saw Her again when he walked out of the room. This time, She made eye contact with him. Out of panic, Kermit did not move his head away. She gave him a small wink, before walking down the hallway and disappearing out of sight. Kermit turned around on his heels, and ran back to his desk. He felt the blood rush to his head. He did not care that mister Foor gave him a very suspicious look. Mister Foor gave everyone suspicious looks, it probably meant nothing. 

After a long, exhaustion day of work, Kermit retired to his horrible home, if he could even call it that. It was more like a closet that he just happened to have all of his stuff and himself in. Including his most prized possession. Without even pausing to get something to eat (All the good food was gone anyway), he stepped behind his secret sound proof wall, which was just small enough to not be seen by the screen on the wall. There. There it was. His own, sacred banjo. He picked it up and felt a wave of happiness rising up in his chest. He strummed a few notes. He started to feel a stint of peace. He started playing his favourite melody. It was a melody that you could sing two songs on. One was a simple childrens’ tune, the other one was a protest song against the party. Kermit sometimes sang the children's song for his neighbours’ kids, but right now the lyrics of the patriotic song played in his head (he didn’t sing them out loud. Of course he did not sing them out loud). 

After a few minutes, he slowly put the banjo down. The fear became to much - he was never sure if someone could hear him, even though he knew the screen was almost completely soundproof. Slowly, he walked into his kitchen to eat some very depressing food. There was only three day old chicken and bad noodles left, plus some carrots with suspicious spots on them. Ugh. Gross. Kermit wondered if even dogs would like to eat it. Still, he threw it into a crock pot with some water. Better something than nothing, he concluded. 

While he was cooking his depressing stew, he suddenly thought of Her. She had winked at him. He wildly stirred his soup in order to drive the thoughts away. The smell of the dish hit his… nostrils… (He had never known what to call his frog nose, and now that language got poorer and poorer and thinner and thinner, it did not get easier), and the thoughts of Her disappeared out of his mind while he coughed.

When Kermit woke up the next day, he did not feel any better. All he had to look forward to was yet another depressing day of working in the ministry of truth. Wait, no. What was good for the party was supposed to make him happy, he thought, not depressed. He slowly got out of bed. He ate the leftovers of his so-called meal for breakfast and did some morning gymnastics along with the screen, before stepping outside. 

He was surprised. There was nobody in the hallway. Usually, Mister James was there waiting for him. Well, maybe the party had decided that being a blue muppet was illegal now, or he had said something that he really should not have. It was nothing Kermit had to keep thinking about. Slowly, on his own, he walked out of the apartment building. It was a weirdly freeing feeling. He felt like there was nobody looking over his shoulder. Yet, on the other hand, he knew it was just that - a feeling. Of course there was someone looking over his shoulder. There always was.

Yet, he noticed he wandered off. Instead of walking to the ministry of truth, he walked into town, where the regular folks lived. He looked around. The town was quiet so early in the morning. There were only a few women walking around doing some housework - laundry or grocery shopping. 

It might have made him a little overconfident. He was so amazed by the new place, without other people to keep him in line, he simply forgot that he was being watched. He felt something bubbling in his stomach. He felt like strumming on his banjo for hours, until he could capture this feeling with the music. He remembered that there was a word for that once. It started with an I, he remembered that too. But what exactly the word had been was completely lost to history. 

He took a left turn. He passed a few shops, which sold clothes. They were not very nice clothes, but to Kermit, they looked great (And he didn't even wear any clothes, he did not like the feel on his green skin). It felt like the day was getting better and better. 

He took a right turn. The happy feeling disappeared within seconds. He tried to look down. Too late. He had made eye-contact with Her. Kermit felt the blood rushing through his body. He did not know what it was. Was it… shock? Did that word still exist?

He wished he could turn around and act like nothing had happened. But She would give his name to the thought police, and that would be it. Walking away made no difference. He looked up. If this was going to be it, he wanted to look her in the eye. When he did, however, she did something unexpected. She pointed to the house on the corner, then put up three fingers, before scurrying away. 

Her appearance had broken the magic. Kermit was running through the street as fast as his feet could carry him, towards the ministry of truth. He knew there must be at least one person who saw him - but maybe not in the street with Her. Were there cameras there? Could it be that, just this once, nobody would have noticed that something had happened? 

Oh, no, That was too much to hope for. He reached the door of the ministry of truth just in time - man, he never even noticed how much Mister James talked and slowed them down along the way until he did not walk with him anymore. Kermit walked past his colleagues, until he reached his desk. There were a bunch of articles laying on the desk of which he could swear that he went through them just the day before. He sighed deeply. Well, the word Poor should be scrapped from all of them now, according to the note next to the documents. Kermit felt confused while he sat down on his chair. He felt something rise in his chest, and it was something different then what he had felt while walking through the streets. It felt like his body was refusing to write. Like he was… oh, he did not know. The word was scrapped years ago.

It was 2 O'clock and after the two minutes hate when he remembered what She had signed him. Three O´ clock. The house on the corner. Kermit stood up - his job was done for the day. Slowly, he walked out of the building. He acted like he went towards his home, but instead he took a few odd turns, so that he was back in the town. He did not know if there were many cameras around. If there were, he needed to trick them. So, he walked to a clothing store he had seen before. He randomly pulled something out of a rack and bought it, so that it seemed like he had been thinking about buying it the whole day. That was not illegal. He might even be able to spin it into a lie that he wanted to start wearing clothes now. That would not garner to much suspicion, would it? 

While trying to look as normal as he could, he walked to the house She had pointed at. He hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door. Slowly, the door opened about a centimetre. An older man looked at him. At that moment, Kermit felt like turning around and running for the hills. ´Eh…´

´Are you looking for Miss Piggy?´

´Um, Her, yeah…´

´Go upstairs.´ The man opened the door just wide enough for Kermit's small frog body to slip through. Kermit did not dare to look the man in the eye, but instead immediately scurried upstairs. 

Miss Piggy was standing by the top of the stairs. ´You actually came. You are even early.´

´…Yes, I came.´

´What were you doing in the street earlier this morning?´

Kermit felt panic rising in his body. How did he not see it? Now he was trapped. Did he not see Her standing next to an higher-up before? Oh, now he would be dragged to  the ministry of love…

´I always walk around in this neighbourhood to get a sense of peace. It was freer, is it not? Much better for a star like me, even if it is dirty…´ Miss Piggy mused. She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. Kermit did not know what to answer. Who´s side was She on? 

´I… I felt that too. I felt like making music about it.´ Miss Piggy smiled. 

´That sounds so wonderful.´

Kermit slowly began to feel better the longer he talked to Miss Piggy. It felt like everything he had been thinking about the party was finally confirmed for him. After what felt like hours and hours of talking, he jumped up. ‘We must do something about it!’

Miss Piggy gave him an amused look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We must do something against…’ his words trailed off. He had been hit by a wave of sudden determination, but now he could not say it. Not out loud. Too risky. Yet, miss Piggy understood. 

‘Yes, we need to do something. Yet, what then…’ she leaned a little closer. ‘Say, you were married before, right?’ 

Kermit suddenly felt a little weird. ‘Yes… but she is gone now.’ 

‘Really?’ 

‘Eh, yeah. Yet, the party…’

‘Did you get divorced?’

Kermit fell silent. No, they weren’t divorced, because they could not. He started to feel slightly… uncomfortable. He shrugged.

‘It does not matter.’ He reached for the piece of clothing he had bought. He suddenly saw Miss Piggy’s eyes narrow. ‘You bought a dress?’

For the first time, Kermit looked at the piece of clothing he had bought. Oh. Yes, he had bought a dress. A yellow one with pink flowers. ‘Eh… yeah.’ 

‘So… you are still married, then?’

‘No!’

Her expression changed from happy to thunder within a matter of seconds. ‘Maybe you should leave.’ Kermit picked up his dress. 

‘Yes, erm, maybe I should.’ That did not make Her feel better, he could see it.  She wrapped Her arms in front of Her chest. ‘Alright.’ Kermit quickly ran out of the room, with the dress.

The next day, he saw Her again. For some reason, She winked. Kermit quickly looked back at his typewriter. He felt confused, more than usual, even. He slowly started to dissociate from the situation. Hm… if only he could play something on his banjo now… He should try to capture that amazing feeling he had, the first time he walked through town… Before everything with Her...

[katekyo-hitman-aus]

Self Insert!Nana

When Masami died, it was a tragedy, but she was quickly forgotten. She wandered around, craving for human contact only to pass through each body in her beloved city. 

The killer was quickly caught but she never thought it’d be her own kin. Her brother killed her and her parents committed suicide right after her death had appeared on the news. Her brother was supported by her auntie who convinced both parents to commit suicide. Masami saw everything. Her heart broke once they both agreed and their bodies were quickly buried by everyone. 

She wept for two weeks straight, and then the rumors about this new ghost appeared instantly, making the city even busier. At least the tourists tried to appease her by offering her flowers. She tried to make friends with the dead but they were all busy staring at the sky. She didn’t get it. She stared at the sky in frustration.

What do I do now? Masami felt so so tired.

The next thing she knew, phantom hands grabbed her wrists and shoulders, pulling her into a concrete sidewalk. She struggled to free herself but did it with flames???  

Her hands were on fire. Blue fucking fire. She panicked and tried to calm down but a man with a giant cloak and blond hair smiled amiably at her and grabbed her hand. She gulped.

“Hello.”

“Hello?” Masami looked at her surroundings, feeling nostalgic. Wasn’t it the mafia manga??

“Yes it is.” the man answered her voiced question. “You’re in my world. Tsunayoshi hasn’t been born yet.”

Tsunayoshi?

She hasn’t heard of the name since high school- her eyes blink in surprise. “Is this the..mafia?" 

"Yes.” Multiple dissembodied voices screamed in the sky. The voices got louder. “You have been reborn as one of the destined.”

Masami gaped. She frowned, “Who am I?”

“That we can not tell. If so, then we’d ruin the tale of Vongola.”

“Then you’re all Vongola Primo, Secondo, and etc? Oh of..course.” Masami groaned. Curse her luck. She had the worst luck in university. Her mind flashes back to when her brother teased her and said he was surprised she survived this long. Middle school. He was adorable~!

Too bad she got murdered by her little brother. She puffed her cheeks, looking down.

A man with short white hair appeared, greeting her in a deep voice. “Yo! I’m Kawahira!” Masami was way confused but Kawahira could’ve been a mist, she supposed.

She saw how Kawahira twitched and she quickly bowed, introducing herself.

“Now that introductions are over, your mission is to make Katekyo Hitman Reborn more interesting! Or not. You’re going to be reborn and you can’t change that Masami-channnn~”

Masami only nodded, signs of irritation clear on her face as she was gently knocked out by drugs. She cried inwardly, opening her eyes rapidly.

It hurt! She must’ve been just born. The cold lights made her wail even more as pale arms carried her in a blanket.

Stupid Kawahira.

5 years later, Yashida Nako weakly coughed and hit her crazy father in the face with a good arm and a toy gun. 

“Nako-kun! You’re still bad at this! Blehhhhh-oUCH! SHE GOT ME IN THE EYEEEEEE!” Her father weeped like crazy, her mother popping out from the ground with a first aid kit. Nako blankly stared at the event before hysterically laughing. 

Uncle Tokomi thoughtfully glanced at Nako, wondering if she needed a sanity check up. Nako instantly shut up and glared at Uncle. Uncle sheepishly grinned and lifted the girl up

Nako simply enjoyed life, throwing herself into something related to defense. A toy gun that was painted green, the Masami part of her lovingly pretended it was Leon and that she was Reborn. 

Her mother cooed at her huge fedora which featured her doe yellow eyes. Masami did look up to Reborn, no matter how weird Reborn was, and she was naturally born with honey yellow eyes. Nako madly cackled, which sounded like angel’s laughter in a baby suit.

Her father guffawed, almost cursing when he realized he had to go to work. Nako frowned as her mother said good bye to her father. Unfortunately, she still had busy parents who had to work due to Japan’s work ethics.

She is grateful her family didn’t live in a farm like her Old family. It was a life full of hives chasing her thanks to the move in family that thought no one lived right next to them and swatted the nest all the way in the middle of Masami’s treehouse. 

Nako pouted cutely as her Mama took away the green gun. “Mama!” She cried. “I want my toy backkkkkkkk!”

Mama groaned playfully, flicking Nako in the forehead. Nako owlishly looked at her from the carpeted ground. “Mama?”

“Take your medicine then I’ll give you your toy back!” Mama grinned, lifting Nako into her lap. Nako fidgeted but gave into the disgusting medicine. Sometimes Nako wished she was normal.

She smiled once Mama gave her the green gun and she made loud noises near her mama’s ears. Her mama was slightly surprised but Nako quickly climbed out of her lap, looking for Uncle.

“Uncle! Uncle!”

“OompH-” Uncle stares at her in surprise, smiling kindly at her. “Yes?”

“Can we get more gu-gundos?” Nako hopes it’s a yes.

Nako looks at him in hopes but is slightly curious about his expression. He looks exasperated at her question and a little wary. 

“Why?” The kind him comes back. “Didn’t we get you that toy gun a long time ago? Isn’t it pretty important?”

Nako thinks about it and tears up but insists on a new toy gun. “This one’s gon be my special one! I want to get better! Maybe it’ll come in handy!" 

Uncle grins, taking out a plastic white gun with a grey handle and a bright yellow trigger. Nako notices it looks a lot more… compact. It’s cold and shiny, compared to her smaller green gun.

She practices until her hand starts to twitch for an actual gun, much to her horror. Masami didn’t even think of any type of harming people in her last life.

Masami in her dreams realizes that she is a Yashida. She must protect herself before anyone in her family kills her. She remembers her death that day so vividly, the younger side of Masako-Nako, cries and cries in front of her parents randomly, so glad she didn’t have a little brother. 

She takes things more seriously. Her past life as Masako blurs between this life and her past. The only thing she knows now is how to take medicine and aim plastic bullets at intruders.

Now that Nako is 10, she realizes that her mother is sometimes a lot more tense than when she was younger. Her uncle appears only to give her more plastic ammo and her father was in the hospital. Her father doesn’t say hello to her anymore. Nako feels empty.

She didn’t know much people other than her babysitter but then she was gone. Nako is always thinking about her past life but is sad when she cannot remember it. She remembers the adults that she met before she was directly Yashida Nako.

She hates it. So she forces her mother to explain what’s happening in the family. Her mother glares at her but gives in. 

"You shouldn’t be asking for this. Are you sure?" 

Nako nods in response.

Her mother explains everything. She’s not normal at all. The Yashidas are a branch grouping of yakuza and mafia. The reason why she’s never had any communications with other people is because she is the weak link to the Yashidas.

Nako also noted that her family was notoriously known for handguns and daggers in their jobs. Nako wasn’t that dense to notice her mother almost said assassinations. It wasn’t like Nako knew everything but now that she had knew about her family’s background, she began to consider how to actually use her skills to help her family and then develop enough skills to run away if things got out of hand.

Nako smiled at her tiny green handgun. It was 5 years old but she did know how to dissemble and polish each of the gun parts. She still wore a new fedora every year and got her favorite fried foods on her birthday.

She weakly groaned one day, one January 1st. It was time to go celebrate New Years. She got up and greeted the maids who only got to see her a few times a year to prepare her Kimono.

Nako beamed at the maids who slipped her extra candy and manga. She hoped her family didn’t notice the sudden influx of manga. She ate the candy before her family came in to take her to the shrine.

Nako tightly held onto her Uncle’s sleeve, focusing on the hidden scars he received a long time ago. Her mother and father were nowhere to be seen but she expected that.

Skip to 3 years later, as a 13 year old, she had grown weaker yet more powerful. She was officially inducted at a Hibari meeting. Nako inwardly gulped, trying to stay still as everyone fluttered by, chatting each other up.

Her uncle groaned at her queasiness and gave her a blue jade bracelet with gold animal charms and was nowhere to be seen after that. She panicked and smiled weakly at the curiious bystanders. She recognized the light brown eyed lookers with dark formal clothing as the Kusakabes.

A woman with a sharp jaw smiled at her and gave her a book. Nako eagerly read it and tried not to cry. It was about a woman that loved her husband and willingly joined in his place. But then the man mourned the death of his wife. He never married or had any adopted children after that. And everyone in his family died.

Nako sniffled, not noticing a slender figure creep behind her. 

"Oya? Yashida-san, why are you crying?” A light voice chirped. She yelped and gripped the book tightly.

That was the time she met Hibari Masae, a girl with a soft spoken voice but strong morals. Unknowingly to Nako, Hibari Masae instantly adored the mousy girl and kept her under the Hibari claim. 

Nako was probably the most happiest at this point in life. Her parents and uncle looked afar in relief. She had passed the test and the Hibaris and Yashidas would become united once again.

Life for Nako was fulfilling and she entered high school with Masae. She experienced an overall happy school year and stayed with Masae until they both graduated college with top rank grades. Masae moved to Namimori and Nako had stayed in Tokyo, happily working in her secretary job and translating Japanese novels to Chinese and English.

Then she met Iemitsu. For the first time in forever, she felt wary and her blue flames flared actively. She snapped out of her civilian act, avoiding Iemitsu.

But then she fell in love as he noticed her. She knew very well who this was.

The young Lion. And she was screwed, for someone who probably had better aim than Iemitsu in guns.

She could see he was a stale Sky, not that he knew and she went in anyways. Nako remembered Primo mentioning her favorite character back when she was Masami.

That was the only part she remembered. All parts of Masami were dying by now and the only thing they were both connected to were weapons and the Hibaris. Masami had no knowledge of the Yashidas and cut the connections at those two things. Nako didn’t care and smiled at Iemitsu, taking his orders to the boss for a translation.

Sawada Iemitsu had an Italian contract that was about a peace treaty. Nako giggled in feigned ignorance at Iemitsu’s poor excuse of a treaty. She knew Vongola would fail and her family wouldn’t mind if the Hibaris protected her in Namimori.

Nako had changed her name from Yashida Nako to Sawada Nana in a nice quiet Namimori. Namimori was an odd town with many types of characters who were way too oblivious about the gunshots in town. Perks of being protected by Hibaris she assumed. 

Nana was so disgusted by how the teachers of Namimori were and had secretly supported Hibari Kyouya’s reformation of the school. Nana instantly shot down the dangers of mafioso as Masae was weakening. 

Nana stayed by Masae’s side and ruthlessly killed with Masae’s weapons. Nana had at least soothed Masae’s chronic fatigue while Tsuna was still running around, perfect timing for Kyouya and her Tsuna to get to know each other.

Tsuna was embarrassed by Nana’s antics but he had learned to take hand to hand combat from Nana’s white hairs about Namimori’s weakspots and complaints he heard everyday at dinner with Masae-san, Kyouya-kun, and Okaa-san.

Everyday was fun and Tsuna didn’t really care about his deadbeat father. Tsuna thought Iemitsu was dead.

Then Vongola Nono came during summer vacation with Iemitsu in sight. She locked all of her guns in place and it was hidden behind the bookshelves. Just like scooby-doo, Tsuna giggled and went to the kitchen once Nana shooed him away.

Nana had hovered over Tsuna like a shadow and smoothly intercepted her husband from cornering her son. 

“Why don’t you two talk about your job with us? How’s everything?” Silence.

Nana thought so, laughing at her husband’s lack of response. Even a trainee in her family has a backup plan.

This was the great Vongola that Nana heard about? Nana knew she’d have to put herself into the crossfire in order for her Tsuna to go and have a happy life!

She knew Tsuna was meant to be Decimo though. Tsuna warily peeked at Nono, forgetting about the man that was his father and her husband. She hummed happily.

2 days later, they’re gone, much to Tsuna’s relief. Tsuna had voiced that the nice old man would’ve sealed the instinct he had. Nana narrowed her eyes and dragged her son to Italy with her.

It is there that she finds a young girl named Bianchi. Bianchi leads her to her Family and there Nana had made a secure alliance with the Fiorentinos and the Greco.

They’re small in numbers but cunning in executions and expansion of the Family. 

By luck, Nana meets a female Skull. Odd. Masami doesn’t remember that part but she and Skull occasionally get along in mercenary missions.

A year later, Vongola still hasn’t found out about Nana and Tsuna’s disappearance thanks to the Hibari Clan. Kyouya and Masae are pretty set off by everything and Masae recovers and takes out her pretty and heavy fans to slash at mafioso.

The cloud arcobaleno comes back with Nana and Tsuna and is instantly filed as a civilian. She was originally a girl of all trades in the circus and passed those skills onto Tsuna.

Tsuna was slightly less clumsy with his fire and stepped with a cat’s grace by the time all of Vongola’s heirs died out. By the time Reborn ends up in Namimori, Tsuna dodges all attempts made by Reborn even if it’ll kill him.

Nana laughs loudly at Tsuna’s misery but is thankful Tsuna is a lot less like his canonself. Skull is there to cheer on Reborn for once as punishment for Tsuna taking her desserts.

And everything changed slightly.

(this prompt was way too long and it took me multiple hours ow my hands are s w e a t i n g  imdead-) :)

note/ Bianchi may or may not have a crush on Nana instead of Reborn. Reborn finally gets to know the infamous Nana everyone talks about.

Reborn is slightly put off by Skull’s sadism. It’s almost like his and he’s disturbed but shrugs it off because Reborn.

Skull used to be a circus performer and often did gymnastics with giant rings of fire. She’s pretty sure most circus performers she had worked with used to be mafioso because of the bullet scars and their ideas of presents(g u n s). Tsuna admires her the most and Reborn is slightly miffed by that. Adorable as Reborn and has a tiny lisp like Reborn. She has purple hair and light pink eyes.

Tsuna is still short haha but Nana can rock a pair of 3 inch heels but is still shorter than Hibari Masae.

The Hibaris are freaking giants and no one ever grows in the Yashida genes smh.

Tsuna’s pretty average in class. Tsuna proposed to be Dame-Tsuna but Nana has flashbacks of being a No-Good in her old life and refuses, smacking Tsuna.

Hibari Kyouya refuses to acknowledge the Sawadas as carnivores but almost pisses himself when he sees Nana glance at the gun the same way Reborn does and instantly puts a bullet into the nearest mafioso’s brain. 

^it was the first time he learned about Sawada Nana’s life as Yashida Nako. He stays away from her house whenever he patrols Namimori. Masae laughs her ass off tbh.

[tricksandtales]

Chapter 14: No Place Like Home

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

 Lebanon, Kansas was a small peaceful town, which sat at the crossroads of America. It was home to just over 200 people. Of course this meant that the community was tightknit, and everybody knew everybody.

Or more importantly, everybody knew everybody else’s business – both good and bad.

The bunker had been part of the town for as long as anyone could remember. One said his father had been there when it was built, sometime in the 1930s. It had been abandoned for almost as long. There were a lot of rumors about the bunker and the people who’d originally lived there. But that’s all they were, rumors.

 Until the Winchesters moved in.

 It came as quite the surprise when suddenly there were people living in the bunker again. Two boys who kept to themselves. A third came, who was always in a trench coat no matter the weather. In years they’d lived there, others passed through, though none really came into town or stayed long enough for the town to know them.

 Overall, the inhabitants mostly kept to the themselves, which of course fueled the rumor mill.

 Everyone by now knew the names: Dean, Sam, and Cas.

 Little else was known. Except that they were a tad odd, wore a lot of flannel, liked old cars, and ate junk food. They were friendly enough if you happened upon them, but by no means were they social. To the rest of the town, these newcomers were separate and apart. Never quite becoming part of the community.

 Then a werewolf came to town.

 Like the rumors and legends of the bunker, the residents of Lebanon had their fair share of stories of monsters. Probably more than most towns, because of the past residents of the bunker. Luckily, one of those stories said the people of the bunker hunted the monsters. So the residents held a town meeting and the preacher was requested to go get help. And like that, the werewolf was gone, the Winchesters took care of it.

 Life resumed as normal, except the town started to gather the legends and stories, started to retell them, this time as histories instead of tall tales. And the town welcomed their newcomers as members of the community, even if the Winchesters never knew about the difference. But there was one. People on the street smiled more openly and waved when they saw the Impala pass. The town store started to stock more…. interesting items. And a heck of a lot more salt.  

 More recently, the residents had seen a woman and a teenager. The people of Lebanon liked the two newcomers, as they came into town more regularly and were a bit more open to chatting.

 It had been several months now, and Riley had been into town at least once a week. She’d gotten fairly familiar with a number of residents, and those she didn’t know still treated her kindly.

 It was a quiet Thursday evening that found Riley heading to town once again. The day was grey and cloudy, so it made a decent day for errands.

 She had just gotten to town, and the wind whipped her hair about as she scrabbled to the store. Upon entering Ladow’s Market, the bell gave a jaunty jingle announcing her presence. The two other customers glanced up and offered her smiles. The man behind the counter, Eric, greeted her. “Riley, good to see you. No nephew with you this time?”  

 “Good to see you as well. And no, Jack’s out with his dad.” Riley said as she grabbed a basket.

 She had found that the people in town liked to talk, and Riley had never been one to avoid police conversation. So she hadn’t really been thinking when she’d engaged with the people she’d come to know. Of course this had led to several lies. Sam had agreed they were necessary, because there was no easy way to explain any of their actual relations. Dean had groaned at the complications of it. Not that any of the lies were that far from the truth…. But he didn’t like trying to keep up with them.

 What the town now knew about the inhabitants of the bunker was that Dean, Sam, and Riley were siblings. Cas was Jack’s father, and Gabriel was Cas’ brother. How she was Jack’s aunt…. well, no one had actually asked her that directly. But the town had an inclination that one of her “brothers” had a relationship with Cas. Cough. Dean. Cough.

 Jack was more than happy to claim the lot of them as his family. So he had no issues keeping up the rouse.

 “So, are your brothers off doing the Lord’s work today?” One of the other customers, a 60-year-old woman by the name of Mimi, asked as Riley was pursuing the produce section.

 Riley gave a soft chuckle, “They’re doing what they always do.”

 “Mhm.” Mimi clucked at her, “Make sure they know that my Shep can stitch up anything.” Riley had come to learn that Mimi’s husband was a retired doctor, who ran a small clinic out of their house.

 “Thank you. I’ll remind them.”

 “You should pick up some of this.” She was holding a box of stain remover. “It’s the best for getting blood out of clothing.”

 Riley offered a somewhat strained smile “I’ve got some at home.”

 It was weird. Or should she say, still weird. The first time Riley realized the town was aware of their situation she’d been a bit shocked. She’d run into the local pastor at the gas station. He’d said he prayed for her and the boys, and that if they ever needed help with exorcisms he had some reference books that might be helpful. Riley had thanked him and promptly gone home and confronted Sam about it. Sam had shrugged it off. Apparently, he hadn’t really considered what the town thought about them.

 Riley now did. And she’d learned that the town was aware of their comings and goings. That everyone knew what the Winchester’s did for a living and were thankful for it. Further, they offered advice, even though they all played this cat and mouse game of never directly speaking about it. So Riley did the same, never admitting or denying exactly what she knew.

 It was a bit odd. But she figured it was better than the citizens trying to run them out of town.

“Do you need another pound of salt?” Eric asked. “I got some of the larger grain stuff that’ll withstand a bit of wind.”

 “Thank you, yes.” Riley smiled.

 “I’ll deliver it if you don’t have the car?”

 That was one of the other things the town overlooked – the whole appearing randomly without any sort of vehicle. Sure some of them probably put it down as her being an avid walker, but others just smiled and offered to drop any big things back at the bunker for her. Riley wondered what they’d come up as an explanation for her sudden appearances.

 “That’d be great.”

 The bell jangled again, signaling another customer. “Riley! Just who I wanted to see.” It was Elenore Murtle, a 50ish widow. Riley had learned the sweet lady had the biggest crush on Sam.

 “Mrs. Murtle.” Riley greeted, “How are you today?”

 “Oh, just lovely, dear.” The woman fanned herself, “Though feels unseasonably warm.”

 Riley hummed, not really agreeing, and went back to looking at steaks.

 “Anyway dear, I ran into the preacher and he said that if I saw you, to tell you he’d whipped up a fresh batch of holy oil. Just in case.” Mrs. Murtle made it sound like she was talking about muffins - as if someone needing holy oil was a common occurrence.

 “That’s very nice of him. I’ll pop by later.” Riley said. She chatted amicably with both Mimi and Mrs. Murtle while she finished shopping. Eric offered to drop it all by later, but Riley took it all but the salt. It wasn’t like she couldn’t handle heavy things at this point.

 Eventually she left the store, heading toward home.

 ------------------------

 As the days passed, Riley recovered and found she had more energy then she expected. She’d started sleeping less, like only five or six hours a night. This of course made her days seem much longer. And made her incredibly restless.

 She had cut way back on her hours at work, as she was not in the office and was focused on being – as Sam put it – team captain. In other words, coordinating and keeping track of the ingredient list. Sure, she still did 20-30 hours a week of work, but most of it was done from the bunker.

 She still cooked and took care of the errands. She also cleaned the damn bunker again.

 She also trained. But there were only so many laps, so much target practice, and so many forms she could run through before she got fed up with doing them by herself.

 And there were only so many hours one could waste on the internet.

 All of this equaled a very stir-crazy and lonely Riley. Which was why she basically going to town once a week.

 She’d gotten so used to spending time surrounded by one person or another from their little family that with everyone off looking for the ingredients or on hunts, she found herself lonely. She missed their pseudo-family dinners. Jack underfoot, dogging her heels. Castiel appearing out of nowhere. Dean’s constant begging for pie. Sam appearing with something about what the lore said. Or Gabriel with a trick, a lesson, or if she was lucky, candy and flirty smile.

 Heck, she’d even listen to Dean tell her how he killed Hitler again. Okay… maybe not. There were only so many times she could hear that story. Even if it made Dean puff up with pride.

 Basically, she just missed the guys.

 Even though Sam and Dean weren’t looking for ingredients per se, they were still gone much of the time hunting.

 On very rare occasions she went with them, but neither she nor they were confident in her abilities yet. Which wouldn’t matter if they were facing something fairly straight forward, but they’d been hunting some pretty big bad things - mostly demons.

 With no real leadership in Hell, there had been an increasing number of demons running around on earth, trying to rack up misdeeds. Castiel had mentioned there were around five factions vying for control. And by control, they meant death and destruction. So lots of black eyes about that needed to be sent back to Hell.

 Her powers were growing, which was good, but Castiel said she was still what amounted to a fledging. Consequently she was restricted to basic hunts or trips when they went meet up with other hunters. No demons for her.

 She was not unhappy though, as the fact they had faith for her to go on normal hunts was a pretty big step. Not that Riley had yet to actually see anything. Most of the time she was tasked with interviews and the safer stuff, leaving the actually fighting to the Winchesters. She hadn’t actually seen anything supernatural up close and personal – excluding angels. Though, more often than not she stayed behind, since most of the hunts these days were demons… Hence it was the bunker for her.

 Not that her moves were restricted to the bunker per se. She could still go out shopping and pop back to work once in a while.

 But she missed Gab…. People. She missed people. Her people.

 Still, she wouldn’t complain. Everyone was working hard.

 --------------------

 When the Winchesters were in residence in the bunker, Dean was on Riley’s ass about her training. He did not want her to ever be in a fight and not be able to handle herself.

 Today, Saturday, was one such day. Dean was currently putting her through the paces.

 The thunk sound that resulted from Riley's fist connecting with the pad was satisfying. She smiled viciously as Dean staggered just a step.

 Dean reset his bracing position and motioned for her to go again. Riley shook out her arms, curled her hands into fists and struck at the pads Dean held again. Dean thought she was progressing well and had added some new moves.

 Although neither Dean or Sam were classically trained in any particular fighting style, they knew a decent amount. Thus she was being schooled in various self-defense techniques. Dean and she were currently working on some kick boxing forms.   Riley was finally getting a handle of the amount of force to put into punches. And with her growing angel strength it had been a steep learning curve. She'd actually managed to knock Dean on his ass a couple times.  The thunk of several rapid strikes sounded as she hit the pads in quick succession. Dean grunted as one of the blows made him shift back onto his heels again.   “Hey guys.” Sam appeared in the doorway.  “How's it going?” “Better.” Dean said.  “She'll be able to kick both our asses pretty soon.” “That's me. Kicking asses and taking names.” Riley pulled her arms over her head in stretch.   “You'll be hunter level in no time.” Dean acknowledged. “Ready to take down demons and everything.” Riley wasn't sure how she felt about that. Although she'd come to terms with the angel thing, and she really really wanted to be an advantage.

 Yet……she hadn’t really reconsidered herself as an actual hunter. Sure she’d been out on a couple smaller hunts, and she'd vowed to get stronger and be an asset. But being termed a hunter made her cringe slightly. She'd not wanted to get to that point. 

 But stepping back and looking at her life objectively she was already almost there. And she couldn't find it in herself to be upset.   Things changed.  Priorities changed.  People changed.  She could either run away or roll with the punches.  And she had decided not to run.  

 --------------------------

 After training, Riley hit the showers and washed the sweat away. When finished she threw on a cute top and shorts. She even took the time to apply a bit of lip gloss and do more than finger comb her hair.

 She tried not to consider why she was spending a bit more time primping these days. She certainly didn’t want to consider that she was trying to impress a certain archangel. But she was.

 Even though Gabriel wasn’t around much, Riley made as much as she could out of the time they had. Mostly they trained. Though flirting was a huge part of it too. She figured he really enjoyed that she could tease him as much as he teased her. Their banter had become almost constant. But Riley was slightly surprised that Gabriel never escalated things passed being flirty. Barring, the symbol on her wrist of course. But who counted that? ‘I do.’ She thought, but pushed the thought away quickly.

 If he was as much a womanizer as Dean had said she would have expected Gabriel to jump on it… er, her, by now. Riley wondered if her skills were just that rusty.

 She’d even started using the candy scented shampoo. And of course the bit of gloss and hair care.

 Not that she was trying to entice him into making a move. But…. She wouldn’t be upset if he did. And if he did, it wasn’t like she was hoping he’d just jump her in the middle of the bunker, more like a date at some point.

 Did angels date? Did angels do anything? She knew that Gabriel had been with Kali. So he at least had done some form of date like thing. It had been implied that they did other things too – ie Casa Erotica – even if Gabriel denied it was the real him. So, did anyone have any firsthand knowledge of this? Other than Cas and Gabriel, both of whom Riley would be too mortified to ask.

 She knew Gabriel liked physical affection. Lately when he would sit near her, she’d begun playing with his hair. Running her nails through it. At one point, she’d tugged on it, mostly by accident. But oh he liked that.

 As a new form of teasing she’d resorted to tugging his hair every time she walked by him now. His eyes would always snap to her, a slight darkening in them the only visible sign of reaction.

Well visible to everyone else. Also visible to her were his wings’ reaction.

 That had been a surprise. His wings seemed to reach for her, every time she got near. Or if she was near him, they would curl around her. But he never acknowledged it.

 It was getting super frustrating.

 Because damn it, she liked him. Really liked him.

 Was it so wrong to hope that he might like her too? Even if he was an archangel, way out of her league, well… you couldn’t blame a girl for dreaming.

 Shaking off her thoughts, Riley found Dean and Sam in the war room. They both looked up when she entered and offered their unique versions of grimaces.

 “Do I look that bad?” She asked, trying to survey herself.

 “Not you.” Dean qualified.

 Now that she wasn’t fawning over her own self image she noticed the boys were pouring over a map. “Got a call from another hunter, there’s been a super suspicious death in Topeka, about four hours from here. We’re the closest.”

 Riley hummed as she came around to look at the map. “Any idea what it is?”

 “Supposedly a wraith.” Sam said.

 “We’re going to hit the road here in a second. You wanna come, or okay here?”

 She leaned against the table with her hip, considering.  

 “You can come, you’re getting really good.” Sam said.

 “But if you guys need backup, won’t you want the seats free for Cas or Gabe?” She hadn’t meant to shorten the names, but they’d slipped out.

 “Eh. It’s fine.” Dean shrugged.

 “You guys need a bigger car.” Riley offered, though she was joking. Dean’s reaction was exactly what she’d pictured, he jerked back like she’d physically hurt him. And his face was hilarious, nose all scrunched up and eyes narrowed.

 “Easy there Dean, she was joking.” Sam offered.

 Riley giggled, “Don’t worry, I’d never really suggest you’d trade Baby in.”

 He nodded, but mock glared, “Damn straight.”

 “Let me go change.”

 Eventually the boys packed up and started to head out, Riley with them. She’d just been thinking how stir crazy she was, and so a touch of adventure would be good.

[ficbynic]

T A K E   C A R E  -  Chapter 5 - Hampstead Heath

Something about him caught Emilie's eye. It wasn't even his general physical appearance, the fact that he was handsome. It was more in the way he looked at her, his green eyes piercing hers, not losing eye contact. There was something incredibly electrifying about his gaze, while it was simultaneously calming her, making her feel at ease talking to this complete stranger, as if they'd met before.

Story page (Catch up!) | Author | Talk to me | Read on Tumblr only.

Everything was going alright on the following Monday. After dropping Denise off at school, Emilie took Charlotte to a play group in the morning. She got to play with other toddlers and run around for an hour, which made her quite tired. It therefore didn't take a lot of effort to get her to sleep for about an hour and a half after lunch. Charlotte behaved perfectly and after now having been in London for a little over three weeks, Emilie could really sense the bond she had so far established with her. Little Charlie was so cute, starting to talk more and more. Since a week or so she had finally mastered the art of saying Emilie's name properly instead of pronouncing it like Em-ley and she picked up a lot of new words, as well. She was a well behaving, happy little monkey that, even though also often expressing her resting unimpressed face, was very smiley and often roared out one of her throaty toddler laughs. Emilie felt like her heart could burst every time the nearly two year old spread her little, chubby arms around her or called for her when she needed help. The two of them really connected. Which, when coming to think about it, wasn't that weird considering the large amounts of time they'd already spent together. Emilie and Denise got along fine, as well, but the connection between them was different since Denise was at school most of the time. Also, it had seemed like Denise was all over Emilie from the minute she arrived in Hampstead. With Charlotte, the first week or two had been challenging and involved a lot of getting used to each other, but now, Charlie seemed to have finally determined Emilie was a good nanny and there was absolutely nothing left of her shy demeanour. Emilie was more than pleased to know that despite not having bonded with Catherine or David, she had at least managed to connect and grow fond of their daughters. "Are you singing, Charlie?" Emilie asked, pushing the buggy along the pavement on the way to pick Denise up from school in the afternoon. Charlotte had been quiet for the most part of the stroll but it seemed like she was now performing one of her singsongs. Emilie joined her, "La la la la la la..." It was a random tune Charlotte liked singing, much to Emilie's admiration. When Charlotte was happy, Emilie was happy. "Can you clap your hands as well for me?" Emilie looked down to the buggy and smiled as soon as Charlotte indeed clapped her little hands together. It was so funny to see how such a little person already understood everything she was being told. As always, they arrived at Denise's school right before the gate to the schoolyard would open at three o'clock. They joined other nannies and minders in a queue while they waited for Denise's class to arrive outside. Sometimes Emilie still thought the easiest thing to do after picking Denise up from school was just to go straight home, let the girls play for a bit before Emilie had to prepare their tea. But she also knew that even those two hours between them getting home and the girls having their dinner were very long, so when she overheard some nannies talking about an after school activity at the Heath, she thought it might sound like an alright plan for the afternoon. Apparently, a lot of Denise's classmates were going to the park's playground after school and some parents or nannies that were involved in the school's parents' committee had set up a little picnic for the girls' minders to have coffee or tea. There would be snacks for the girls, as well. It was going to be quite a stroll from Denise's school up to the Heath, but Charlotte still liked her buggy and Denise, as always, brought her scooter. If anything, it was good exercise and time consuming, killing another thirty minutes. It wasn't raining either, which was nice. She would stay there for a while and let the girls play at the park's playground before it would be time to go home already, which would kill another thirty minutes. Luckily, it turned out that Denise was excited to go, especially after learning most of her classmates would be going to the Heath, as well. Plans for the afternoon were thereby settled. If having a professional nanny wasn't enough, most of Denise's classmates were also picked up from school by car, which meant none of Denise's friends were joining them to make their way to the Heath by foot slash scooter. It was just the three of them strolling along the streets of Hampstead. Emilie was carrying Denise's school bag and some piece of art Denise had brought from school: a house, Denise told her, which was fabricated out of old cereal boxes. Denise demanded that Emilie would carry it in her hands, but as soon as Denise's attention was diverted, Emilie took the opportunity to carefully put the artwork in the storage space underneath the buggy. As they were making their way along the Heath, Denise seemed to want to take full advantage of the perfectly smooth pavement laid out in front of her and how it was the ideal surface to make the best use of her scooter. "Denny, be careful, stay close!" Denise was going quite fast, the distance between her and Emilie increasing as she made her way down the pavement across the Heath. From the start, it had seemed that Denise knew well when it came to stopping at the end of the road and paying attention to traffic, but Emilie still liked having her close so nothing could happen to her and if it did, she would be right there to help her. Not to mention they were now in a park and there were other people walking around, people jogging in workout gear, elderly couples going for a stroll, locals walking their dogs... The last thing Emilie wanted was for Denise to run into someone. The thought hadn't even fully crossed Emilie's mind when it actually happened. Denise was looking to her right, eyes focused on a chocolate brown Labrador going for a ball its owner just threw, not paying attention to the pedestrian in front of her. Denise scooted right into the person on foot, which resulted in the unknown man, as well as Denise, nearly tripping. Mentally cursing, Emilie increased her walking pace and jogged towards the two of them. Denise was already back on her scooter, luckily unhurt, but the unfortunate pedestrian seemed to have taken the bigger hit. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Emilie asked the man when she neared him. As he looked up she noticed he was actually quite young, wearing a black crew neck sweater and a grey scarf around his neck. An all black fiddler hat covered most of his brown hair, a few curls escaping from underneath. "I'm fine, thanks," he coughed, reaching down to rub his shin. "I'm sorry," she again apologised. Emilie knew the feeling of bumping into hard plastic and knew the guy would get treated to a nice bruise in a few days like she had the past weeks after accidently bumping her legs against Charlotte's buggy. She then focused on the four year old culprit. "Denny! I told you to watch your speed... You didn't look where you were going, did you?" Denise looked down to the ground. "Are you gonna say you're sorry?" Denise looked up at her with a pout. Emilie hoped she wouldn't burst into tears, which would only lead to an even worse scenario. Instead, she lowly mumbled an apology to the stranger stood in front of her. It was barely loud enough to be heard, but it seemed like the message came across. "That's okay," the guy assured, ending the lingering near silence, "You were going quite fast, though, weren't ya?" Denise didn't reply, instead found something else to focus on when she finally looked up to him. "My Mummy's got a scarf like that." She pointed at the grey woolly fabric the guy was wearing around his neck. It went well with the black jumper. He looked effortlessly stylish and comfortable, randomly walking the Heath by himself. He wore dark grey jeans and beige boots. The scarf he sported was probably a good way to protect himself from the cold as he was walking in the wind that was blowing along the Heath. Emilie made a mental note to check if Charlotte was well tucked into her jacket in a minute. She didn't want her to get a soar throat. "Does she?" the guy happily asked Denise in return, before focusing on Emilie again, who immediately understood what was implied. "Oh, I'm not- They're not mine. I'm the nanny." "Oh," he replied, his eyes a bit widened. "Au pair, actually. I'm from Denmark. I'm here for a few months," Emilie further explained. "Oh, I see." "She lives right next door in the little house! We have the same garden!" Denise blurted. "Really?!" His eyes went big, imitating Denise's excitement, before focusing on Emilie again, "Whereabouts are you staying?" Something about him caught Emilie's eye. It wasn't even his general physical appearance, the fact that he was handsome. It was more in the way he looked at her, his green eyes piercing hers, not losing eye contact. There was something incredibly electrifying about his gaze, while it was simultaneously calming her, making her feel at ease talking to this complete stranger, as if they'd met before. "Here in Hampstead. In the Village. Just down the road in the town centre, five minutes from the tube. It's near..." She paused and sighed. "Forgive me, I don't really know how to explain, I still have trouble finding my way around here if I'm honest." The guy chuckled. "How long have you been here for?" "About three weeks." "Nice." "Yeah. Staying till right before Christmas," Emilie told him, before finally diverting her eyes from his, down to Denise. "If all goes well, that is. Right?" Denise nodded. She heard it many times already and understood the circumstances. David and Catherine spent a lot of time properly explaining the new au pair situation and that Emilie wasn't going to be around forever. "You seem to be doing well," he complimented, eyeing the girls. They were behaving perfectly fine. Emilie was glad to see little Charlie was minding her own business, chilling in her stroller, and Denise somehow didn't throw a tantrum after being told off just a while ago. She now actually seemed to be excited to be talking to the stranger. "Thanks." Emilie smiled. "It is going well, I guess. I really like it here." "I've lived here for about four years now," he then told her. "The area's really nice, isn't it?" "Yeah, absolutely! It's lovely here. I'm very lucky." "If you'd like, I could show you around sometime," the guy then offered, "Maybe there's some places I recommend that you haven't seen or been to before. Little Hampstead tour." "That would be nice, actually," Emilie smiled. "I'd like that a lot." The guy seemed very lovely. He was about her age, she thought. She didn't have anything against meeting new people. Getting friendly with a guy from around town would probably be fun. The fact he knew his way around Hampstead could come in handy, as well. "Great! I-" "Can we go now? We'll be late to the playground!"Denise suddenly started whining and interrupted the nice guy, much to Emilie's annoyance. "Just a minute, Denny," she tried to silence her, focusing on the guy in front of her who was just interrupted mid sentence. "I will think of some good places to-" But Denise got frustrated and started pulling the buggy forward. Not paying attention and acting roughly, she nearly hit Charlotte in the face with her elbow. Charlotte didn't understand what was suddenly happening, jolted in her seat, and started crying. Emilie let out a quiet sigh. "You spoke too soon," she said to the guy, giving him a smile, "About me doing well." She squatted down to comfort Charlotte and told Denise off. "I will let you go now," he offered with a grin after Charlotte calmed down again, "The playground's waiting!" With that, he caught Denise's attention and managed to make her grumpy expression disappear. He was really good with kids. "It's been nice meeting you," he then told Emilie, "I'm Harry, by the way." Suddenly it hit her. Suddenly it all fucking hit her. How on Earth did she not recognise such a memorable face? She knew he looked familiar! Of course he did. Suddenly, everything fell right into place. She knew who he was! Harry Styles. If not his name, then surely his face should be familiar to most people. He must've been one of the most well-known, most talked about people of the past five years. And here he was. Standing right in front of her. He was here. He lived in Hampstead. Hampstead. Home of the rich and famous of London. Suddenly it all fucking made sense. Emilie's breath hitched. Her cheeks probably turned a deeper shade of pink. She blinked a few times. A few too many times. It was obvious she only just realised who she had been talking to and it was also obvious that Harry himself was completely and unequivocally aware of it. The smirk that was now plastered on his face was not even needed to confirm that. "I-I'm Emilie." He offered his hand to shake and she took it. "Maybe I will see you around," he said with a smile, "Or, actually... Do you mind swapping numbers? It's probably easier that way." Emilie's heart skipped a beat. He was asking for her fucking phone number. "Oh. Sure. Yeah, no problem," she tried to act cool. "Great!" He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and unlocked it to add a new contact. "Here you go." Emilie took his phone from him and stared at the new contact page for a second in disbelief before adding her number. Before also adding her name she returned the phone to its owner. He thanked her and put the phone back to where it belonged in the pocket of his dark grey jeans. In a flash, Emilie wondered what he would have saved the contact as. Au pair Hampstead? Danish girl Hampstead Heath? "Alright then," he turned to the kids, "Have fun at the playground!" Denise suddenly got very shy again, which Emilie couldn't blame her for, and said nothing. "We will," answered Emilie for her, before adding "Or at least, they will" under her breath only for Harry to hear. He laughed. "Good luck. Have a nice rest of your day. I will see you around." "Yeah. Thanks, you too. Bye." "Bye, Emilie," he said and she thought her name rolled off his tongue beautifully, "Bye girls." With a wave to the girls that again wasn't reciprocated, he walked off into the direction the three of them were initially coming from, and Emilie started pushing Charlotte's buggy down the park's pavement again, her body temperature still rising, Denise following her on her scooter. "Who was that?" Denise asked after only a few seconds, being a stereotypical nosy four-year-old. Harry was only just out of earshot. "A boy who lives here," Emilie answered, simultaneously feeling grateful for the fact that Denise was too young to know about One Direction. "How do you know him?" "I didn't, Denny, I just met him. Like you did." "He looks nice," Denise commented, not having a clue about the implication of her statement. "He does, doesn't he?" Emilie replied, her mind drifting off. ~~ The next morning, around ten-thirty, Tilda called to ask what Emilie was up to. The call couldn't have come at a better time. What happened the day before on the Heath had been the only thing on Emilie's mind. It just seemed so unrealistic for something like this to happen to her. Arriving at the playground, it had been hard for Emilie to concentrate on her job to pay attention to the girls. Making small talk with other nannies and the few parents that were around, not a word registered, the guy she just met clouding her thoughts. She didn't know what to think of it all and quickly realised she needed to confide to someone. Tilda was the ideal person. They decided to meet up at a little coffee shop in Golders Green, Emilie and Charlotte taking the tube this time after Tilda and Violet, a half Italian curly brown haired two-year-old, made the trip down to Hampstead to meet up for coffee last week. Violet was a little cutie pie, but she wasn't as cute as Charlotte, Emilie shamelessly thought. It was probably her au pair-heart thinking, having already grown attached to her 'own' little girl. It was nice to see that Charlotte and Violet got along and liked playing together, though, despite the fact Violet was nearly a year older. Even though Charlotte's messy nappies were anything but a fun job to take care of, Emilie had already heard Tilda complain about potty training Violet and how she was still struggling at times, which frequently resulted into dirty underwear when she wasn't wearing a nappy. Although taking care of a younger toddler sounded like a more difficult job, Emilie was glad she didn't have anything to do with potties yet. After a while of small talk, the two of them sitting outside in the patio in the back of the little café, watching Charlotte and Violet play in the sandpit and on the slide that were situated there, Emilie opted to just blurt it out. She told Tilda exactly what happened, from Denise running into a guy, to the guy turning out to be Harry, to the conversation that followed. Tilda's eyes were wide, her hand covering her mouth in pure amazement for a brief moment. Emilie shook her head in disbelief, still amazed by it all, as well. "But what was he like? How did he- What was he like?" Tilda then asked, curiosity getting the better of her after Emilie finished her story. "I don't know," Emilie honestly answered, her elbows on the little table in front of her and both her hands literally in her hair. "He seemed so... determined? In a way. Like... confident. Like it was all very normal? Whereas I'm like, who happens to nearly walk over a four-year-old, then gets involved in a three minute conversation with the four-year-old's nanny, then ends up asking her phone number?"   Suddenly she remembered something. "He asked me to swap numbers, by the way. But then he handed me his phone and I just added mine and he never gave me his." "You took Harry Styles' phone and added your number to his contacts?" Tilda had a weird smile on her face. "Yeah." "And you haven't heard from him?" Tilda then asked. Emilie shook her head. "It's not like I expected to hear from him, I mean, it's been... twenty hours." She pondered. "I don't even think I expect to hear from him, ever." "Well, God, who knows? Maybe by this time tomorrow he's called you or sent you a text and he wants to set up a date!" "A date?" Emilie's eyes were wide. "Tilda, chill out, he just wanted to show me around Hampstead." "Oh, come on. He wouldn't have offered and then asked for your number if he wasn't into you." "We spoke for, like, three minutes!" "Well..." Tilda thought. "I can imagine him living a very fast paced, busy life. He probably realises that he has to take his chances when he is presented with one. He knows he might not run into you again and-" "Charlie, it's Violet's turn! You have to wait!" Emilie interrupted and called to the girls when she saw Charlotte practically nearly pushed Violet off the slide because she was taking too long and Charlotte wasn't patient enough. Despite the fact Violet was older, Charlotte sure had no trouble keeping up with her. "She's fine," Tilda assured, before quickly returning to their topic of conversation. "He's gonna call you. Or text you. You're gonna see him again." Emilie let out a huge sigh. "I don't know. I really don't. It's all a bit weird, isn't it?" "It's bizarre. One of my friends back home would die, she's obsessed with him." "By the way, please don't tell anyone about all of this." "And ruin it? Of course I won't," Tilda answered, letting Emilie know they were completely on the same page. ~~ The afternoon went by without any major problems. Emilie and Charlotte returned to the house right in time for lunch, after which Charlotte went up to sleep. Walking to Denise's school at half past two, which meant walking the streets of Hampstead village, Emilie noticed she was more aware of other pedestrians than she would've been if she hadn't met a certain someone the day before. She caught herself thinking of Harry again, wondering where he lived exactly and what he had been up to, walking along the Heath all by himself on a Monday afternoon. Emilie didn't really have a clue about any neighbours besides the family living next door. For all she knew, Harry could own a property nearby. Down the street maybe even. The Ainsley's inhabited a grand house with a massive garden. Of course the nearby neighbours were rich, as well. Perhaps Harry owned a similar grand house with a massive garden down in Hampstead Village. Emilie wondered if she would ever get to know where Harry lived. No. No, of course not. Sure, she'd met him and sure, he'd essentially asked her phone number, but that meant nothing. She wasn't actually going to hear from him again and if, by chance, she did, it didn't mean she would ever get to visit his house. "Are we going to the park again?" Denise excitedly asked first thing when she walked up to Emilie after being dismissed by her teacher at three o'clock. "I don't think so, Denny, look at the sky. It's gonna rain soon," Emilie replied, looking up at the dark clouds. She would be happy to get the kids in the house before it started pouring. Little Charlotte followed Emilie's example and also looked up at the sky from her buggy, squinting her eyes. "We can go next time when all the other girls are going, like they did yesterday!" Luckily, Denise seemed to be alright with that. ~~ Something just popped in my head as I was scooping Violet's faeces out of the bath tub. Isn't Harry Styles currently on a big world tour? I thought I saw ads for a London show in the tube last weekend. It was just past six o'clock and Emilie smiled as she checked her phone just as she was letting the girls play in the bath for a couple of minutes after washing them herself. By the looks of the text she just received, Tilda had a similar time schedule regarding bath time. Luckily, however, Emilie didn't have any experience with poop scooping and she hoped it would stay that way. Good luck scooping. You could be right, I have no idea. Haven't seen any ads. Am I literally gonna spend my night Googling the guy? We both know the answer is yes. I will let you know when I find something interesting. With a smile on her face, Emilie put her phone away and focused on getting the girls out of bath and dressed. As usual, Emilie had them ready in their pyjamas before either Catherine or David had arrived home. The three of them had been downstairs, the girls playing in the front room and Emilie sat on the sofa, for about ten minutes when David entered the house and took over. He told her that Catherine would be working late today and asked her if he was cooking for one or two, which basically meant he was asking if Emilie was having dinner with him, or by herself in her room. Especially with a lot on her mind, Emilie didn't care to have dinner with David and opted for leaving early, right as David was taking Charlotte upstairs to go to bed at around seven. She still had a pack of microwavable mozzarella pasta in the fridge that was nearly expired and she couldn't wait to devour it in the privacy of her own space, without having to worry about keeping up a conversation with David during dinner, which, even after nearly four weeks, was still quite awkward most times. Emilie was starting to wonder if she would ever connect with him. He wasn't that much of a talker. Whereas Catherine practically wouldn't ever shut up, Emilie had found herself in many uncomfortable situations trying to think of something to talk about with David to end the deafening silence. That's why Emilie tried to balance out having dinners by herself in her room and having them with the family. She kind of tried to calculate who would be at the house on which days, and adjust her own plans to the family's. Of course, she made sure to have dinner with the family a few times a week. It was an opportunity to talk a bit more and tell them more about the girls and it kept her from having to buy food for dinner and spend money, as cheap as it sounds. She did try to only have dinner with the family when Catherine would be around, though. She just hoped it wasn't obvious to David that she was basically avoiding having dinner with just him, while she didn't mind having dinner with just Catherine.   Besides, taking care of the girls from eight in the morning until seven at night was quite draining and it seemed like the only way Emilie would fully unwind was whenever she would leave the house and be all by herself. When she would be around the family in the evening and have dinner with them, she often had dinner quite late, which meant that in a way, her day only seemed longer. Plus, Denise would be around until eight, sometimes even eight-thirty, which could be quite a lot to deal with, as well. That's why Emilie felt great shutting the front door to her apartment behind her, having an early evening in. As soon as her pasta was done and Emilie had made herself a nice plate, a little bit of salad on the side, she sat down at her little table next to the kitchen unit, where her laptop was left after using it the night before. She decided to turn it on after only one bite of food, one thing still occupying her mind. Simply typing his name in the Google search bar felt a bit weird now that he wasn't just a famous person anymore, but she'd actually met him in person. She met Harry Styles in person. Even that, she could still hardly believe. Just a minute later she'd found what she was looking for. And it turned out that Tilda had been absolutely right. Harry Styles had a huge world tour going on at the moment. He just finished the American and first leg of it last week. He had the coming two weeks off from tour, which explained why he'd returned to London, but after that, he had dozens of shows planned around Europe, Asia and Oceania. He would be on the road until mid December.   If before tour started again, Harry wanted to contact her and set something up, he was going to have to be quick, Emilie thought, looking over his schedule again. He was going to be insanely busy. If not performing, he would be travelling. Not to mention the other obligations a world tour would probably include. Rehearsing, sound checking, interviews, promotion... Emilie let out a sigh. She nearly felt relieved to have come to the conclusion that whatever Harry Styles wanting to get her phone number had meant, it surely wasn't going to have any consequences. She shouldn't let her mind drift off about him anymore. There was no reason to, since there wasn't even going to be time to get involved with him. Shutting her laptop, Emilie made her way to her tiny en-suite after she finished her dinner and took a well deserved, long, hot shower. After that, she messaged home, cleaned her room a bit and sorted out the washing she was going to do tomorrow, before ending up in bed, going over social media one last time before she shut her eyes and quickly fell asleep. | < Previous chapter | Next chapter > | | Story page | Author | Talk to me |

[aliahaider-blog]

The time flamenco pop sounded like my Pakistani mom’s cleaning music

Boring, I thought. The first time I listened all the way through Rosalía's debut album, Los Angeles, all I could think about was that, boring. 12 tracks and an hour later it felt like I had listened to the same song over and over again, the same guitar strum repeating itself with some off-beat vocals scratching on top of it. This had been right after discovering Rosalía on J Balvin's new record, Vibras, in which she delivers an interlude ("Brillo") that completely overshadows Balvin and the rest of his guest features on the album. The hype built up later as I discovered her latest single at the time, "Malamente," and loved the choreography, the production by one of my favorite Spanish artists El Guincho, that sexy repetition of "malamente" aided by the claps in between. So with all the dance-y hype built up in me, I decided to listen to her debut album, reaching that first impression I mentioned at the beginning of this blog post: boring.

It had to be impossible, though. It couldn't have been that this singer rose to fame among her peers had they thought she was boring. So I listened to Los Angeles again two or three times, and its beauty and elegance struck me in weird and nostalgic scenarios: as I cleaned my room, as I folded my clothes, as I drove to hang out with my friends. Her vocal range and constancy of such a raw performance took me back to childhood when my mom played her old Ghazal and Qawwali cassettes in those exact scenarios: when she cleaned, or folded clothes, or drove me to my friends' houses. Los Angeles likened itself to that hour-long string of consciousness prevalent in performances by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the feeling like you're listening to one long song with fragments of various identities that tie in with its overarching theme of love or loss or peace. Where I saw the beauty in the variety of her talents through "Brillo" and "Malamente," I now also saw in Rosalía's range of whispers and shrill screams compiled together into a central theme. Listening to "Si Tú Supieras Compa��ero," you inch towards the desire she emanates through her lyrics and lilting vocals (as my friend would classify them), following her through an awaited climax that never arrives, just as she does when she remarks,

Ay te voy pintando y pintando

Al laíco del brasero

Y a la vez me voy quemando

Por lo mucho que te quiero

Válgame San Rafael tener el agua tan cerca y no poderla beber

Oh! I am painting your portrait, painting you,

by the faint light of the brazier;

and at the same time I am burning away slowly,

consumed by my love for you.

May Saint Raphael help me, oh!

The water I need is so near, yet I cannot drink of it.

-Translation by Anonymous

The same effect captures you in the next song "De Plata," as Rosalía expresses her mere 14 lines of anguish towards this unrequited love for 4 1/2 minutes. The elongated "Cuando yo" at the beginning takes you inside that raw emotion, those periods that seem like forever just waiting for that person to understand the extent of her love. The pattern goes on from song to song, the concise feelings of loss piercing deeper in Rosalía's vocals and getting heavier in each song's lyrics. Time passes as the narrator's mother dies, and little brother dies, and the town's gravedigger buries his daughter, and by the time you can't handle anymore she concludes her narration with a cover of Bonnie "Prince" Billy's song "I See A Darkness," an ending that dually traps the narrator in her own head yet brings her closer to the ones she loves through her familiarity with imminent death.

Los Angeles and its similarity to Ghazal and Qawwali helped me connect to these feelings of loss in such a larger-than-life manner. This connection as well as Rosalía's objective with flamenco-pop moving forward helped me realize the quickly-changing landscape of music that she is adapting to. For me, this isn't the first time I've been exposed to South Asian/Arab and Spanish cultures coinciding. The Bollywood movie Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara draws connections between flamenco and Hindi music in its hit song "Señorita."  Indian authors like Salman Rushdie and Arundhati Roy incorporate elements of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude into their tales of India and Pakistan. El Guincho, Rosalía's co-producer for her newest album, has incorporated Hindi samples and Indian influences in songs like "Cuando Maravilla Fui" and "Bombay." I even wrote about a project by Moroccan artist Bouchra Khalili in which she juxtaposes speeches by prominent (albeit controversial) North African leaders and revolutionaries next to those by Latin American leaders and revolutionaries to universalize the experiences of Maghrebi immigrants in Europe. For Rosalía, she's not the first to try and bring a niche, traditional genre like flamenco into the pop or hip-hop world. "Despacito" became one of the most widely-heard songs in 2017, Riz Ahmed and Heems integrated Bollywood-inspired production with East coast rap and grime in their duo Swet Shop Boys, and Skepta found his way into every rapper's feature list from A$AP Rocky to Playboi Carti to Drake. But what seems to be so unique about Rosalía's flamenco-pop integration is that it embodies her transition into a purely diasporic art-form, beginning from the foundation of authentic Catalan flamenco and shifting according to her surroundings. In an interview with a fellow student named Jon a few months ago, we discussed the essence of diasporic identity being the ability to take the morally-rich parts of our parent-country's heritage and the morally-rich lessons we learned from the new environment we were raised in and combine them to create our own identity, one that transcends any doubt we experienced trying to fit into exclusive circles throughout our lives. Through that experience we learn to identify with people who experience the same feelings as us, like displacement and the necessity to adapt to unfamiliar surroundings, rather than exclusively people who look like us or share the same traditions as us. That's not to say I didn't mostly hang out with South Asians anyways. Sometimes people who experience the same feelings as us are also the ones that look like us. It's not mutually exclusive. And perhaps this inclusiveness, or absence of exclusiveness, is what allows Rosalía the ability to delve into these new areas of her music while staying true to her roots. This flamenco-pop wave she basks in is not a new era but a transitional one. In an interview with Tom Tom Mag, she discusses her perspective of creating popular flamenco, stating, "It is not my intention to alter, in any way, the status quo of this genre. It is more like….I sing flamenco from my perspective. For me to make music, and specifically flamenco, it is absolutely necessary for me to play in my own way." In this sense, she maintains that diasporic identity through the creation of her own perspective of flamenco, one that she hopes younger generations who were not exposed to its pure form since birth can identify with. And through this perspective, she capitalizes on the expanse of the genre without denouncing its purists. In a video set in Barcelona, a camera follows Rosalía through her favorite square. She reminisces on randomly meeting friends every time she goes there, and then the video quickly switches to her explaining the process of creating her new album, El Mal Querer. Through it all, I get to see how she manifests her explanation of this transcendental identity my friend and I talked about, but through her music. She remarks, "It's quite different from Los Angeles, but the essence remains. You can sense the flamenco inspiration," she says as she mimics the snaps and claps common in flamenco, "but at the same time, it's a whole new thing." This brief explanation rings throughout my head as I contextualize this leap in her career. Perhaps all the artists who pivoted to other genres of music and creativity never truly departed from their past crafts but just adapted to the environments they found themselves in. And perhaps as diaspora dominates more and more aspects of our lives, the preparedness to embrace unfamiliar circumstances opens the doors to many new forms of expression.

As I sat here writing this after hearing that quote in the video, I remembered where I had read something similar before. It was an interview with Riz Ahmed written by Carvell Wallace of the New York Times. In it, he explains his experience listening to Riz Ahmed's verse in the Swet Shop Boys song "Half Moghul, Half Mowgli." He ends that verse with four different voices talking to him, one of them calling him a "Paki" terrorist, one of them praising him for representing South Asian kids, one of them saluting him for his raps, and lastly an old Muslim man condemning him for his explicit content. Wallace explains his experience hearing that verse and coming to truly understand it, writing, "But the reason it unraveled something so deeply inside of me was that it also represented four different ways you can look at yourself. All completely opposite one another, and completely isolated, and yet completely validated by the world you live in. And when there are so many versions of self, maybe the only way to maintain safety is to develop a view that can see, literally, everything." Reading that passage a few months back brought me full circle in coming to terms with this "transcendental identity" Jon and I coughed up in our discussion, and now finding myself in the wake of this album that popularizes the artist's own perspective of flamenco, pop, love, loss and everything in between, I understand Wallace's notion of viewing "everything." I understand it through being a Pakistani-American who identifies with a piece of art from halfway across the world, one based in a language I can barely speak and a form of music I have virtually never heard before.

Through this piece and Rosalía's own expression of her diasporic identity, we get to see her perspective of flamenco come to life, whether it be in the fierce pop choreography in "Malamente," in the flamenco-inspired crescendo of the guitar and background of emphatic snaps and claps in "Que No Salga La Luna," or in the Bedouin-style auto-tune riffs in "De Aquí No Sales."

Throughout her performance in everything--video, song, and stage--we see the two worlds of Rosalía combine to create a third. We see her perspective of pure flamenco come together with the pop and R&B she came to know growing up; we see extravagant displays of color and flare in costume, fabric and setting yet also her casual streams of consciousness through fluid dance, concise lyrics and steady cinematography; we hear the theme of love and loss carried over from Los Angeles--even hearing that lyric from "De Plata" in which she asks her love to tie her hands together with their braids carried into "Di Mi Nombre"--yet we find our narrator with a brand-new air of confidence in her; and we see her Catalan roots become universalized as listeners around the world share her experience.

In the song covers (yes, she has a different cover for each song) we see these elements come together even more, such as in the “Bagdad” cover as Rosalía lays on her side pointing towards the sun with stigmata in her feet, a fitting expression of the Catholic undertones for her liturgy rendition of Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River.” The cover for “Que No Salga La Luna” displays two versions of Rosalía shaking hands during the flamenco medley, the left dressed in chic white clothes as if a pop icon, the right dressed in an embroidered flamenco suit. Keys of different colors float in between them as if to open a door not accessible previously.

In the beautifully-crafted lyrics we hear the story of the narrator play out through the darker stages of her love. In “Que No Salga La Luna,” we hear a male singer repeat “Que no salga la luna que no tiene pa' qué / No tiene pa' qué, no tiene pa' qué,” saying the moon has no reason to rise because the narrator has filled herself with light, yet deeper into the song those repetitions soon bring out the loss of oneself in this obsessive relationship. Whereas the line once serves as a reason for hope, it soon becomes a reason for doubt in the confines of this love full of diamonds and undying loyalty to each other. In “Bagdad,” the narrator prays to God repeatedly to see her way out of the trapped relationship, yet despite the descent of an angel she again falls in love with her evils. The story of this love bound to end in flames continues through “Di Mi Nombre” as she basks in the sexual moment between her and her love. The last three tracks show the narrator confront her desire to find that exit and maintain the hope of finding herself again too. The final track, “A Ningún Hombre,” brings us to her realization of self-worth, remarking that no man can dictate her life, asserting that she will tattoo his initials to remember what he did and how she came out of it. These songs, layered as chapters, tell the coming of age story that is born out of this obsessive love in a way so unique to the genres they touch. “Di Mi Nombre” epitomizes the sex-fueled undertones of pop and R&B, getting its name from the famous Destiny’s Child song “Say My Name.” The experimental production of “De Aqui No Sales” meshes flamenco claps, auto-tune riffs, and car engine sounds in a way that perfectly matches the scattered and fluctuating feelings of pain and infatuation this relationship causes. It seems that with every line comes its corresponding piece of instrumentation to fully embody the narrator’s circumstance.

Throughout this listening experience we perceive "everything" the way Carvell Wallace explains. We can be both the purists and the adapters, both the flamenco and the pop, both the familiar and the unfamiliar. Somehow, while having to balance all of these ambiguities, Rosalía does not fail to leave out any aspect of her new identity that she’s embracing, that of a powerful, self-realizing woman, a pioneer of the emerging genre of flamenco pop, and a product of cultural eclecticism and diaspora. 

Listen to El Mal Querer below: