#if ivory has a million fans I am one of them if ivory has a hundred fans I am one of the

[technicallyaminecraftsimp]

Cute date idea we drop everything and watch the premiering episode of Whitepine by ivory cello 11am est tomorrow morning

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {4}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: All of your notes give me life. ty, truly.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

As the days went on, everyone knew Aelin was pregnant, and no one allowed her to do anything.

It only pissed her off.

Yes, she was pregnant. Yes, she could still do things by herself. Preferred it that way, actually. The only person who knew how Aelin Galathynius liked things was Aelin herself. And Rowan, occasionally, but he’d been MIA lately. She didn’t hound him, though, only asked him an appropriate amount of questions before dropping the subject and getting more info from the others when she crossed their paths.

Rowan wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. 

There had yet to be a strike from Maeve, and as long as Rowan was planning his strategy, it seemed there would be very little interaction between him and her inside of their own home.

But she would see him tonight, at the gala being held and funded by the Cadre for Orynth’s local charities. It had been planned for months and Rowan found no reason to cancel, even with everything going on with Maeve. The hall in which it was held would be loaded with people and security. It would, perhaps, be the safest place for them.

So she sat at her vanity, brushing through her short, golden hair, admiring the dress that hung on the door of her wardrobe through the mirror’s reflection. It was royal blue, and she had a headband to match. It nearly reached the floor, but there was a slit up to her knee. She had a large, feathered boa to wear, too, made of fine ivory feathers that Rowan had bought her as a wedding gift.

He said he would be home by seven to escort her to the hall, but it was half an hour past six and he had yet to arrive and begin getting ready.

Nonetheless, Aelin did her makeup, sculpting her brows and darkening her lashes before applying a pale, pink lip. She stood from the vanity, slipping off her robe as she made her way to the wardrobe.

She slipped on a golden chemise and her garters that held up her stockings. She took a long string of pearls out of the chest on her dresser and wrapped them twice around her neck. Just as she took her dress off it’s hanger, the bedroom door burst open, and Rowan, wide-eyed and frantic, came hurrying in.

Aelin glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. 

It was five until seven.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me,” Aelin said, slipping into her dress and pulling the slim straps over her shoulders. 

“Sorry,” Rowan muttered, tossing his hat on the bed, then his dusty, gray jacket. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Aelin’s jaw locked but she knew better to protest. She knew that whatever he’d been doing had been important, but it didn’t make it any easier that she didn’t know where that was or what it was.

“I would like it if you at least would tell me where you’re going throughout the day,” Aelin said, taking her heels from the bottom of her closet and sitting back on the stool in front of her vanity.

Rowan threw his trousers aside as he stomped to his wardrobe, his tattooed chest on full display. She had always admired the black ink that covered him, up his side and across his chest, up his neck and his cheek. To most, it signaled fear, but to Aelin, it was nothing but beautiful.

“I don’t always know where I’m going,” he said, pulling out his nicest black trousers and jacket and tossing them across the room, where they landed on the bed.

Aelin sighed, buckling her heels. “I understand that, but I-“

“Aelin,” Rowan warned, his voice low. 

Her lips snapped shut as tears formed in her eyes. Damn hormones. Typically, she’d have some snarky-ass remark, but she couldn’t help getting emotional at his tone, at his temper, and the situation in its entirety.

As if sensing it, Rowan slowly turned around, jaw rigid as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then let it out. He was walking to her then, slowly, cautiously, before kneeling at her feet and taking her hands into his. He kissed her knuckles before saying, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re stressed-“

“No excuse to take it out on you,” he said, then looked up to meet her gaze.

She ran her fingers through his messy, silver hair as she said, “I need to know where you go, Ro. I need to know where to look if you don’t come back to me.”

The pain in Rowan’s eyes was excruciating as he nodded, silently. He pushed himself back up to his feet and began to dress, Aelin watching, intently.

He pulled on his trousers, his shirt, buttoning it up to his neck before sliding his holster over his shoulders and putting his pistol, loaded, inside. He pulled his jacket over top after adjusting his collar then pulled on his black, leather boots.

“Come here,” Aelin whispered, standing to her feet, motioning for him to sit.

He did as he was told.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, meeting her gaze in the reflection of the mirror as Aelin started combing through his messy hair. There wasn’t much of it, with the sides and back shaved, but the top was so thick it had a way of getting relentlessly tangled. 

“I know,” Aelin said.

He chuckled. “We should get going, before it gets dark.”

Aelin dropped the comb and ran her fingers through the soft, thick locks of silver hair. Rowan’s eyes closed as he sighed, dwelling in her touch.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go do some good for Orynth.”

Rowan stood and adjusted his jacket before holding out his hand. Aelin humbly took it, wrapping her fingers around his as they left their bedroom.

They were off to the gala, and whatever the fuck that entailed.

~~~~~

Lysandra was hurrying down the street. Rowan would be pissed that she didn’t wait to walk with Gavriel and the twins, but this was urgent. It couldn’t wait.

She would see them at the gala and all would be well, she was certain. Besides, it was still daylight.

No one ever attacked in the middle of the city in daylight.

Right?

Nonetheless, she was moving swiftly and Aedion’s house was not far away. It had been days since she had seen him, but she had been busy at the office and he had been with Rhoe and the others often, talking strategy and trying to find men to stand on their side.

Now, dressed in a golden dress and two inch heels, Lysandra was hurrying, careful not to miss Aedion before he left.

The other night, after he had walked her home from the Fireheart, nothing had happened. They stayed snuggled up together on the couch until they fell asleep. Then, they awoke the next morning and Aedion left after a kind goodbye.

But Lysandra was tired of it.

She was tired of waiting, tired of the self loathing.

She loved him.

And nothing would ever happen unless she made the first move. It was up to her, the happiness that she would have with him.

The only person standing in her own way was her.

And she was fucking done with it.

With an outrageous amount of courage, she swept through the streets of Orynth, her clutch in her hand as her heels clicked along the dusty ground.

It had been all she could think about the minute she had woken up that morning. Her and Aedion, together. She would get to his townhouse, would take his beautiful face into her hands, would press her lips to his, softly. He would look at her, completely shocked, of course, and then she would laugh before finally telling him the words he deserved to hear so long ago.

I love you. I want to be with you. I’m tired of pushing you away. Let’s fucking do this.

The words replayed her mind, over and over again. She had dreamt of this moment for so long, but that was all it remained: a dream. Something that was in reach, but something she would never be able to truly grasp. And yet, if she kept up with that thought process, Madame Clarisse would have won. Her mother would have won. Everyone who had ever wronged her would have won.

And the only person coming out in victory in Lysandra’s story would be herself.

She was hurrying up the walkway, finally able to spot Aedion’s house in the distance. She was almost there.

So fucking close.

Then the door opened, and a woman stepped out.

Lysandra’s hurried feet came to an abrupt halt. 

The woman, a few years younger than Lysandra, stepped out into the street, Aedion close behind her, leaning in his doorway in his shirt sleeves. 

Lysandra couldn’t breathe.

The young woman smiled, resting her hand reassuringly on Aedion’s arm before she looked around and hurried away. Lysandra could barely see her, she was sunken down into her wool hat and thick coat, but she could see the reddish-tinted gold curls peeking out of the wool fabric.

Aedion watched her go, his brows furrowed. Then, he went to take a step back into his townhouse, but he froze.

He had spotted her.

Lysandra, remembering she was staring, took a few steps back before spinning around and hauling ass.

“Lysandra!”

She could hear his voice, could hear him coming after her, but she didn’t stop. How stupid, how fucking stupid she was to actually believe he had waited for her after all this time.

“Lysandra! Wait!”

Perhaps she was being selfish. Of course she should want him to have found somebody, of course she would want him to be happy. Expecting him to wait for her to be ready to give him her heart was unrealistic. She had made him wait years, and he deserved better than that. 

And yet, the thought of him with anyone else had her heart shattering into a million pieces.

“Lysandra, will you just wait?”

Lysandra didn’t want to, but his hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back. She jerked herself out of his grasp. “What.”

One word, spat with such hatred that it made Aedion drop his hand and take a step back.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Lysandra scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Lysandra,” he breathed, but she was already walking away.

Aedion was an Ashryver, though, and they were not ones to give up so easily.

“She’s my neighbor,” he explained, hurrying to keep up with her, but he did, walked quickly, his long legs in strides. “She came over for solitude, she does from time to time.”

“Solitude?” Lysandra asked, laughing humorlessly. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Aedion jumped in front of her and Lysandra froze, nearly tripping over her own two feet. “Her husband abuses her, Lysandra, she comes over to eat fucking scones and read in the library for a while, that’s it. She’s a friend.” 

Lysandra hesitated. She opened her mouth, then her lips snapped shut. “What?”

Aedion’s eyes softened as he took a deep breath. He looked over her shoulder. “Look, I left my door open, alright? At least come back with me so I can put on shoes.”

Lysandra slowly looked down at his feet.

They were bare.

Suddenly feeling like an idiot for jumping to conclusions, feeling ashamed for thinking Aedion would lie to her, would manipulate her, had her blushing.

“Aedion, I-”

“Just come on,” he said, voice quiet, “and I’ll explain.”

And he did. Evangeline, no more than a girl, lived next door with her husband. He was much older than her, a wealthy, privileged man who was given Evangeline by her father before he passed. Aedion had found her outside one day, crying over her broken, wire basket. Aedion had helped her fix it before walking with her to the market.

Then their friendship began.

“That’s awful,” Lysandra said, sitting in Aedion’s den as he finished.  

“Yeah,” Aedion agreed. “She’s a good kid. Only seventeen. Sweet spirit. Her husband is a dick, though, I’d like to watch that man rot in hell.” 

“There’s nothing that can be done?” Lysandra asked.

Aedion shook his head, finally finishing typing his boots. “By law, no, there’s nothing I can do.”

“And since when do you follow the law?” Lysandra crooned.

Aedion snorted. “Fair enough.” He tilted his head, observing her in her golden gown. “I do have a question for you, though.”

“Sure,” she said. 

“Why were you coming to my house?” he asked. “I expected to see you at the gala, but not here.” 

Lysandra hesitated. “Oh, I just...thought we could walk together.”

Aedion’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.” 

“And how could you possibly know that I’m lying?” Lysandra asked, brow raised.

“You don’t love someone without knowing when they’re lying,” Aedion protested.

Lysandra’s heart skipped a beat. “You still love me after I came up here accusing you of fucking a random woman?”

Aedion’s grin widened. “There is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.”

With her gaze falling to her hands, Lysandra felt an overwhelming sense of emotions: love, lust, humiliation, utter nervousness. Those nerves filled her body, shook her core. If she was going to say anything, now was the time to say it. 

It was now or never.

A thousand sentences flooded her mind, but only one came out. “I came to kiss you.”

Aedion stilled, then a golden brow lifted. “You came to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Lysandra breathed, going with it. 

“Is that all?” Aedion asked, his voice going suddenly quiet. He stayed where he sat, in his olive-green armchair by the window, the ashtray sitting on the side table beside him holding his last cigarette, still smoking. 

Lysandra raised her chin up high. “I came to tell you…”

Her words trailed off, her stomach going wild. She had been so confident before, but now it all seemed far-fetched. 

No. She wouldn’t back out, not this time.

Aedion didn’t press her, he waited, still, patiently, until she was ready.

“I came to tell you that I love you,” she said, the words pouring out of her. “I came to tell you that I’m ready, that I want to be yours, Aedion, that I’m so fucking tired of being without you.”

When she met Aedion’s gaze, he was staring at her, lips parted, eyes wide. 

After a minute, when he didn’t say a thing, she asked, “Did you hear me or did I say all that in my mind?”

“I heard you,” he said, after a moment, his eyes still wide as they watched her. “I just...I’m...I don’t...you…” his words broke off and he laughed, breathlessly. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long that I don’t think I’m processing the words correctly.” 

Lysandra couldn’t help her laughter, couldn’t help the elated sounds that escaped from her lips. “Aedion-”

But he was on his feet, then he was kneeling before her. He gently took her hands into his and pressed his lips to her pale skin, softly, slowly, on each of her fingers. 

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

He looked up, met her emerald gaze. 

He didn’t hesitate.

She could hear his breaths, could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he came up and brushed his nose against her own, before kissing her lips, softly. 

Heat flooded her body. She had kissed Aedion before, but it was different now as her walls tumbled down around her. She took his face into her hands and pulled him closer, pulled his body into hers, and Aedion didn’t hold himself back as he laid her down, her back against the couch cushions, and hovered above her, his mouth still pressed to hers.

Lysandra never wanted that contact to break.

Never wanted his lips to leave her own.

But they did. He pulled back, his turquoise eyes wild and lovely. “We’re going to be late for the gala.”

But Lysandra wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t care.”

~~~~~

“Mama will be back in a little while,” Elide said, smiling as she kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “I love you.”

“Mama,” Lucy said, grin wide as she clapped her hands.

Elide laughed, under her breath.

Natalia told Elide to have a good time in her native language, and Elide replied kindly before walking down the hall, toward the master bedroom. “Lorcan, come on! We’re going to be late!”

But he was tying his hair at the back of his head as she entered, perfectly polished and ready to go.

“Well,” she said, stopping in the doorway as she took in the handsome man before her. “Where is the dirty, dangerous man I fell in love with?”

Lorcan grinned. “Somewhere beneath this ridiculously expensive outfit.”

Elide laughed as she strolled to him and brought herself up on her toes to kiss him, softly. “Ready, then?”

“Almost,” he said, turning back toward his dresser and grabbing a long, velvet box. “I got you something.”

“A gift?” she asked, surprised. Her husband was not the most romantic man. 

But he just smiled and flipped open the lid.

Elide was breathless. 

Inside of the box was a sapphire pendant on a short, gold chain. It was massive, surely have costing him quite a bit. They had money, certainly, but Elide didn’t need anything this grand. 

As if seeing the protests in her eyes, Lorcan began taking the necklace out of the box. “I know I’ve been a bit of an ass lately. But I love you, so much, and I wanted to get you something to remind you of that.”

Elide’s eyes softened as she pressed her palm against his stubbled cheek. “It’s beautiful, Lor. Truly.”

She lifted her hair and turned, facing herself in her reflection of the floor length mirror. With gentle fingers, Lorcan unclasped the chain and slid it around her neck before clasping it back into place. He met her eyes in their reflection and greeted her with one of those rare, soft smiles.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, then kissed the back of her head. 

They stayed like that for a moment, dwelling in the sight of their reflection, Lorcan’s arms wrapped around her waist as Elide leaned back into his chest.

Then, the grandfather clock chimed from the den and Elide and Lorcan were off to the gala.

~~~~~~~~~~

@mariamuses  @garnet-29  @writer-reader-traveller  @rowaelin-cressworth  @space-buns-arsinoe  @negativenesta  @empress-ofbloodshed  @the-regal-warrior  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @westofmoon  @sammyjojaaaa  @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter  @carbconnoisseur @acer6437  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cool-ish-nerd  @mynewdreamwasyou  @mourning-razorlust  @thespiritualrider  @rowaelinforeverworld  @didsomeonesayviolin  @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit  @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks  @queen-of-glass  @the-dark-swan  @http-itsrebecca  @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17  @mollycateoc  @chemicha  @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider  @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls  @shyvioletcat  @hermajestyanna  @a97girl  @stardustsroses  @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012  @awkward-avocado-s  @faerie-queen-fireheart  @cwheart  @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294  @nerdperson524  @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red  @acourtofmoonlight   @rowaelinforeverworld  @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean  @thewayshedreamed  @wind-drinker  @aelin-rowan-whitehorn  @starseternalnighttriumphant  @hurema @http-itsrebecca  @lorcansalvatearupmyheart  @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears  @iliketoasterstrudels  @lightitup-bryce  @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books  @keshavomit  @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars  @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204  @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro   @b00kworm  @mu-si-ca-l   @thegayerpotato  @abraxos-is-toothless  @keshavomit  @musicdreamer003   @superspiritfestival  @sailorsassley  @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123  @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame  @shyvioletcat @maastrash @thewayshedreamed @wifeofchrishemsworth  @loveofbooksandwine  @mu-si-ca-l​ @rosalineroses​ @l0sts0uls1128​ @mockingjayusa​ @musicdreamer003​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ 

[yellowjavkets]

Can you recommend non white and non American music?

Absolutely! I am so fucking excited to answer this ask, like u have no idea. I’m fucking thrilled. Some of these are american but all of these are bands of color or are fronted by people of color(I’m gonna italicize musicians that I know are lgbt also. just like. given my recent complaints)

Mashrou’ leila is a Lebanese rock band that has just like. god. the lyrics. I can’t believe I went so long in my life without knowing of them. Their songs are in Arabic, but the translations for most are very easy to find. My personal recs for songs by them to get you started are wajih, radio romance, and  3 minutes. I absolutely cannot recommend them highly enough. 

Babymetal is a band that I recently started getting into, like a million years behind everyone else. They’re a Japanese metal band and their music is super fucking high energy, really just launches you into the damn stratosphere. Some of my favorite songs by them are gimme chocolate, catch me if you can and starlight (most of their music is in Japanese but once again there are loads of translations)

Kevin Abstract is an American hip hop singer who writes music both soft and heavy sounding songs that relate to a lot of not often given the spotlight experiences, namely the experiences of being a gay black man in America. I relate to him more than a LOT of white gay musicians and his album “American Boyfriend” is an absolute fucking masterpiece, I even have it downloaded to listen to on long car rides. My favorite songs by him are Echo, Papercut and Miserable America!

Conan Gray is a pop musician who writes a lot of really fun music and like, so many fucking earworms. I literally cannot think of a single one of his songs that I don’t like at least a little, which is very rare for even musicians I do like. And his music videos are super fun. Some of my favorite songs by him are Fight or Flight, Crush Culture, and Wish You Were Sober, which I have listened to over 200 times

More music recs under the cut!

Fea is a latina punk rock band based in San Antonio that I absolutely cannot get enough of. Their name means ugly, but in the feminine form in spanish. Speaking of spanish, a lot of their songs are in spanish, but some are not, which gives it a nice eclectic mix. and helpful for spanish practice lol. Plus they were produced by Laura Jane Grace of Against Me! god, imagine being that fucking cool. My favorite songs by them are La Llorona, Sister K, and Pelo Suelto

Oceanator writes an eclectic mix of synthy business and guitar ballads. I love her music so goddamn much, and it's been a big inspiration in me finding my own sound! my favorite songs by her are Nowhere Nothing, I would Find you, and January 21st

The Hu is a band that took me quite some time to get into but they're a Mongolian rock band that wrote that one song that was super popular here in the states a while back. Their sound is heavier, but it's also so incredibly fucking cool. Some of my favorite songs by them are Sad but True, The Legend of Mother Swan, and Wolf Totem

Meet Me @ The Altar is a band that is very, very derivitave of paramore but in like a super fun way. Their sound is just so fun. Their sound has making me forgive pop punk bc turns out when pop punk is sung by a trio of WOC and not a white dude crying on his guitar about his shitty girlfriend, it can actually fucking rule. Some of my favorite songs by them are Garden, Tyranny, and May the Odds Be In Your Favor

Japanese Breakfast writes a lot of really cool slower songs that make my brain feel like it is melting in the absolute best way possible. it's really hard to describe, which is actually one of my favorite things about it. Some of my favorite songs by her are Road Head, 12 Steps, and The Body is a Blade.

Neon Jungle is a British band who writes a lot of high energy shit that just launches me directly into the fucking stratosphere. Like I'm so serious, they will end your life and revive you fifty fucking times over. My favorite songs by them are Trouble, Louder, and So Alive.

Pom Pom Squad is another band I really like, a rock band who does softer shit sometimes. Their range is insane, and Mia Berrin is one of the most talented fucking vocalists I've ever heard in my whole life. Some of my favorites are Sunday Song, Heavy Heavy, and Honeysuckle

Nova Twins are another duo from the UK who write a lot of heavier guitar stuff. Mostly white punk fans have gotten pissy about them being classified as punk, so I won't, but lbr it's clear what their influences are. In a good way. Their music WILL rip your dick clean off. Some of my favorite songs by them are Bassline Bitch, Devil Face, and Ivory Tower.

Black Belt Eagle Scout is an indigenous musician that writes a lot of really cool softer guitar shit. Super chill music I like to put on to relax and write to. Also loads of her lyrics are downright masterful. Some of my favorite songs by them are Half Colored Hair, Just Lie Down, and Indians Never Die

Rina Sawayama, who you probably know of at least periferally, writes pop music and stuff of that nature. Her music could pull me out of a fucking coma. She's based in the UK. I absolutely adore her and her weird fucking fashion. Some of my favorites by her are Bad Friend, Comme des Garcons (Like The Boys), and Lucid

Milck does a lot of like, idk how to describe it. I have no idea what genre it is. I don't care to know. It rules, whatever it is. It's sort of soft, but powerful with a really cool beat. Some of my favorite songs by her are Devil Devil, This is Not the End, and Call of the Wild.

I HAVE TONS MORE, LIKE LOADS MORE, LIKE GIVE ME THE GO AHEAD AND I WILL MAKE A PART TWO, but I think that's a good amount of my favorites for now.

[luvbotclub]

stay — part one: mark lee.

it’s not me, it’s you— you had a change of heart. what kind of change of heart was that and why didn’t feel it? or in which mark doubts himself as an idol, a boyfriend, and a person.

content warning for angst, i’m sorry markzens. 4,867 words.

this can be read as x reader or x oc since i didn’t give mark’s girlfriend a name (this applies to the other parts as well). the other parts may be a little delayed since i’m working on some other fics as well, but i’ll try my best to finish this series! i hope you will enjoy reading this one :D

the sun was shining outside his window. the sunlight seeped through his silk curtains, and for some reason, mark lee didn't feel like sliding them aside and welcoming the april warmth with open arms today, or any other day to be honest. he didn't bother getting up and cooking himself some delicious breakfast, nor did he get up and at least fix his appearance a little bit. he was so disheartened to do anything ever since she left.

but mark has been feeling less like... well, mark nowadays, so there was no question as to why he was acting the way he is. but who could blame him? almost five months has passed and he has made close to no progress with moving on from her. her departure and the demise of them has impacted mark in the worst ways there is to exist.

mark has managed to go out with taeyong and jaehyun for some coffee two days prior to this unfortunate saturday morning without somehow making everyone around him feel burdened by his troubled presence.

mark hated that feeling the most ㅡ the feeling that he’s slowly becoming a burden to the people around him. and perhaps he is, indeed, starting to become a burden to the people around him.

he's tried. he's tried so hard. but it hurts, so so much. the feeling of her warm embrace and the sound of her laugh and the way she smiles are all fucking imprinted in his mind. there was no escape from her torturous murder. the poison she uses is cutting into his skin… slowly, leaving a trail of rotten memories behind.

maybe if she hadn't left him so harshly, mark would've dealt with her farewell a lot better than he is doing right now. maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't been so cruel enough to just tell him straight in the face that it's not me, it's you, you had a change of heart; mark would've forgiven himself faster. his chest would have been filled with something other than guilt and confusion to what he's done wrong, why did she leave, who made her leave, what kind of fucking change of heart was that and why in fuck's name didn't he feel it.

mark has tried to spend more time with her. he really did try, but success came for his group faster than nct and sm entertainment had expected, and he trained longer in the practice room for six days per week for their tour and comeback to make a bigger impact than before. but, in the end, when he's back in their shared apartment, it feels like everything he did wasn't enough. the awards he won, the effort he put into dancing, each lyric he sings out every blurred, sweaty night just for millions to hear. they weren't enough to make her smile reach her eyes. they weren't enough to make her satisfied with him.

they weren't enough for her to stay.

sometimes, mark would think. maybe he's really the one to the blame. maybe he should have just taken more breaks and spent more time with her ― cook lunch with her, cuddle with her on the couch, give her massages while she ranted and ranted about the rude customers at her workplace, the marais. maybe, instead of sweating and singing his heart out, he could have stayed home. maybe he should have been a better boyfriend. maybe he wasn't good enough.

for the past few days, mark's mind has been filled with maybe's and what if's and i'm never going to be good enough's. it was strange. he felt all this remorse ― he even blamed himself because he was doing what he had been wanting to do for a long time ― and all this confusion because of a girl who has sent his friends snapchats of her playing just dance with her workmates a day after she said goodbye, because of a girl who left him on a living room floor with a heart that fell into pieces and the echoes of his pleas for her to please stay with me in each corner of the room ㅡ haunting him, crawling to his skin like the remnants of a bad dream.

it was selfish for mark to think, nor to say aloud, but a despicable part of him wished she felt somewhat guilty for leaving him behind in the dust like this ㅡ or even be concerned about his well being. but no. she left in the first place without a care ㅡ why would she care about whatever’s happening in mark’s mind, now that she has a great life without an idol boyfriend who's always dragging her down?

but today. today. it felt like the day to start living his life again, to live like mark lee who could make people smile just by the sound of his laugh alone. he's disappeared for exactly two weeks from television appearances, family dinners, and friendly get-togethers ㅡ even company parties, he couldn't attend. he was in the stage of denial in the first week, like he was mourning over a death of a loved one. fans have left comments, questions as to why he disappeared all of a sudden all over nct’s twitter and instagram pages and they’ve started to worry whether mark was doing okay or not. his family grew concerned for his well-being, so did his fellow members. they sent him food with stupid little hearts taped to the lunchbox (taeil once sent him naengmyun, along with a paper heart with a classy dad joke and his well wishes scribbled on it). they sent him encouraging messages almost everyday ― the fans, his family, his fellow members. they're all there for him, because they knew that mark isn't okay.

mark decided to get up from his bed an hour after he finished the piece of toast and cup of coffee he both made in a haste. he didn’t even bother putting anything along with the toast, and it was burnt. everyday, his breakfast gets worse. but he needed to put something in his stomach ― he's not going to be in this state forever and he still needed to take care of himself.

mark's grip on the plate was tight, knuckles white as he rested the ceramic plate on the sink. he turned his head after washing his hands and saw the shoe and coat rack by the front door. it was strange to see her newly bought pair of nikes and her ivory coat gone from the racks ― they were her least favoured articles of clothing. maybe she could have left them with him, so he could have something that reminds him of her presence.

but, no. that's way too cruel, isn't it? she did mark a favour of not leaving a single trace of her behind, even as little as a speck of dust from her belongings or a smear of her red lipstick on his favourite white mug. she knew she was practically death itself to him ― her name a lethal spoken curse, her scent a guilty pleasure, her voice a melody so deadly. to love her will be a death wish, but he feels and loves her without a single trace of fear that it'd harm him one day. he loves her. every inch, every night spent watching stupid random shows in the tv, every kiss, every parent joke they've cracked together. he misses them. he misses her. and sometimes he didn't even care if it were his fault or hers ― because either way, she'll still leave an empty shell in his chest, a shell that longed to be filled with her love again.

mark lee never thought it was possible for his heart to ache for someone so much.

he closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh, wanting nothing more than to scream out his frustrations and drink some good fucking coffee right now. but the coffee maker was broken, and mark didn't feel like going out to town and buying a new one. it might sound like it was a stupid reason and he knew perfectly well of the fact, but he doesn't want everyone to see him like this... whatever he is right now.

is he even human at this point? he feels like someone ripped half of his body and soul and he just feels the opposite of the caring mark everybody adored. he feels like he doesn't even have a heart beating right now as his eyes are closed to the darkness — just an empty chest and an empty head.

mark wants to be somewhere else other than this damn apartment. it was way too depressing and he finally got sick of being burdened by it all — it was way too exhausting to be so burdened all the time, to have your head weighed down by thoughts of what could have happened. maybe he can go to a clear field with a nice, baby blue sky, or the coffee house in town where soft jazz played. he didn’t even like jazz. maybe anywhere, just to get away from this place. even the recording studio sounded inviting right now.

the roar of mark's ringtone ripped through the silent room, and it took him a few seconds to recover from the small jumpscare he got before he grabbed his phone that was in his sweatshirt pocket. mental note: put your phone in silent mode next time.

it was a text from jeno.

[jeno]: hi hyung. you up for coffee later with jaemin later? XD

mark suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the emoticon. jeno could be really ridiculous (and cringy) sometimes, yet he couldn’t ignore the letters that were practically glowing at his eyes, screaming for his reply to be fuck yes i am up for this, but as mark was somewhat in mid reply (and it was an awfully nonchalant yeah, sure with no stupid emoji to support his message), his fingers stopped typing.

would it be worth it, though? he doesn't even have the mental energy to go out and buy his own food, let alone go out for coffee (even though he's succeeded once...). a small part of him felt bad for jeno. all the boy wanted was to drink coffee with his members, but mark's fucking sadness is stopping him. it's not even jeno's fault mark turned out like this these past few weeks.

after a few seconds of contemplating, mark continued typing his message, feeling a little afraid of making jeno think he was uninterested.

[me]: yeah, sure. 😃 can you pick me up?

he tapped the send button, instantly regretting that he added the smiling emoji at the end (because now he sounds so enthusiastic to go, even if a part of him really did) and the fact that he just asked his friend to do him yet another favour. mark felt bad for jeno, he really did, but he didn't even know where the coffee shop was, and, knowing mark, he gets lost sometimes because the boy had no sense of direction whatsoever. jeno's response came a few seconds after, which amazed mark for a bit since jeno was never the fastest replier.

[jeno]: geez, hyung 😒

[jeno]: i'll be there around 1, jaem had to run some errands so he’ll be a lil late. see you later!!!

feeling relieved jeno didn't pry any more into the subject, mark locked his phone and put in his sweatshirt pocket. he felt more fresh, somehow, he felt like his steps won't be heavy and that his life will actually improve today. like an imaginary weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. maybe he should treat jeno and jaemin with lunch one day, if the day went well.

after a few hours of sitting in the sofa and listening to a bunch of songs taeyong has sent him over the past few days, mark went to take a nice, warm shower and changed into his “outside” clothes (...which were the same as his stay-in clothes) and waited for jeno and jaemin outside his locked home, foot tapping on the pavement out of habit.

as promised through his text, jeno arrived at mark's place at the same time when the clock in mark's phone read 1:00 pm. mark felt like grabbing jeno and giving him the biggest hug he's ever given to another member once he jumped off of the black van he arrived in ㅡ the boy's done so much for him ㅡ sending lunchboxes, agreeing to meet up with him in 3am nights where mark couldn't sleep at all, and, now, agreeing to pick mark up right on time even if he probably had million of things going through his mind right now, with nct dream's comeback slowly approaching them.

“hey, hyung,” greeted jeno, brown hair swept to the side messily. after a very long time, there was a genuine smile on mark's lips ㅡ he was happy to see a familiar face in the midst of this chaos. “you ready to go?”

mark gave the younger man a nod, and pocketed his phone in his pants.

a few minutes of catching up led them to full time story-telling, which is totally typical of the parent-like pair of friends. mark was smiling the whole time, because, again, he was with a familiar face and he hadn't been able to speak his mind to another person for a few days, constantly insecure of what others would think of him and his thoughts.

they were overcome with surprise when the driver pulled up on the pavement since they were too caught up in their conversation to pay attention to their surroundings, signalling that they've arrived in the said café. it seemed like the other cafés he's visited before. it had treats and specials lined up by the baby blue tinted window, ranging from strawberry cream puffs to the manager's favourite mushroom pizza. mark looked at the café’s exterior in astonishment and glanced back at jeno. jeno had good taste.

mark looked at the café one more time. he still had a few moments before they went inside; jeno was taking too damn well to adjust his facemask. it was perfect ㅡ black tables at the patio with white chairs as a contrast, fancy little plants lined up just by the café's entrance.

it was all fun until his eyes darted over to the shop's logo, etched in a fancy script font and a mighty golden colour. the light in mark's eyes faltered and the smile plastered on his face dropped in desultory, as the letters made his throat go dry.

the marais.

singing is a stupid thing now. he doesn't feel like singing a bunch of twisted words just for millions to hear. no. he doesn't feel like doing anything. getting scolded at for not singing a note properly is getting tiresome. constantly redoing certain parts because the producer didn’t like it is getting tiresome. thinking of her at any given opportunity is getting tiresome. doing this, whatever it is... it's tiresome.

“i hope you’re happy today,” came the soft muse of donghyuck through his headset. it was strange that mark felt something strong snap in his chest just because of these words. they were going through the songs in the album and mark didn’t know why he was even required to be here for that — he wasn’t even in make your day.

when he heard his dongsaeng’s verse, he felt like crying again. he’s gotten so bad — this was just all so fucking tiring. all he can think about is the way she looked that day in the café, stunned to see the two tall idols in her sight and soon seeing jaemin rush into the shop without much care if he was causing a ruckus or not. she didn’t think that she would see him ever again, thinking that she’s ran away from all of that, the exhausting world of mark lee and being constantly shoved to the side.

“i'm ― i'm sorry," his voice is weak. the words were strained coming out of his throat. he couldn't breathe, but he had to do this. “i can’t do this. not today, no.”

am i really doing this?

mark's heart skipped a beat. yes.

he removed his headset quickly, the song cutting off just as jaehyun’s part began. mark grabbed his cap and mask from the table and put them on. he felt no feeling of hesitation or remorse from his actions as he stared at the producer and members, all staring back at him and obviously stunned. mark shook his head and turned his back on them, ignoring donghyuck’s tired and annoyed stare burning at the back of his head. he really tried to be okay for one day, but he can't do that. the closure she gave wasn't enough — well, was there ever any closure in the first place? he had to give his own closure, or else he'll explode from all these feelings burning his insides with guilt that he didn't even have to feel in the first place if he just became a better boyfriend, a better person.

“mark, come back here,” taeyong’s tired drawl came, echoing through the halls. mark stopped walking but didn’t face his hyung. “you’re really going to skip a recording just for a girl who doesn’t even want to see you anymore?”

taeyong’s words stung, but mark swallowed and gave a firm, “yes.”

as he walked down the hallways and ignoring the incredulous burning stares of the crew, wondering why the hell he was out in the hall instead of being in the recording studio like his schedule declared so, mark thought of all the things he'll say. they need to make sense or else skipping a recording session will all be for nothing and the scolding from taeyong would make him feel even guiltier for the rest of his entire life. i love you, you heartless prick. no. that's way too blunt. i love you, and i don’t need you to say the same thing. i just want you to say goodbye one last time.

that’s all mark ever wanted.

that’s all mark ever needed.

he called a taxi and immediately got in, telling the driver his destination which was the marais. a frown was evident on the young idol's face as his phone vibrated text message after text message, all either from taeyong or taeil telling him he has the next two hours to get his ass back to the studio or else they were telling the ceo about it. it was tiring. he was debating whether to ignore them or reason it out like the adult he was, because he was feeling annoyed at their lack of understanding and at the same time he just wanted to be mature with them.

both of mark’s options sounded too far out of his reach when the taxi driver suddenly stopped his car and told him they were already at his destination, and he was forced to lock his phone instead, ignoring the constant vibration of the device.

he started shaking as he gave the driver money, and his hands became sweaty when he exited out of the car and slammed the door shut. mark walked over to the café with a heavy heart, his legs wanting nothing more than to retreat to the studio and spare his ego the embarrassment, but he was here now. there was no point in turning back. he’d embarrass himself anyways if he came back to the studio, he could practically hear donghyuck cheekily saying “i told you so” and the small knowing smirk on the younger’s face. mark shuddered at the thought.

as he went through the door of the shop, he instantly got a whiff of the strong coffee they were brewing — their bestseller and the same coffee she used to bring home for mark to drink. the boy only swallowed the fear in his throat and shook the memories off.

he walked up to the counter, legs still shaky as the employee working the cashier looked at him with a bright smile, “um, hi. i’m looking for someone who works here? is—”

“mark?”

mark looked up at the sudden voice, his words cut off halfway. if his heart was already beating fast even before he'd seen her, mark was pretty sure it’d jump right out of his chest as he made eye contact with the woman who got him into this predicament in the first place. he exhaled heavily and bowed his head to the employee behind the cashier, apologizing for the interruption before walking over to her who was standing just by the kitchen door and dressed in the white coat she hated so much. the sight made mark want to go home for some reason.

“what are you doing here?” she laughed nervously as he came closer. “aren’t you busy? i heard you guys are having a comeback?”

mark shook his head, ignoring the urge inside of him to tell her i skipped a recording for you. he knew it wouldn't matter to her anyways. “i’m not busy at all. i just want to talk to you about something. is that okay?”

she nodded yet the look in her eyes clearly said she really didn’t want anything to do with him at all. “sure, do you want to step out for a bit?”

mark only noticed the stares of the customers at the pair of them when she glanced around the room, and he immediately nodded. the last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and spread rumours (even though he knew that was practically unavoidable at this point—people were already starting to point). she took hold of his hand and led him out of the coffee shop, ignoring the incredulous whispers of everyone.

once they were outside, mark was the first to pull his hand away from her grasp in such a haste. he almost apologized when he saw the brief shock emerge in her face at the brash action, but at this point, he didn’t have time for games anymore — figuratively and quite literally, since he only had an hour left before taeyong and taeil will call the ceo on him.

“so what is it that you want to talk about?”

“i wanted to talk about us,” mark exhaled, finally feeling a weight being lifted off of his shoulders. he saw her face contort a little, obviously displeased at the topic. “i just — you gave your closure. but i didn’t.”

“mark, it’s been months,” she laughed, the sound coming out as breathless. “you still haven’t moved on?”

“how could i do that?” mark started laughing too, albeit humorlessly. he ignored the pang in his chest as he realized that she found the entire situation funny. “everything i see, everyone i talk to. everything reminds me of you. i can’t even do anything right, i can’t even live normally anymore, because i keep thinking, why? why did she break up with me? was i a bad boyfriend?”

“mark— no,” the smile on her face dropped. “you weren’t a bad boyfriend. i just—”

“then why did you tell me i had a change of heart?!” mark was enraged. he didn’t want to be angry. he didn’t mean to raise his voice like that. he didn’t mean to let his tears cascade down his cheeks. he probably looked so pathetic right now, practically seething at the image of himself, tears falling and eyes pleading for an answer, for anything. “i didn’t. i didn’t have a change of heart. if i did then i would have been the one who ended things. if i was such a good boyfriend, then why did you leave me? right when i needed you most?”

mark didn’t even let her open her mouth before he spoke up again, the pain in his voice raw. “i tried so hard. i’ve always tried so hard but you made me feel like i didn’t. i’ve always protected you from everything and everyone. i’ve always defended you. you made me feel like everything i’ve ever done, for myself, for you ­— they weren’t enough for you. i always thought that maybe i wasn’t good enough to make you stay. i guess i was right, wasn’t i?”

“i was scared,” she answered calmly. “i fell out of love with you and i didn’t want to admit that. it was my fault. all of it. i only said that so i wouldn’t feel terrible about leaving you but i didn’t realize it was too harsh of me to say that right away. i’m sorry, mark, for everything. please stop blaming yourself.”

mark only nodded, wiping at the tears that were on his cheeks and blinking away the ones that threatened to fall. he got what he wanted. he got the truth. he gave his closure. so why did it still hurt? why did it still pain him to see her, looking at him like he was the saddest, most pathetic person to ever exist? the pitiful stare she was giving him made mark feel so sick in the stomach that he had to look away so that the feeling won’t resurface.

“just know,” mark breathed out shakily, fingers trembling and aching to brush the stray hair that fell on her face aside. he bit the inside of his cheek to stop the urge until he tasted blood. “i still love you and i don’t think that will ever change. even if you hurt me. even if you broke my heart so bad to the point that i didn’t know if i’ll be fine by the end of it all. you became a part of my life no matter how bad it got in the end.”

“i love you too, mark,” she smiled warmly and mark knew she was lying straight to his face right now. but he didn’t care. it felt good, strange almost, to hear those words tumble out of her lips again. “i don’t want to leave you like this but i have to go now. i made some plans with a friend. maybe we can hang out together soon? i can call you?”

“it’s okay,” mark shook his head. “i’ll be busy anyways. enjoy your day. thank you for everything.”

he was pretty sure his friends had already deleted her number from his contacts (it was either johnny or donghyuck who did it). after this, he was going to back to the studio and suffer the consequences of his actions, he’d have to put up with the hyung line staring at him with disappointed glints in their eyes during the entirety of the car ride back home and donghyuck bombarding him with questions about what happened once the younger boy has cornered him somewhere in the dorm. but he wasn’t bothered or even annoyed that he’d be experiencing these things soon.

mark was about to turn away and find a taxi when a tall man approached them, his long arms soon snaking around her shoulder and pulling her into an embrace. mark was quite surprised but shook his head — he was going to stop caring about her from now on. whatever business this man had to do with her, he didn’t care.

“who’s this, babe?” the nickname caught mark off guard.

“hyunwoo,” she mumbled under her breath, obviously uncomfortable at the current situation. “this is mark. remember? i told you about him.”

“oh, the idol?” ‘hyunwoo’ turned his head to mark and the shorter boy nodded. “nice to meet you! i heard you’re quite acquainted with my girlfriend here. she told me a lot about you.”

“oh, girlfriend?” mark was surprised at the cool tone of his question. “well, yeah. i used to be quite close with her.”

“we’re not dating or anything,” she tried to laugh off, but the nervous glint in her eyes screamed otherwise. “i’m just friends with hyunwoo. it’s like what it looks like, mark—”

“it’s okay,” mark smiled warmly, looking at her then back at hyunwoo. “i don’t care who you date. it’s not like you owe me an explanation of any sort.”

“i—yeah, of course,” she mumbled to herself, looking down at the ground before looking back up at mark. “it was nice talking to you. we’ll get going now. keep in touch, okay?”

mark nodded and the warm smile on his face didn’t falter even for a second. after the two had walked away, mark stayed in the same spot. he didn’t miss the way the two shared a short kiss before hyunwoo opened the car door for her and helped her inside before hopping in the driver’s seat and driving away. once they were gone, mark’s phone began ringing, calls from taeyong flooding his missed calls.

mark only smiled to himself, pressing the call button on taeyong’s number while his eyes were still fixated on the spot where hyunwoo’s car was previously parked.

i’ll forget about you, someday.

[nicolacoughlanbigheartfanpage]

TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

New interview for German media (2020)

Translation

He is what Leonardo DiCaprio was in the 1990s. But Timothée Chalamet is not only enthusiastic as an actor. With his appearance, feminine and still male, he is also considered a model for a young generation. And he understands his work more politically than his predecessors did. Allow: the future of Hollywood!

NZZ am Sonntag magazine: Timothée, the story of a gay love "Call Me by Your Name" made you an international film star and earned you an Oscar nomination for best actor. What memory do you have of the evening in March 2018?

Timothée Chalamet: Oh, that was a fantastic evening! I went there with my mom, she was my date that evening. For me, a dream came true that day. I was so thankful to meet all these stars that I look up to. I had already met her at other events from time to time in the weeks before, so there was almost a buddy feeling - crazy! Friends of mine were also nominated, Saoirse Ronan and Greta Gerwig. And James Ivory even won an Oscar for our film, for the script. That was the most incredible moment.

In 2019 you were nominated a second time for the Golden Globe as the best supporting actor in «Beautiful Boy». Is that becoming the rule for you now?

I don't expect it in the near future. But of course I wouldn't mind if it works again at some point.

How has your life changed since the great success of "Call Me by Your Name"?

Oh, I don't think about that very much. I am happy that I have more options now and prefer to concentrate on doing good work and finding roles that challenge me. I've always been a violent film nerd, I grew up with indie films, I love this job - I was just extremely skeptical that young actors would get any chances out there. But the reactions from the audience confirm that it is worth being an actor. You can inspire people like that. We really wanted to say something with “The King” too. I love the language of the film alone - it is a cross between Shakespeare and “Game of Thrones”.

The drama “The King” deals with political issues such as abuse of power, manipulation, betrayal and trust. Did you learn anything personally from the subject?

When I was playing I noticed something: power feels very different than you think. Because you always feel yourself as a normal person, never as an overpowering figure or one of the most important drivers in the world. There are no machines even in the control centers of world politics. When I was in my costume and had to take on this leading role, I felt exactly like my young regent, who is faced with great tasks and challenges and who is not sure whether he can master them.

How does a young man, who carries a film of several million on his shoulders, who is quite slim by permission, deal with self-doubt? Didn't the heavy armor bring you to your knees, not to mention that you wielded the sword for hours?

The director wanted dirty, hard sword fights, and that's exactly what we shot. I gained a good seven kilos of muscle for this role. Of course I'm far from being a handsome warrior. If the director had wanted that, he would have taken another one. What we paid attention to was the attitude with which I went to war. It shouldn't be an invincible king, but one who just barely survives. The bottom line is that he still faces the fight. Nevertheless, I had a lot of fun with it. I was able to bring the ten-year-old to life in me.

Even if “The King” is not a superhero movie but a modern allegory, many young people will probably only watch the film for your sake.

Phew, it can be, of course I don't know. But if I can make these important issues accessible to the masses, then I'm happy. It's about what makes power out of people who only came to this position through privileges or their family tree. Yes, I was still at school six years ago and I remember how hard the teachers tried in vain to get us excited about politics. Today it really worries me which regents are currently in power.

You've been dating Lily-Rose Depp since the shoot. Now you are both considered new Hollywood royalties like Brangelina once. How do you like being such a modern prince?

Now I have to think carefully about what I say. Modern Prince: Somehow this description doesn't suit me at all. My career was not a straight line that quickly led to great success. I would describe it as a zigzag. I always chose very different projects, sometimes they ran better, sometimes worse. First I made small independent films. It was only last year that the projects suddenly got bigger, but "The King" and "Dune" were not filmed in the hustle and bustle of Hollywood. Honestly? I don't even feel like a movie star.

Do you still feel the pressure from your fans? Do you want to live up to expectations?

No. What I feel is really just a big thank you. Because films are important. I believe that films can change the world. You are just my big love. I am incredibly happy that they obviously want to see me in it. It's fantastic how much films can move, isn't it? I remember seeing the Oscar-winning drama "Moonlight" in a sold-out movie theater and how it was felt after the show how deeply the whole audience was touched by the story. I work to make moments like this possible!

And what about your own life? Do you also allow space for all the successes?

To be honest, I struggle quite a bit: to find a kind of balance or rhythm between my complete dedication to playing and a normal one - if there is any! - Development of my living conditions. At 24, that's easier than when I'm 17. But I still have no idea what is good for me, apart from playing.

How old were you when you realized you really wanted to be an actor?

13 years. That was in high school in New York, we had an acting class that I was enrolled in. And after a few hours it was clear to me: "That's my thing!" But maybe it wasn't that coincidental. I grew up in the show business environment. , 

Your mother was a dancer, your uncle is director Rodman Flender, your grandfather is screenwriter Harold Flender, and you went to the acting and art specialist high school La Guardia, along with Madonna's daughter Lourdes. , ,, , ,

 But what really shaped me was the experience of performing something on stage with other people and thus generating deep emotions. When I finished high school, I immediately looked for an agent and started going to auditions. During an audition I met a colleague who had just got a small role in a TV series. That was when I felt my ambition for the first time: I wanted to achieve something. I really wanted to be part of a really good project, whether on TV, cinema or theater. ,

In any case, you've worked hard over the past few months.

But how! After “The King” came Greta Gerwig's historical drama “Little Women”, followed by Wes Anderson's “The French Dispatch”, and finally the sci-fi adventure “Dune” for six months in a row. That was a lot, but I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunities. The good thing is that you don't have time to think about all the work, you just concentrate on the task in front of you. I don't want to disappoint anyone.

Who is a source of inspiration for you personally?

Talented colleagues with whom I work, for example Greta Gerwig, with whom I have already made two films.

What seduced you to “Little Women”, which now starts in late January?

Greta as director and Saoirse Ronan as main actress, whom I also knew from Ladybird before. We are already something of a gang. I am very proud of “Little Women” and will soon see it together with Saoirse, that has already been agreed.

Do you mind if fans are more interested in your amours than in your work?

What can I say? I can hardly influence what people think. Fortunately, it doesn't feel like many are interested in me privately. I know that it can be dangerous for young people if they focus too much on what the public thinks about them. So I decided to just focus on my job and my work.

What is going on in you when you are greeted and cheered by thousands at premieres in Toronto, Venice or anywhere else in the world?

In Venice I was just happy that so many, especially young people came to the premiere. It's not like people go crazy every night when I leave the house. A premiere like this is an exceptional situation, and that's exactly how I perceive it. It is not real life.

[sumsmasterpiece]

Sneak Peek of Iwaoi Fanfic: The Grand King Affair

**EXPLICIT SCENE WARNING**

Different Chapter (tobacco kiss)

The breeze was warm against Tooru’s face, sweeping his bangs from his sweat speckled brow. Using his small hand-fan, Tooru was waving it to find some comfort, but to no avail. The hand fan was made of aqua lace, intricate and beautiful with an ivory handle which has been passed down in the Oikawa family for generations.   

“Why is it so hot?” he whined, laying his back completely against the willow tree behind him. 

The face of his alpha adjusted, opening his beautiful eyes to stare up at his lover, “It’s summer, of course it’ll be hot,” he answered.

The omega looked down at the alpha laying on his lap and grinned wickedly, “so mean, Iwa-chan.” He places the hand fan down on the blanket underneath them.

The General sighed and lifted himself up, “how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname?” He leaned in and kissed the omegas ear and whispered in his husky voice, “especially when you whine out much prettier things when I'm inside you,” his teeth tugged at the earlobe and Tooru shuttered.

“So lewd. So dangerous,” the omega panted, licking his pink lips. 

The scent of slick wafted in the hot summer breeze, meeting the alphas nostrils. A grin that shared all the intentions and promises of what he would be doing, plastered itself across the alpha’s face. “You know it,” his finger trail down the pink lips of his lover. 

The omega opened his mouth and took the finger into the warm cavern. His tongue lightly flecked against the pad of the finger and slowly his mouth worked to take the whole digit in. Brown eyes never leaving those hazel green ones. Hajime’s words were forgotten. 

The alpha’s eyes glazed over with awe and amusement. The queen looked breathtaking no matter what he did. Such elegance, yet still, this moment felt so lewd. Tooru’s tongue swirled around the finger, bobbing his head and sucked graciously. After a few bobs of the brunette’s head, his teeth lightly scraped over the finger lightly. All that ran through Hajime’s head was how those pretty pink lips and expert tongue would feel on a different part of his body, his cock more specifically.

Hajime pulled his finger free and an almost whine came from his lover's throat. “Patience, pet. I know what you want, believe me.” The alpha purred. 

“Hajime~” A moan rippled past the moist lips. 

The said alpha lifted his head, moving his body until he sat in front of the omega whose hips were squirming. He lifted the white skirt of Tooru’s sundress and smiled. “No underwear, huh? And you are already leaking, what a good boy.” He praised, his calloused fingers grazing the side of his inner thigh were some slick was. The alpha brought his finger to his lips and licked the salty body fluid, humming in approval. 

“Stop teasing, Iwa-chan. I need you.” Tooru bucked his hips forward, his hands are frantic and bunching the dress skirt around his waist. His right hand trails down to his folds and begins to stroke himself in a frantic manner, eager to relieve some tension. Instead of removing the omega’s hands and doing what his omega demanded, Hajime thought the desperate motions of his omega to be utterly adorable and watched as the hand and fingers inched in more and more inside of the omega’s core. “Iwa-chan!” He pleaded.  

“But you are doing such a good job on your own.” The alpha teased, rubbing circles on the omega’s hips. 

“I do this enough when I can’t see you, but you are right here and I want your huge cock in me right now and--” Their lips smashed together and it was a swirl of tongues and teeth and hands. Both ending and beginning where the other was, perfectly in sync. 

Iwaizumi was the first to part, gazing down in those lust filled chocolate eyes. “If you say more sinful things like that, I won’t go easy on you,” He purred and began to nuzzle and nip at the pink tinged ears of his lover. 

“Who says I want you to go easy on me?” That devilish smirk grew as he spread his legs wide and flipped their positions, so he is now straddling his alpha. “Won’t you let me take charge now, General, sir~” His breath tickled Iwaizumi’s ear as his whole body shuddered. 

Taking that as a yes, Tooru pulled on Hajime’s zipper of his combat pant, now beginning to be stained by Tooru’s slick, and reached inside to grasp the wide girth of the alpha’s cock. The warmth and weight of the cock felt perfect in Oikawa’s hand as he tested it with one stroke before bring it to position at his entrance. 

Iwaizumi brought his hands to Oikawa’s hips to steady him as he began to sink down slowly. 

“Iwa-chan~” Oikawa panted out quick puffs on Iwaizumi’s face. He was losing himself in the stretch and feel of the wide girth of his lover’s cock inside of him. Though Hajime has been inside Oikawa many, many times, something about this switched position made the feeling of his omega all the more new and exciting.

As they began to move to find their releases, Oikawa totally forgot about the humid heat while his heart swelled with adoration and love.

---

Oikawa’s eyes fluttered open. He must have dozed off after their little activity. 

His nose picked up on a smell. It was a sweet smell. Oikawa knew of this scent very well. He knew it because it was always a smell around the house. Images of Oikawa’s father filling up his pipe and lighting a match to then take a few puffs. Tobacco.

Groaning as he stretched himself out, he realizes that he was using Iwaizumi’s hip as a pillow while he slept. Sitting up, he let his head lift to find a cigarette was between Iwaizumi’s lips while the other end glowed and then he released the smoke from the side of his lips, away from Oikawa.   

His gazed found Oikawa’s and his expression froze in panic. “Sorry, I’ll put it out,” Iwaizumi placed the bud between his pointer and middle and moved to place it toward the grass.

Before he had a chance to put the bud out, Oikawa grabbed it and brought it to his lips and took a small drag before the flood of smoke burned it way through his throat and he began to cough. “Hey,” the alpha panicked and grabbed his canteen of water to hand it toward the queen. But Oikawa shooed it away, bring the bud back to his lips and taking another drag, this time it didn’t burn as badly.

Iwaizumi was at a loss for words, his eyes just grew wide as he watched this beautiful creature in front of him do something that was seen as common and lower class, turn into something completely sinful. 

Oikawa was taking another drag when he opened his eyes to look at his lover, “What? Am I doing it wrong or something?” 

Iwaizumi shook his head and curled his finger in a come here motion. Oikawa took another drag and blew it out before coming closer. Closer. Closer. Until his nose was touching the alpha’s. Oikawa leaded in and kissed Iwaizumi’s top lip, sucking it in to his mouth to then release it. Oikawa continued his ministrations of Iwaizumi’s lips, cheeks, jaw, and neck. The alpha hummed in joy as his fingers made there way to what was left of the cigarette and plucked it out of the omega’s fingers. 

He brought the tiny bud to his mouth and mouth and took one last puff and then rubbing the cigarette in the earth. He then lend in and kissed the queens lips, forcing his tongue to open his mouth to him. The taste of tobacco was shared amongst their tongues but they didn’t care as the alpha rolled his omega under him and deepened the kiss. 

When the burning for air was appeal in their noses and throats they parted, panting and drooling. 

“I don’t want to go back,” Oikawa panted against Iwaizumi’s neck and nuzzled against it. “He could never make me feel like you do. Not in a million years.” 

Hajime brought his hands to the silky chocolate hair and began to pet his lover. He knew all too well how Oikawa felt in that house. He knew it to be a prison, and he had to treasure these moments that they had together. He looked straight into the omega’s eyes and placed a chast kiss to his lips and pulled away. 

A lustful haze filled those chocolate eyes. Eyes the same color of chocolates that Tooru and him had bought when they had ran into each other in town and had bought some milk chocolates. Tooru had torched Iwaizumi that afternoon of the melted chocolate that the omega would lick and suck off his fingers. He could remember the way his lips had tasted.

Tooru found his alpha’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “Do you love me?” It was a whisper of a question.

“Yes,” Hajime answered instantly.

“How much,” a smile played on those pink lips.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, Hajime was weighting the words and trying his best to come up with an answer. Tooru’s heart was beating rapidly. Did he say the wrong thing? Of course he did. What alpha could ever love a marked, taken omega like him. 

Hajime leaned forward and placed his lips to the omega’s ear, “There is not an answer I can give you that can express the way I love you. It is more than words and almost impossible to show with actions. The way I feel, feels as if it is apart of my very soul and being. All I know is that I love you, and I don’t see myself from ever stopping, your highness.”

A new wave of slick pours out of Tooru and he wants to curl his face and hide it away because there is no way he is not red. Who on earth says things like that and means in fully? 

‘You know exactly who’. His conscious tells him. ‘Take what is yours. Keep him. Feel him. Love him.’

“Show me then,” It was barely above a whisper but Hajime heard the words as if they were a loud as cannon fire. “Show me what your love is like. I want to know what love is, alpha.” 

When Hajime showed Tooru what his love felt to him, it was as if the world began anew. Before there lovemaking was fast and desperate and rebellious. But this time, it was slow and patient. Both knowing what made the other needed to go over the edge but ignored it to just enjoy the feel of one another. Igniting new sparks of pleasure and the hint of release in the distance but in no hurry to reach. Oikawa truly knew that this must be what love was like, being slowly pushed to the edge but not being afraid and instead having undoubtable trust and ready to take the plunge or to soar so high that he would never want to come down.

---

“What if we run away?” Iwaizumi was lazily running his hands through the chocolate strands at the nape of his lover’s neck. He thought about the idea of them running away since the very moment he laid eyes of Oikawa, but he never voiced it before. Well, until now.

Oikawa sat up, leaning over his alpha while his hand still laid on the broad chest. “What? Leave with you and become your mistress?”

The hand at the omega’s hair stilled as he pulled them away from the hair and instead found rest at the still pink cheeks above him, “Never a mistress. I would treat you as my equal and as my one and only. I’d never would want you to be something I hide away in shame or to show you off as my prize.”

Oikawa could cry at those words. He always did feel like a prize or an object, given to who his parents seemed fit or who had to most money that they could pocket for him. Feeling like a person, Oikawa never truly felt that way until this perfect man crashed into his life.

But the fantasy of actually running away with his lover came to an end when he felt the weight of the locket on his breast. The locket with the picture of his other true love, Taro. 

“But what about my son?”

Neither of them spoke and Oikawa wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the thoughts that Iwaizumi was thinking. With nothing spoken, Oikawa laid his head down on the chest where his hand was and just listened to the thump of the heart that he wished would never stop beating.

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Sugar and Fluff (Volume 1)

Before I stir the pot, I want you guys to enjoy some good old fluff with Johnny and Essie first. Consider this as the calm before the storm. Yes, I am spoiling my next post because seriously, I never thought I could write something like that. 

I present three short scenarios with the couple, which I hope make you feel all warm and giddy inside. If you know Filipino, then I hope I make you feel kilig. 

Here’s a sweet-looking Johnny wearing a pair of fluffy slippers that most of us have coveted by now to start you up!

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :)

Since I don’t want to be redundant...

–––

POV: 2nd person for the first and second, 3rd for the last. 

Word count: 2,000 + words in total 

Warning: Aside from being fluffy over all, there are hints of suggestive behavior in some of them. Well, they are a couple anyway, so that’s normal. If you’re expecting they’ll just make goo-goo eyes at each other, then I won’t give you just that. 

–––

I. Inspired by this photo, but this is a close second 

“Hey baby, go to sleep.”

That was the first thing he said when you accepted his FaceTime call, and you groaned in response.

He wore a black muscle shirt, and you could see the beginning of a new mustache.

“I still have a lot of things to do, dude. I have to finish a presentation and prepare stuff,” you grumbled, absentmindedly rubbing your eyes.

To be honest, you were ready to go to bed – you have already changed into your pajamas and have put on your skincare. However, you really have a lot of things to do like finish a report for tomorrow’s meeting, and prepare your things such as the clothes you were going to wear and your bag.

“That can wait until tomorrow, you know? Please go to sleep, Lord knows I’m not the only who reminds you to do so,” He seemed agitated and tried to cover his face with his arm.

You could see how defined his muscles were, and you wished he was beside you so you could squeeze them. You were about to compliment him, but then remembered that he was reprimanding you.

“I know, Nini reminds me of that every freaking day. But I really need to finish all these things,” You suddenly sat up, and your curly hair tumbled over your shoulder.

“Babe, please. Go. To. Sleep.” He emphasized his point by tapping his pointer finger on the screen, doing so per each word.

“Make me?” You said, giving him a small smile. You wondered how he was going to make you fall asleep through a video call. Usually, he made you fall asleep in a snap whenever he slept beside you. He would finger-comb your hair or gently tap your outer thigh until he saw that you were asleep.  

You heard him sigh before he sat up as well. “I’m sure this made you fall asleep before, but I hope this works even through video call,” he said, clutching the blanket closer to his body.

“What is?” You tilted your head to the side, trying to fight the sleepiness slowly creeping into your system.

“ASMR, baby,” he whispered rather loudly. You closed your eyes and tried to recall if that ever made you asleep.

“Maybe that’s not a great idea if you want me to sleep now, I might just get…” you covered your face with the next words you were going to say, “turned on.”

He saw how flustered you were and laughed. “Sorry baby, I was just trying to be helpful. What do you suggest I do then?”

You stroked your chin thoughtfully, mind racing with a million thoughts.

“Is your piano near you?” You asked, not hiding the excitement in your voice and facial expression.

It has been a while since you heard him play, and boy, do you want to see him hit those ivory and ebony keys in his muscle shirt.

“My keyboard is here though, is that okay?” He panned his phone to the instrument beside his bed before he focused it on his face again. “What would you like me to play?”

“A lullaby, silly!” You giggled, pulling the covers closer to you. 

You heard him sigh and he got up from the bed. He set his phone where you could see him play first before he set up the organ. The smile on your face grew bigger when he finally sat down in front of the instrument, wiggling his fingers first before he played ‘Clair de Lune’.

At first, you were focused on his back and arms. He looked like one of those fine sculptures you see in museums, and you sighed dreamily at the thought of that.

Johnny paused when he heard this and looked at the camera. “Is there anything wrong, babe?” You shook your head and signaled for him to continue.

Bit by bit, you felt fatigue creep into your body. You weren’t able to appreciate more of his skill, considering you once played the piano as well.

Once your eyes closed, you fell into a deep sleep.

What you weren’t able to see was that once he stopped playing, Johnny looked at your sleeping figure on the screen and kissed it.

“Night night, my baby princess,” he whispered before ending the call.

///

II. Inspired by this prompt taken from this fluff generator: 

Johnny doesn't like talking on the phone but Essie always calls them instead of texting. Essie admits that it's because they want to hear Johnny's voice.

You bit your lip in annoyance as you waited for your boyfriend to pick up his phone.

You were on your way home, and you wanted to ask him what he would like from your favorite bakery.

It was a busy day at work – you barely had time to take a bathroom break, more so breathe. Once the day was over, you let out the longest sigh ever. Finally, it was the weekend. It was time to catch up with your loved ones, even if you lived with them (or near them).

Johnny has finally moved into your apartment when Nini decided to live together with Jongin earlier this year. His apartment is up for rent now since Mark moved into a nearby dorm with Donghyuck and Yuta. No hard feelings between the bros though, all of you remained good friends after you and Johnny started dating.

After the ninth ring, the phone beeped, and the call was out. You stared at your phone for a moment before dialing again. When you were about to hit the ‘Call’ button, you received a text from him.

Baby, I’m driving. Can you just text? I don’t like taking phone calls unless it’s urgent.

Your eyes narrowed into slits, offended at how he views this call as a ‘non-urgent matter’.

You decided to still call him anyway, ignoring his message. Please pick up, your mind was chanting this over and over until you heard his voice on the other line.

“Yes, baby? Did you not get my message?” He sounded exasperated, but you could care less.

“Hey, what’s up with you and taking phone calls? Can’t I talk to my boyfriend over the phone if I want to?” Your voice was more high-pitched than usual, and you were starting to get some stares from the people around you.

“It’s not that, baby. I’m driving. I had to pull over so I can take this call. So, what is up?” He remained calm in his response, and you could imagine him massaging his temples right now.

You took a deep breath first before answering. “I wanted to ask if you wanted something from our favorite bakery. I’m on my way home, and I wanted to get us some snacks.”

You didn’t hear anything from him after a few seconds until he cleared his throat. “That’s sweet and all, but let me ask you: where are you exactly?” He emphasized the last word, which meant that he wanted his answer ASAP.

“I’m just a few steps away from the bakery, then I’m going to book an Uber after,” you said matter-of-factly. As much as you wanted him to pick you up from work every day, you understood that he has a busier schedule than you and could only afford to do so when he has the time.

“Don’t book an Uber. I’ll pick you up there, okay? That’s the least I can make up to you for being busy this week,” he said, his tone softer this time.

“I’m buying us our favorite pastries to make it up to you too,” you started, “and thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it.” By now bystanders were minding their business, ignoring a curly-haired girl in a chartreuse coat.

“Thank you too, baby, I can’t wait to see you in a bit,” he said almost breathlessly onto the receiver, making you blush. “Me too, love. You know I really like calling you so I could hear your voice,” you admitted.

He didn’t reply for a moment, and you thought he hung up. You checked your phone and saw that he was still on the line. “Hello?” You croaked, nervous that you got him annoyed.

“You really like my voice?” He said, his voice deeper than earlier. “Yes, I do,” you replied a bit too soft.

“Come again? Did I hear my baby say that she likes my voice?” He sounded a bit cocky, and you rolled your eyes at how he was reacting to your statement now.

“Yes, I like Mr. Johnny Suh’s voice,” you said with conviction and clarity.

Of course, you do, that was one of the many things that made you fall for him.

What he did next shocked you as you heard a kissing sound. It was as if he kissed you on the cheek. “You’re too cute, Essie. And maybe I’ll change my view regarding phone calls, if only for you. See you in a bit, okay?” Before you could even respond, he hung up.

You looked at your phone in disbelief at first before a smile blossomed on your face.

Now he’s not going to ignore my phone calls anymore, you thought as you headed to your favorite bakery.

///

III. Inspired by a cute clip of Park Seo Joon (that I saw a fan posted on Twitter) that reminded them of Johnny. I forgot the drama it was in though, so maybe you can help me with that after reading this? 

“Baby, where are you going?”

Johnny’s husky voice surprised Essie, who was surveying her outfit in front of their full-length mirror. “I’m going out for a brunch meeting,” she replied, smoothening the creases on her jeans.

“With whom?” She heard the bed creak, and she saw from the mirror that he sat up from his position. “It’s for a freelance project I’m taking,” she said while looking at his disheveled form in the mirror.

“Come here for a moment, please,” he cooed, changing his tone to a playful one. She hesitated at first, but when she saw him roll over to the farthest side of the bed clumsily and stretched his arms anticipating for a hug, she giggled and almost jumped on the bed.

“I want to have some time with my baby first,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her. She returned his gesture and looked at his face. His eyes were still closed (or are they partially open?) but his mouth kept on talking. “What time will you be coming back?”

“I don’t know, maybe late in the afternoon? Why are you asking?” She snuggled into his embrace, which he responded to by pecking her on the lips.

“Maybe I want to ask you out for some afternoon beans or dinner, depends on what time your meeting finishes,” he readjusted his hold on her, and one of his hands cupped her butt.

“Youngho!” Essie scolded, prying Johnny’s hand away from her buttock. “Well, I can’t say yet. But I’ll let you know once I’m done. Don’t you have any schedule for today?”

“Nuh-uh. Today’s a free day, and I want to celebrate it with my baby,” he pecked her again on the lips, this time making Essie giggle as most of her red lipstick was now on his face.

“John, are you aware there’s red lipstick all over your face right now?” She said in between bouts of laughter, as she attempted to remove the red smudges on his face.

“I don’t care, and for all I know, you want to do this to me,” he said seductively, earning him a slap on his bottom. “Youngho! Don’t be like this,” his girlfriend whined, slapping his other butt cheek.

“What time does that meeting of yours start?” He asked, pecking her for the third time on the lips. “It starts in over an hour. I plan to take the train though,” she replied, once again removing her lipstick stains on his face with her thumb.

“No, I’ll drive you there.” Johnny got up from the bed and examined his tousled appearance in the mirror. He laughed when he saw the lipstick smudges on his face. “Do you mind if I take a shower first?” She gave him a thumbs-up (which he saw on the mirror), and he grabbed his towel on top of his computer chair.

“By the way, baby, your lipstick tastes great. What is that, though?” He commented once he was inside the bathroom. She glanced at him licking his lips in front of the mirror there and winked when he caught her.

“Jooooohn! Just take a bath, please!”

–––

FIN

[wicked-game-black-butler]

WICKEEEED!!! CONGRATS ON ALL THE FOLLOWERS!! We all love you! :D I can't see the emoji for the book quote one, but... [*inserts it twice*] Can I have two please?? I'm in love with book quotes, and I bet you have great taste. Oh! And also 📖 for Sebastian, because reading your stuff is faaaaar too much fun and I am absolutely weak for the ridiculous bastard man. Here's to two hundred more followers, and twice it again after that! Stay safe!!

You are the absolute sweetest. Thank you so much for your congratulations and support! You’re enthusiastic support for my story mean so much and make me smile like an idiot every time I read it. 

Now, to your asks...

1. Favorite book quotes:

“Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh: it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal — as we are!” ~Jane Eyre  (It was ridiculously hard to find ONE quote that I wanted to post. There are so many amazing quotes and I absolutely adore this story!)

“ A grain of sand is a moment of creation, and the universe has taken millions of years to create it.” ~The Alchemist

2. Sebastian drabble-At @tyche-gets-a-blog‘s request, I did this as a drabble from my AU I’ve created in Wicked Game. This takes place between the POV change in Chapter 23: Dark Waltz.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*The newly stoked fire crackled greedily in the hearth as Sebastian stood, slipping the poker back into its holder before turning toward the bed where Sarah’s resting form lay. Each step he took slow, measured, predatory. His gaze trailed over her shapely form, his crimson eyes smoldering- a stark contrast to the ever shrinking light from the fireplace as the consuming darkness of his aura spread, tendrils spreading, stretching to fill every corner. A keening sigh escaped his lips as his tongue glided along his bottom lip. He could still taste her. Vanilla and honey, sweetness and warmth, intoxicating.

Voracious hunger roiled within him, snapping like a chained beast as he came to stand by the side of the bed. Sarah lay on her back before him, her limbs splayed as she stretched in slumber, her chestnut waves fanning over the scarlet comforter, the firelight catching its copper sheen. So peaceful. So innocent. So vulnerable.

The mattress barely gave as he lowered himself onto the bed and crawled to hover over her, onyx hair framing his face as he gazed down at her. His eyes closed, breath shuddering as two tendrils ghosted over her ivory skin, able to feel the smooth, supple softness of her skin as the wisps trailed across places he could not touch-her waist, her legs, her breasts, the slick apex of her thighs. Another set snaked around her, undoing the buttons of her ball gown with tantalizing slowness.

Goose-flesh prickled her flesh, her breath hitching as the dress slipped off her body. Sebastian sat up, still straddling her legs before trailing his hands up them, the skirt of her petticoat rising along the path of his hands. The clasps holding her stockings up clicked as he released them soon after.

Yes, he thought, her legs pressing against his as she spread them further when he slowly worked her stockings from her legs. So willing, so yielding. You are ready for me.

He froze when a soft gasp escaped her lips and he dug his fangs into his bottom lip as a fresh wave of her scent washed over him, intensified by her arousal, his gloved fingers lingering over her warm flesh before sliding both her garter and bustle from under her petticoat.  A soft moan echoed from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut and he leaned his head back, one of the tendrils that had been roaming her body brushing against her undergarments, along the dampness of her arousal. The subtle taste of her filled his mouth, just a hint, just enough to excite but not to satisfy. Enough to tease and torment.

A tease, yes, this was all this was. His body sparked, his hunger acute and insatiable, every fibre of his flesh aching painfully with yearning, with need. He was vaguely aware of when her corset and bodice were removed, but he was too overcome to pay their removal mind. His lungs were full and heavy with the headiness of her scent, his fingers tingling from the feel of her skin even though they had not touched her, his tongue savoring the taste of her essence. A tease, just like the feel of her lips pressing against his had been.

When he opened his eyes to look down at her once more, he found she was fully clothed in her nightgown. A growl rumbled in his chest at the sight, torn half between frustration and longing. It was just as well, he thought as he silently rose to stand beside the bed once more. The darkness subsided as it receded back into its host, morning light glowing around the edges of the heavy curtains. The clock down the hall struck seven as he pulled the blanket over Sarah, who remained in contented, oblivious slumber. My master will be waking soon and will be wanting his morning tea. 

Besides, he smirked, pausing his thoughts as he smoothed his waistcoat, the last of the tendrils disappearing from his tailcoat as he adjusted his arousal which was still hard and aching with need, the longer the wait, the more satisfying the victory shall be.

I hope you enjoyed that. :) Thank you again for your support and comments and love. You’re kind words always make my day.  Please stay safe and healthy as well!  

[goldishlock]

Emerald Seas Chapter 7 (Pirates of the Caribbean Fanfiction)

A seamstress was measuring Kate's sizes while she stared at herself in the large mirror. It was the day of the ceremony and the ball. Her father made sure she'd be wearing the finest clothes and had already shipped some of the best fabrics from London. Every time her father brought her a gift from her hometown she felt sentimental, missing the city of her birth. The people, the markets and even the rainy days. Just so much of her childhood left back there. And her mother's grave, one of the reasons that made everything that came to her from England feel special, even the smallest and most impeccable things. Her hands reached for the silk and Kate couldn't help herself but to stuck her nose between the fabric. Like she could smell the English air or her mother's scent. The fabric smelled like roses, the scent that reminded her of her mother. She still missed her very much every day.

Katherina woke from her daydreaming as the seamstress took a few steps back to behold her creation as she finished. She took Kate by her small shoulders and made her look into the mirror again. Kate beheld her own reflection, she was wearing the most beautiful gown she'd ever seen. It was a silken green dress with a gorgeous corset with pretty stitched flowers all around the front of her waist. Her hair was tied up but one single curl was left out and curled in front of her shoulder. A beautiful but modest crystal necklace decorated her thin long neck. Once finished Kate moved down the stairs, where her father was waiting for her in the hallway of the mansion. He looked at her with a grand smile. The servant handed Kate her bergère hat, an ivory lace ribbon tied behind her red curls made it secure. It would protect her pale complexion from the burning Caribbean sun at the ceremony outside.

'You look most beautiful my dear' Lord Florence offered her his arm and they made way to the carriage waiting for them outside.

Moments later Kate and Lord Florence made their way to Fort Augusta at the front of the island of Nassau, where the ceremony would take place. Her father was surprisingly quiet about this special day, as he called it himself. Normally he wouldn't stop talking about her next suitor, he'd ramble on about these gentlemen and their amiable qualities. But today was different, almost like he was hiding something. He had only spoken of how Lord Ashwood, her father's closest friend and business companion whom he shared his Company with, was the one that by chance arranged the East India Company's new director's ceremony to be held here, on the island of Nassau. Kate knew her father was searching for new allies and the East India Trading Company was, of course, a great one to be working with, especially since the Company was moving its headquarters to the Caribbean. But Kate was surprised her father was the one that stayed in the background, as if his name was something that could work against him, he was being too secretive about this alliance. Even though her head was full of questions Kate held to the promise she made with herself not to interfere with these suitors before meeting them, and to her surprise, her father seemed rather content with that.

Soon they arrived. The fort was surrounded by many guards, making sure no one uninvited was to enter. Getting out of the carriage while being escorted by her father she had to block the sun from blinding her with her hand. Kate remembered the tremendous fort from when she was younger, it always made her think back to the time when she tried to sneak in when it was almost dark, just to see the sunset from of the high walls of the fort. Holding back a laugh remembering the times her father caught her.

Kate quickly removed her amused sight while almost smirking as the wife of her father's companion, Lady Ashwood watched her in surprise.

'Are you well my dear?' her always concerned tone whispered quickly but soft as she moved her hand down Kate's forehead. Lady Ashwood had always been sort of a mother to Kate, but she always seemed nervous and overanxious about everything. Kate didn't like the way she'd still behave as if she was a little girl.

'I am very well Milady, thank you for your concern' Kate spoke politely, feeling as if she had spoken that line to her already a million times. Kate discovered both her father and Lord Ashwood smiling brightly.

'You should be proud Charles, of the woman she has become. I'm sure he will admire her just as much as we all do, Lord..' just before Lord Ashwood could finish his line Lord Florence slapped his hand onto the back of Lord Ashwood's shoulder as in a friendly gesture and turned him away from their conversation. Kate noticed her father behaving rather unusual and she wondered what was going on as he was whispering with Lord Ashwood a few steps away from her place in the courtyard.

Ignoring Lady Ashwood still going on about her concerns Kate's eyes went through the courtyard of the fort. Her eyes caught an unfamiliar sight as she noticed large light blue flags waving in the wind, carrying a logo with the letters EICo. The drums started playing as a sign the ceremony was to begin. Kate noticed nerves that she had tried to hide, but they had made her stomach turn for some time now. Her curiosity arose as well and she caught herself standing on her toes to see who was about to enter the fort, the line of the naval officers was waiting. But it was hard to see and she couldn't block the sunlight from her sight. Suddenly she felt her arm being pulled and she noticed Lady Ashwood dragged her along to a less crowded place. Her large body made it impossible for Kate to keep standing and before she knew it she was placed just behind her father and Lord Ashwood proudly watching. From their place inside the inlet of the fort, the crowd down below almost looked like small ants from where they were standing.

'I've heard he's a very headstrong and determined man' Lord Ashwood spoke as he raised his thick small figure upon his toes to see. Kate felt the nerves race through her body as she heard him speak. It almost felt like she didn't want to hear anything they had to say about this man, it was not making it any better. Kate felt the heat of the sun touch her skin. Lady Ashwood quickly raised a fan, as she always seemed to carry one with her, to Kate's face. She accepted it gladly, hoping she wouldn't notice her nerves.

'Oh Katherina change of plans my dear, after the ceremony we will meet him at once' Kate watched at her father in surprise who hadn't even bothered to look over his shoulder to his daughter almost fainting now.

'But.. I thought we would meet him tonight, at the ball?' Kate stumbled over her words. She didn't want to meet him so soon. It always felt a lot less formal when being introduced to someone at a ball, she had planned it all out. But now her father once again had a change of mind.

'Katherina, don't be so stubborn' Lord Florence spoke without looking at her, staring into the courtyard of the fort without giving her a single glance.

'I've heard he is very picky with women ' Lord Ashwood was known to be very fond of rumors and gossip. Both men still staring into the courtyard didn't look back at Kate what so ever. Her chest was falling and raising and she didn't know if it was the weather that made her breath heavily or everything her ears wanted to block. She wasn't sure if she could handle this meeting so soon. Her small fan was moving hard to get some fresh air, but it was all in vain. The humidity made it impossible to catch some fresh air. Feeling her waist tighten within her corset. She was used to wearing corsets but suddenly felt ill. It might have been the heat of mid-summer but she knew it was the tension she could not handle any longer.

The drums now played a fast rhythm as the ceremony began. Kate couldn't see the figure entering the courtyard what so ever, her blurry vision was blocking her sight together with the bright sun. It was then she decided to ignore her father's wishes. Kate took the hem of her dress and as soon as Lady Ashwood was distracted by some of the noble women starting a conversation with her Kate saw her chance to get away.

Kate made her way through the halls of the fort trying to escape the burning sun. Lifting her dress as high as possible she tried to prevent herself from tripping, her heels echoed on the cobblestones. Some of the redcoats marching along watched her in question, seeing a young woman making her way through the empty halls alone while the party was inside the fort must have been a strange sight, but luckily they did not interfere.

Once reaching the back entrance Kate opened the large iron doors, she remembered from sneaking in at night, at the backside of the fort with all her strength. It was quiet and she could hear the crowd applause in the distance and music started playing again. Kate could smell the salt air of the ocean and once she reached outside of the fort completely she walked right in onto the beach. The fresh air of the ocean entered her nostrils. On her face was a permanent smirk and she felt quite rebellious. Removing her shoes and stockings without thinking of what formality was going on inside or if anyone could see her from up the fort she made way to the water. She lifted her dress again and her toes touched the cold sea. A soft sigh escaped her lips by the touch of refreshing water. This was just what she needed. Not thinking about what her father would be saying once she would return. This was her moment now.

After spending all afternoon on the beach Kate noticed the dusk setting in already. Time had flown by. She figured the ceremony would be ending by now and decided to head back to the fort. Sneaking around the brick walls of the fort like she was some sort of criminal, trying not to get caught. Holding her shoes and stocking in one hand, her bare feet on the hot cobblestones made her move quickly. In the distance, she saw their carriage and made her way to it. The servant looked surprised to see her alone but bowed his head and helped her into the carriage. Kate moved down onto the soft couch of the carriage and suddenly looked straight into the eyes of Lady Ashwood, she and her husband would accompany them to the ball. Kate smiled faintly as she quickly returned her stockings and heels. Before she could explain herself Lord Florence and Lord Ashwood entered the carriage as well.

'There you are my dear, where have you been?' Lord Florence spoke rather quickly. Kate opened her mouth once again but soon got interrupted by Lady Ashwood.

'My poor Katherina couldn't handle the sun any longer, with her pale skin. I decided to take her back for some shading' Lady Ashwood lied. Kate felt her jaw drop but quickly closed her mouth which made her teeth collapse. Kate innocently watched both her father and Lord Ashwood and shrugged her shoulders without saying a word.

'I hope you feel better now my dear' Lord Florence spoke smiling softly. It seemed that Kate managed to get away with her spontaneous adventure and she watched Lady Ashwood gratefully as she winked at her when the carriage started moving.

It didn't take long for them to arrive and once close to the mansion, on walking distance from the fort, it was clear there was a grand party going on inside. Kate felt a spark of excitement, watching from the small window of the carriage her hand had moved the fabric of the curtain aside to look at all the people dressed beautifully, making their way into the party. She was forgetting about the suitor for just a moment.

Welcomed by servants at the entrance Kate was guided by Lord Ashwood that rambled on about the history of this building for what felt like the hundredth time. The servants took her coat and hat. Lord Florence escorting Lady Ashwood inside was surrounded by some noblemen and women already. Lady Ashwood was laughing loud together with some of the wives of the other Lords whom just arrived. Kate had to admit, her father was a charming man and always knew how to get the attention of the ladies, and not only the single women. Kate had more than often remarked her father why he wouldn't remarry or at least try and meet some of the willing bachelorettes. He always managed to explain how his love for her mother had never died. His answers were sort on the matter but to Kate's amusement, he always joked about how she was enough 'women' in his life.

Kate managed to let Lord Ashwood go of her arm once he engaged himself into one of the conversations. Her eyes moved through the large hall where the music from inside was heard already. Lifting the hem of her green silken dress Kate tiptoed through the crowd. Not being tall at all she always had a hard time searching through the crowd of people.

'Katie!' shrieked an enthusiastic voice that echoed through the hallway and made a few heads turn. Kate watched a tall dark haired girl, wearing a large violet dress making her way as her long arms embraced her shorter figure.

'Emma' Kate spoke up and watched her smiling as she released her. Moving down to her heels from standing on her toes Kate met with her large white teeth and grey staring eyes.

'I'm so happy you are here. This will be an extraordinary night!' Emma spoke not being able to wipe away the grin on her face. She was one of Kate's closest friends and always brightened her day with her big smile and always cheerful personality. She was with her family, her four sisters and parents. Kate had always admired her large family and sometimes wished she had at least one sister, let alone four. Emma always said she would love to trade all of them for at least half the fortune of Kate's family. The grass is always greener on the other side, as they say.

'You look amazing. On a mission?' Emma's cheeky smile made Kate laugh.

'You know I'm not the one on a mission' Kate pointed to her father behind her in the hall further away, still surrounded by the other noblemen and women. Kate noticed her father looking for her and as Emma chuckled once again Kate signed her to enter the ballroom. Emma agreed and her voice let out a high pitched sound when she had taken Kate's wrist and pulled her through the crowd. They made their way through the grand hall, the decorations were astonishing to behold. But their jaws dropped once they entered the main ballroom. It was decorated perfectly in a tasteful way, some balls were too much and kitschy, but this time Kate liked the splendor and beauty. The atmosphere was pleasant. They made their way down the large staircase in the middle of the ballroom.

There was loud joyful music playing, as the formal part of the ball had not begun yet. Kate enjoyed this part of the evening the most, no one cared who was who and danced with anyone they could find. As a young woman, you ought to be careful as a lot of bold men would take this time of the evening to ask to court you or even worse, but Kate and Emma always laughed at this. They blamed it on the lot of wine and brandy that was already spilled in the early hours of the ball.

Emma pushed Kate towards the dancefloor gently, but Emma's over excitement sometimes got them in trouble. Kate almost lost balance and tripped forward over the skirt of her dress. Two strong arms caught her mid-air. Emma had let out a scream but laughed when Kate was standing tall again, helped by the gentleman who caught her.

'Lieutenant Greitzer?!' Emma called out his name and he made sure Kate was standing on her feet again.

'Ladies, what a pleasure to meet you here this evening' Kate smiled and recognized their friend she had not seen in a long time. He was wearing a blue and yellow marine uniform that made his tall appearance even taller.

'Care for a dance Miss Florence? Now that you already threw yourself into my arms' Lieutenant Greitzer joked and offered her his hand. Kate laughed softly and nodded. Emma soon had found herself a dancing partner as well, she never failed at that with her quick but charming tongue, they were standing in line for her. The joyful music continued and Kate had taken the hand of Lieutenant Greitzer to guide her to the dancefloor.

'I see you've made yourself quite a life?' Kate was curious about his adventures at sea, the last time she had seen him he was much younger and was being sent away by his father, to find himself a job at sea.

'I did Katherina. They have given me an opportunity that I simply could not resist' Lieutenant Greitzer spoke proudly while the corners of his mouth rose. He guided her into the beginning of the dance.

'They being who?' Kate did not recognize his uniform, it was much different from the Royal Navy ones.

'The East India Trading Company, I got promoted to Lieutenant some weeks ago' Kate recalled Emma indeed calling him Lieutenant. She bowed her head in a teasing manner.

'Well Lieutenant, it's an honor to have this dance with you' Kate smiled at her old friend after chuckling softly.

Emma moved next to them together with her dancing partner so she was close enough to start a conversation while dancing. Kate was impressed how she managed to stay close in between their movement, without accidentally crashing into each other.

'Katherina, have you seen the East India Company's new Lord yet?' Emma twirled around her partner with her hands held high, the gentleman's eyes couldn't leave Emma's happy radiation, there was a big smile on his face and Kate couldn't hold back a grin, but soon her eyes shifted to Emma when she asked.

'No I did not, we haven't been introduced yet and I'm quite alright with that' Kate spoke quickly as she watched Emma's surprised look.

'Besides these ceremonies are getting quite dull once you've attended what feels like hundreds' Kate spoke to Emma with a loud voice, trying to get above the joyful music. She got reminded of her little escape this afternoon.

'But Kate you must know who you will be meeting later. After all, he might be your future husband' Emma's face stared at her when the dance allowed them next to each other.

'My father decided that we should meet him right after the ceremony, even though he promised it would be tonight. I simply couldn't yet Emma' Kate looked at her friend with worried eyes.

'It will be alright my Katie. And besides, if you haven't met him yet, it might be love at first sight. How romantic!' Emma exaggerated with a dramatic tone in her voice, closing her eyes like she was picturing it in her mind. Kate rolled her eyes in amusement.

'I've heard he is very handsome! Oh if only I could marry a Lord' Emma threw her hand dramatically upon her forehead. The officer she was dancing with looked up at her offended and Kate had to hold herself from bursting out in laughter at his face.

'Well, you can have him' Kate spoke sarcastically at Emma daydreaming.

'He is doing a great job at running the Company so far' Lieutenant Greitzer interfered the ladies conversation and Kate had forgotten it was his boss they were speaking of.

'Well good for him' Kate spoke stubbornly at her friend. She quickly removed her annoyed face as she realized she had become emotionless and prejudice when it came to meeting new men. But she truly felt it wasn't the right way to meet someone you might spend the rest of your life with.

Kate squeezed Greitzer's arm just before releasing him after the dance had ended and they bowed to each other to end it formally.

'Come, I'm in need of the good company of a glass of fine wine. Besides, I can't feel my toes' Emma pulled Kate away from Lieutenant Greitzer and Kate's lips mumbled a thank you his way, he smiled and bowed his head when the ladies moved along, away from the dance floor.

Reaching through the crowd to the part of the ballroom where people were having conversations instead of dancing Emma paused their pursuit and pulled a servant at his sleeve, he apologized fast and moved his tray filled with glasses of wine to the ladies.

'Let's make a toast. To find ourselves some true love tonight' Emma lifted her glass to Kate's whose face was holding back a laugh and the sound of the crystal glass filled the room as suddenly the joyful music replaced itself for a slower and harmonious music. The ladies looked each other and understood it was the host of the evening who had arrived. This was the time everything formal started again and Kate's eyes suddenly noticed Lord Florence standing at the large stairs that were attached to the hall they had entered through earlier. He was obviously looking for his daughter that had run off once again. He seemed quite nervous, something Kate hadn't seen yet.

'I can't wait for the dancing to start again later this evening' Emma remarked the formal music. Her energetic mood had switched to a more calm one like the music had. Later in the night, most people would start dancing again as the business and most formal part of the evening would be over.

'I hope you will catch a dance with the Lord' Emma pushed her shoulder against Kate's gently and she let out a soft chuckle. Kate rolled her eyes, after that signing Emma that her father was looking for her and she needed to leave.

'I will see you later sweet Kate. Keep your head up. If you don't like him it will be alright. You only have to dance with him once for formality' Emma wished her luck and kissed her cheek softly, something she always did when they parted, to show her affection for her friend. Kate lifted the skirt of her dress and made her way to Lord Florence now asking around for her.

'Ah, my dear! I've been searching for you all over' Lord Florence offered her his arm. Kate smiled weakly and felt her nerves return to her stomach. It was the time she would meet the next suitor, and that made her nervous. But it also had to do something with the fact she remembered Lord Ashwood's words, how this Lord was a confident, headstrong and determined man. Kate wondered how she was going to shake him off once he liked her.

'Now, Katherina I want you to listen clearly' Lord Florence escorted her toward one of the inlets of the ballroom where the highest, richest and most powerful men were enjoying their evening. Kate saw Lord Ashwood in conversation with some of the East India Company's men. He must have been among them, but their backs towards her and the great distance made it impossible to see their faces.

'He doesn't know we, as in you and I, are present at this ball or that we will address him' Kate winded her eyes. And there it was, she had known there was something dubious going on here and her father was hiding something. This Lord didn't even know Lord Florence was present. Kate wondered if it was one of her father's rivals that he needed to make it up to only for the profit of his Company. She wanted to open her mouth and ask but as he had taken her to the side and laid his finger upon her lips before she could speak.

'Hush, let me finish. I know this is all very unusual. But this Lord does not go in on marriage proposals' Lord Florence tried to bring out his words carefully. Kate was swallowing loudly, her breathing started to quicken. She was certain now, her father was going to marry her off to one of his business enemies as some sort of peace offer. Her cheeks started to turn reddish.

'Unusual? You are trying to match this man without him even wanting to. What if you'll anger him? You'll shame me!' Kate wanted to shout but didn't want anyone to hear their discussion. She didn't understand why he wanted to embraces her so much. This man had to be insanely rich or extremely powerful for her father to push her into this, it seemed almost desperate. Kate worried he had finally gone insane from all the attempts of marrying her off.

'I have my reasons for it Katherina and it will soon all be clear to you' Lord Florence almost had to drag her towards the group of men talking as soon as he hooked his elbow into hers. Kate tried to act like she didn't get forced, determined not to look like a foolish woman, but she realized her father would probably do the job for her.

They strolled towards the backs of the men discussing business, enjoying their drinks and occasionally laughing. Even though from the outside Kate looked like the confident woman always presented herself as, on the inside she felt like a little girl being dragged along by her father. Her heartbeat was rising and she felt the air get stuck in her lungs.

Before reaching the group of men her father stopped her and signed he wanted to speak to the men first. Of course, Kate thought as she rolled her eyes. He needed to beg for forgiveness first if he indeed was his rival.

Her father stood tall and ignored his daughter almost fainting from the tension, leaving her behind for a moment. Kate grabbed her fan moving it quickly before her face to get some air and hide her heavily blushing cheeks. Her sight was becoming vague. Kate had never felt this way before and she wouldn't be surprised if she'd faint within the minute. Her legs were shaking underneath her skirt.

Her father entered the conversation. Next to him what must have been the Lord, wearing a white wig, one curl on both sides, with a slightly short figure turned his head, noticing his arrival. Lord Florence and the man were exchanging words and he moved a few steps back like he was surprised by his sudden arrival. It indeed was obvious they'd met before and the Lord didn't seem very happy with his arrival. That or he was just very surprised by her father's insane forced proposal.

Kate decided she couldn't wait any longer and wanted this torture to be over quickly. She placed her fan on the table, trying to pull it together. It took a lot to take the first steps toward the men. Her chest was rising and falling as the air got stuck in her throat. Walking towards the men she tried to do it as gracefully as possible, still trying not to faint, she refused to be embarrassed that way.

Kate almost reaching them could hear them talking. One of the voices caught her attention and seemed so familiar. Lord Florence's sight moved to Kate's direction while still talking. It was clear Lord Florence was surprised Kate ignored him asking her to wait and as Kate almost arrived right behind the Lord he quickly started introducing her. As Lord Florence had laid his eyes on his daughter, still almost fainting, the man did too. His head turned to her so she could finally see him, now standing face to face.

'Lord Cutler Beckett, my daughter, Katherina Florence. You have met before' Lord Florence spoke. Kate taking the last few steps suddenly came to a halt when hearing her father's words and she almost stopped breathing. Looking into the blue-grayish eyes she had met years ago, the only eyes she ever truly trusted, loved and missed. Even though she had pushed these feelings away a long time ago. It all came back to her within seconds. Like the nerves couldn't be worse they now rushed through her body.

'Katherina..' Cutler's face looked even more surprised than hers and he stepped into her direction but keeping an appropriate distance as he seemed in shock. He gazed into her eyes with his jaw dropped, but had closed it when speaking her name carefully, like he was afraid to break it.

'Cutler..' Kate had to push his name from her lips, she had been too heartbroken to speak it for years. She felt weak on her legs again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

Calling him by only his first name must have looked strange to the other people present in this conversation and not proper according to the right ways to introduce yourself, but Kate was forgetting about everyone and everything around them in the room. It was quiet for some time. The other noblemen looked confused about what happened but did not interfere.

Cutler didn't say a word and made the impression he wanted to reach for Kate's hands, that were placed upon the lower part of her corset, her bosom rising and falling even quicker as her lungs reached for air, her body frozen. But Cutler came out of his trans and coughed once. His face turning to the other men.

'Gentlemen, will you excuse us?' Cutler sounded strict towards the other men, but they nodded politely. Kate didn't realize what happened and it wouldn't take long before it turned black before her eyes. After he spoke Cutler suddenly presented her his arm in a comforting way without saying anything, she took it without hesitance, still in shock. He started walking, away from the gentlemen, quickly like he was in a hurry. Still, in silence, he guided her toward the gardens outside in a rather fast phase. Kate could hardly breathe and if she wasn't going to have fresh air or remove her corset soon, as she randomly asked herself whether the maid had tightened it to tightly, she'd lose consciousness. Her feet followed Cutler's quickly as he helped her outside. Some people had turned their heads to them while they made way outside. Kate heard a woman say something that sounded like 'did he finally court someone?'. But she was far to busy to not stop breathing.

At one point Cutler moved behind Kate to get them safely through the busy crowd, his hand reached for her waist and pushed her gently into the right direction as some people were too distracted to move out of their way. Kate's heartbeat was drumming in her ears.

Once reaching the large doors opened by the servants Kate, once outside, took a large breath feeling her lungs getting filled with fresh air to prevent her sight from going black. After a few seconds, Kate returned her calm breathing and realized what had happened as she watched two concerned familiar eyes that hadn't changed stare at her. Cutler had noticed she almost became unwell and, while no one else did, he made sure she was alright by taking her outside quickly. Ignoring all the formality rules to make sure she was alright. As she remembered he was putting her well being above anything else.

'Are you alright?' Cutler reached for her arm and took it softly, making her sit down on one of the stones benches alongside the rose fields. Kate didn't know if his touch was making her almost losing her conscious any better, but she was much better than a few minutes ago.

'I apologize for my hasty actions. I wanted to escort you out into the fresh air as soon as possible' Cutler's voice sounded so familiar, but was much deeper and more formal. Kate suddenly felt happy they were alone. With her calm breathing in the background her eyes traveled across his face, a face she had wondered about a thousand times if she'd ever see it again. He was wearing a beautiful uniform and a powdered white wig. Cutler wasn't a boy anymore but a grown man, still very handsome, even more than she could remember. Her heartbeat raised when her eyes finished their journey and ended at his again, staring back in silence.

[kvjff-blog]

Joshua Ojonuba

Professor Robert Lunday

ENGL 1301

10 October 2019

The Beautiful Game

Two sprained wrists, at least four ankle sprains, couple of cuts and at least a dozen splinters: those are just some of my injuries over the last six or so years of playing competitive soccer. My injuries are on the minor side as many others suffer worse injuries that often require surgeries and months of physical therapy. Professional soccer is played by approximately two hundred and fifty million players in over two hundred countries and dependencies all around the world, making it the world's most popular sport. This does not include the millions more who play for fun, in semi pro clubs, and in amateur leagues all across the world. It would be almost impossible to imagine the amount of injuries they sustain as well as the extent of them. Seeing as the consequences and pain are so substantial, the question as to why so many people like myself play and get influenced by this sport on such a grand scale. The answer is: I don’t know, I don’t think anyone know to be fair. We all just play no matter the cost; the game is all. I remember reading an article about Ada Hegerberg, who is regarded as one of if not the best women’s soccer players alive. In the article she was asked why she even played since she had opted to sit out the women’s world cup for her country. She responded, "Playing football can be damn harsh, but every day is a fight.” reading this the first time I thought to myself, if it is as harsh as you say why not just quit playing? As I look back now I am able reflect on her statement, and I realize that we are similar. Never once while I played did I think about quitting, through the many injuries, through the long draining practices, through the failures and let downs, I fought through. Like Ada and many others I kept on going necessarily because I wanted to but more so because I had to; quitting never seemed like an option as least not one that crossed my mind.

Soccer has been a major factor in my life probably ever since I was a little baby especially after experiencing the major soccer atmosphere in Lagos, Nigeria, where I was born and raised. In fact my earliest memory of the sport was maybe in 2006 during the world cup. It was the qualification stages against Angola, and Nigeria desperately needed a win to qualify for the most famous and prestigious tournament in all of sporting history. When I was a kid in Nigeria, power outages were extremely common as Nigeria was and still is going through a power supply crisis. So it came as no surprise when suddenly in the middle of the game there was a power outage. Because this was an everyday occurrence we had a phase for it - “down nepa”, and when the lights would come back up we would yell “up nepa”. I had never witnessed a sense of community like I saw that day. As soon as the power went out, we immediately rushed out to the industrial generator out back like we always do. After about five minutes of tussling with the generator, struggling, trying to get it started, there was finally a spark visible through the window of the back room. By this time there had been a crowd formed behind us, seemingly the entire neighborhood was behind us cheering at the sight of light. Apparently we were the only household with enough gasoline to power their generator. “Ta lo fe wo ball”, my aunt said in her native Yoruba; she was asking who was ready to watch some ball or football. Which brings me to the question of why it’s called soccer in the U.S.A instead of football like it is everywhere else in the world, it’s like Americans always have to one up everyone else; anyway, I digress. Seeing as we were the only household with power and our TV was definitely not big enough for the magnitude of people that had now gathered expecting a game of soccer. Luckily one of the families in the neighborhood had a flat screen which in retrospect could not have been very big but it was definitely bigger than anything we or anyone within maybe the next three miles did. With our always reliable generator and the newly found TV, we were all ready to witness Nigeria do us proud and make it to the world cup for another year in a row. Even though the rest of the game was boring and disappointing with Nigeria losing one to zero to an admittedly much stronger and experienced squad in Angola, the moment of community and coming together is what makes it a memorable. Year after year, game after game, support poured in from all over the neighborhood. Nigeria vs. Ghana, Nigeria vs. Argentina, Nigeria vs. Brazil, Nigeria vs. Mexico, every lost seemly just as enjoyable as a win. These are the memories that I’ll keep forever, the memories of love, joy, peace and innocence during a time that would otherwise be considered bad or at the very least not ideal.

There is a famous quote that I along with numerous other soccer fans have heard that goes “you play soccer anywhere, you play soccer everywhere” the phase actually says “football��� but for the purposes of this we’ll say soccer. The game is simple, right? Score and do not get scored on. The Truth is: yes, it is simple; but the difficult part is what’s left unsaid, the little things that make the game just so beautiful. The buildup, the passionate moments, the joy, the rivalries; these are all things that every fan and player all across the world can relate to. They have been numerous stories of soccer saving communities and bringing people together because as they say no matter how you’re raised or what culture you subscribe to, just like people are people soccer is soccer always. I remember reading a story about one of my favorite soccer players ever, Didier Drogba; unfortunately people from Africa are used to hearing stories of and even experiencing war or civil unrest. Even with him being from the Ivory Coast, where they had gone through extreme civil unrest, he was always representing his home country. "Come to Abidjan, Alex. You will not be disappointed.” he was quoted as saying to a reporter asking about his native country.   Civil war had been happening for five years in the ivory coast when, right after leading his nation to the 2006 World Cup finals in Germany back in October 2005, he picked up a microphone given to him by a reporter in the dressing room and, surrounded by his team-mates, he fell to his knees live on national television. He begged both fighting sides to lay down their guns and, within a week, his wish had been granted. "It was just something I did instinctively," he said. "All the players hated what was happening to our country and reaching the World Cup was the perfect emotional wave on which to ride." Didier Drogba proved exactly what I have been saying about the power and passion soccer brings into the lives of its fans. In front of everyone in the world and his native people, he got on his knees and pleaded for peace. I can’t think of any other sports that could possibly do that, five years of deadly civil war, ended just like that. As a fellow African watching this unfold on TV, this further inspired me as well as other young African kids to play.

In 2011, when I moved to Houston, I went from merely watching soccer being played to actually playing it. Besides the occasional after school sessions of just the kicking of a peeled over leathery ball, I was never able to fully experience the true essence of the sport. Because not only was it hard to find a suitable environment to play but finding a ball was also almost always impossible as well. Going into middle school I knew that although we did not have a proper team I wanted to be a soccer player, if not professional (I knew at this point I surely could not be a professional player) then at least I could be competitive within the local club or school scene. After I somehow survived three long years in middle school without a sport to play it was finally high school and I would get a chance to play. Quotes like Tony Adams’ - “Play for the name on the front of the shirt, and they will remember the name on the back” played back over and over in my head. At the time it almost seemed like making my high school JV b team was at all comparable to the years of years he spent on top of the sport.

Who is Tony Adams, you may ask? Well my dear, dear reader, Tony Adams is without a doubt the best captain arsenal football club has ever seen in all its 133 years of being a top tier team.  He was not only one of the reasons I became an arsenal fan but he influenced almost every part of my soccer career. I found myself studying almost everything he did in his prime, looking to emulate even the slightest bit of success from his greatness. I guess looking back now I think it’s clear to me that I desperately wanted to become someone better than I was. Someone more confident, more secure, maybe even just someone different than I was. I essentially tried copying every aspect of his playing style, even incorporating his celebrations as well. If I’m being honest I still sometimes have that feeling of wanting to be someone else other than myself, although not as much as I used to. Honestly I believe playing competitively really forced me to legitimately discover who I was and be comfortable as myself. That being one of many reasons why I would recommend everyone participating in some kind of sport or physical activity. Not to mention the atmosphere and relationships I created along the way.

I find that there is a certain unique sense of community with soccer that just isn’t present in any other activity on the planet, or at least not one I have participated in. Now I do not claim to be some sort of super athletic multi-sport champion but I have played my share of sports and been in quite a few communities. I have played basketball and football, been involved in concert band, art club and even science club. In my humble opinion, in terms of love and support expressed in each community they all pale in comparison to this beautiful beautiful game. In fact the only good comparison that I’ve found seems to be within the jujutsu and kickboxing community which oddly enough is less violence orientated as you would think by just taking a glance in. predictably I have been enjoying the martial arts mainly for the community to the point where it has begun to be almost a religion like soccer was and still is.

Soccer or football (as it’s more commonly called in other countries) is of course a way of life in almost every country all over the world, but more than that I would say it is a religion of sorts. The U.S. is one of the very few places soccer is not hallowed so it is perfectly understandable that some people do not understand the extent of the love people have for this sport. This is the part where I would try drawing a connection to another sport, American football or baseball maybe? Truth is I would hesitate to compare soccer worldwide to any sport as a matter of fact, not just popular American sports. In my experience American football and baseball defiantly have an extremely loyal fan base, but the fans are naturally fickle at times even sometimes changing and switching over between teams. However soccer fans, real soccer fans at least, are often born into their respective team and stay loyal all the way till death. Just like any other religion switching over to another religion (or club in this case) is highly frowned upon and potentially even dangerous. Like most all religions throughout the history mankind, intense rivalries are an ever present theme usually dependent on proximity to the rival club as well as any minor disagreements that may or may not have occur somewhere buried deep in the history of both clubs. As an arsenal fan, of course I despise our rival club, the Tottenham Hotspur, although I will admitted that there are a couple of Tottenham players I enjoy watching and sometimes even root for. I think the first time I ever thought of soccer as like a religion was when I randomly ran into a you tube video comparing Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo, two players widely considered two of the best to ever play. The video creator spends the beginning portion of the video comparing both their stats for the past 12 years as well as their respected following. He then goes on for what seemed like eternity talking about sportsmanship and how well they have both individually represented the sport. Finally, at the end of the video, he comes up with the conclusion that although the two players are absolutely the best to ever lace up their boots and step onto the field, Messi is the greatest. In his words, “Messi in all his glory is the God of football, with Ronaldo sharing his glory as Jesus or Muhammad”. This seems to have stuck in my subconscious, only revealing itself now after a couple of years after going mainly unnoticed by me at the time.

Before I started writing this memoir I would have never thought that I had this much to say about soccer especially since it is not as much a part of my life as it’s been in the past. I guess in a lot of ways I have changed and evolve into what I would consider a better, more self-actualized version of myself. With that being said, I think it makes sense that soccer isn’t as important to me; it has served its purpose in my life and I’m sure it will continue to. I am forever grateful to this beautiful game and all the wonderful memoirs it brought into my life.      

 Afterword.

The honest truth is at the beginning of this memoir I was not really going to try as hard as I maybe could have. I was procrastinating, only waiting till the last minute to finish each installments that was due. I think I was thinking about it just as a class project I just had to get done instead of an interest project. After the turning in the first installment of this memoir and getting back the feedback, I began using my free time to write and combine the texts. It is amazing how much I've retained over my many years of playing and watching soccer. it was really interesting bringing back the memories and ideas I had lodged somewhere in my mind. I think by actually caring about this project and the subject, I was able to not only dive deeper but also articulate better.    

[mud-on-the-turntable-blog]

Nana Grizol - Love It Love It (2008, Folk Punk / Indie Rock)

Hi! Nice to meet you! We are Max and Michayla, and this is the first post of our music review blog, Mud on the Turntable. The way our reviews work is one of us will recommend the other an album, and we both write some interesting things about the album separately. Read both of them, or just one of us if you like one of our particular writing styles, or neither if you don’t like either. Our first album is one Max suggested, Love It Love It by Nana Grizol. Enjoy!

Max + Michayla! xox

Michayla’s Review

Circles ‘Round the Moon

Feels like walking into your great-aunt’s yellow-walled kitchen at the break of day in the height of August. There is a hand-painted ceramic fruit bowl sitting on the counter full of oranges and grapefruit and limes. Your aunt is making pancakes and the scent of morning air, fresh cut grass, lavender, and clean sheets wafts in through the open windows while the warm morning sunlight pools onto the floors and cabinets and walls.

Colours: #f7f499/rgb(247, 244, 153), #ff693f/rgb(255, 105, 63), #68b233/rgb(104, 178, 51)

Tambourine - N - Thyme

Feels like floating suspended in deep aqua water, glittering fractals of light and swirls of infinitesimally small bubbles dancing around your body, framing you, frozen in a soft scream, watching the surface and the murk around you, but at peace with yourself, so beautifully suspended in fluid water. The smell of mossy dirt and powdered sugar on the tip of your tongue, neon lights shimmering in the distance, far, far away.

Colours: #0d7d99/rgb(13, 125, 153), #e20fbc/rgb(226, 15, 188), #c7f736/rgb(199, 247, 54)

Less Than the Air

Limoncello coloured with patches of red seeping through the page, like sun hitting your eyelashes while walking down an old dusty path, a long, hot sidewalk home, and walking through the front door of your house. Old maple floors lead into your living room, cream walls, pockmarked, covered in part by white linen curtains. You put on a record and dance barefoot in the living room. It feels like light, and the way it blurs your vision when it hits you like a camera lens. Tastes like fairy bread and rosemary.

Colours: #fff0a5/rgb(255, 240, 165), #d60000/rgb(214, 0, 0), #ad7c2d/rgb(173, 124, 45)

Motion in the Ocean

A soft blush pink set against ivory countertops. You find yourself getting ready for a party you never intended on going to, shell jewelry, drops of gold falling from your fingers like tears, the sky is darkening to indigo outside your window. Counting minutes on your fingers only to find you’ve run out far more times than it takes to eat the peaches your mother brought you late at night. Waking up tired and wishing for the sun, the taste of cold water and soft kisses, a memory of a dream.

Colours: #f2cbcb/rgb(242, 203, 203), #fcf6e3/rgb(252, 246, 227), #16074f/rgb(22, 7, 79)

Voices Echo Down Thee Halls

Stopping at a tiny diner along the highway, the vinyl seats are a pale minty-olive, you lean against the wall, faded highway signs and ancient greeting flash before your eyes, technicolour in the key of static radio waves, lying on the pavement, the sun beats down as you roll into the gravel, the dirt. Asphalt and car fumes, toasted tomato sandwiches and too much salt, wooden car panelling and the wrong colour of carpet.

Colours: #5faf56/rgb(95, 175, 86), #d1a877/rgb(209, 168, 119), #ef410b/rgb(239, 65, 11)

Stop and Smell Thee Roses

Like picking daisies in the overrun backyard of your childhood best friend’s house, dirty white picket fence set against mud and grass and a rain-heavy sky. Your laughter feels like home in her hands and you remember the sound of so many of you, running out the screen door, all strawberry-red-stained fingers and polaroid photos and charcoal smouldering in the fire pit, notes scribbled in pencil on loose-leaf paper, store-bought bread sticky on your teeth. The moment retakes you and you fall to your knees and smile and the first drops of rain hit your face.

Colours: #d8c302/rgb(216, 195, 2), #9598a0/rgb(149, 152, 160), #ffffff/rgb(255, 255, 255)

Tiny Rainbows

The rain clearing up and leaving sparkling puddles in the cracks in the pavement around your school, a warm september, you dive in and the droplets fall everywhere except your eyes, a rubber raincoat and not a single lie. Like falling down and finding yourself,a loving embrace after a cold winter day, fresh fruit on your lips, and the smell of coming home.

Colours: #05000f/rgb(5, 0, 15), #d3287b/rgb(211, 40, 123), #ff9011/rgb(255, 144, 17)

Everything You Ever Hoped or Worked For

Watching the sunset burn bright and melt down on another’s face, running away and finding joy in the places you’ve been. Crickets humming along to the beat of your footsteps and lulling you to sleep, to dream of stars and new beginnings at 2 in the afternoon. It tastes like bubblegum and sunshine, spilling down your chin from the back of your glass, bottle green, a telescope to where you’ll be, soon.

Colours: #65b277/rgb(101, 178, 119), #ff4e02/rgb(255, 78, 2), #abad53/rgb(171, 173, 83)

Broken Cityscapes

Washed out denim, sleeping with your jacket and shoes on, preaching holy words in the back alley to the birds, scattering seeds, soft and teardrop shaped, a touch of arange, rosy edges. Windchimes in the distance as they flock on the telephone wires and the words fade out, your hands dry and cracked but worth the smiles of the living, light seeping through the cracks in the clouds on a morning of second chances. The taste of cold tea chokes the back of your throat, garden carrots and lake water up your nose.

Colours: #9398c4/rgb(147, 152, 196), #e08247/rgb(224, 130, 71), #d9d4dbrgb(217, 212, 219)

The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said

Deep saturated garden greens not properly captured behind a grainy sepia photograph. Making notes on old graph paper, left on the desk in the unfinished attic, the trees tapping on the windows as the daylight pours into the room and into you, the exposed wooden beams house secrets and grocery lists, your mother told you to take out the trash, but that was five years ago today. You find comfort in eating cereal for lunch and all those things you would do as a child, now grown, now finding the light.

Colours: #543722/rgb(84, 55, 34), #0b5111/rgb(11, 81, 17), #e0e2b3/rgb(224, 226, 179)

Untitled Hidden Track

Screeching to a halt on a grid road just to see the stars, pen in spilled everywhere after your pen broke, you run and hide, the smell of acetone and burnt toast follows. It feels like shoving everything you wn off a desk and into your backpack and running, tears or blood or sweat running down your cheeks.

Colours: #0a0047/rgb(10, 0, 71), #f4fc58/rgb(244, 252, 88), #ff2b2b/rgb(255, 43, 43)

Overview

Overall, this album feels like falling into a pool of sunshine, and filling your lungs with it. Every song feels like another wave washing over you, the endings of each track hit like breaking the surface of the water for a gasp of air before going under again. If you needed a pick me up, try this one shot injection of good vibes, sunlight, and punchy musical citrus.

Anywho, congrats if you made it through that entire review! If you’re curious about how the songs translate into colours through my synesthesia, go on and copy/paste the colour codes into Google’s handy “colour picker” (just google it and then chuck the bits with a # into the top line of the colour picker) and it should work. I think. . .

Cheers!

Michayla Siwak

Max’s Review

Very rarely do I feel like I am the target audience of an album. However, whether this is actually true or not, Nana Grizol’s Love It Love It is certainly one that matches how I currently feel at this stage in my life.

All throughout this record, there is a sense of nostalgia and bittersweetness that I just couldn’t shake while listening to it. This emotional impact is noticeable from the very first song, “Circles ‘Round the Moon”. It represents a type of fantasy that I, and probably many other 18-year-old music fans who are scared of, yet excited about the intimidatingly massive world they’ve been thrust into, have quite often. Yes, the track tells a story of young relationships and figuring all those out, but it also describes leaving the big city for some place of solitude and simplicity in nature. It’s a beautiful thing really.

Musically, this feeling of homemade simplicity is reflected in every track. Far and away my favourite musical aspect of this album is the horns that will often come in and add to the pretty intense emotional impact this album has. The little imperfections and human-ness that is added by these wind arrangements serves as another tool to emphasize the feelings I’ve been writing about so far. Beautiful swells of trumpets cause your stomach to do little flips of excitement and emotion in songs like “The Idea That Everything Could Ever Possibly Be Said”. They add so much to the crescendos and dynamic changes throughout the album and are an indispensable part of the project as a whole. The songs all feel organic, like they’re being played by a group of friends in the background while you’re at some house party, stoned out of your mind and feeling insecure about the stupid shit you say in front of individuals of your preferred sex.

“Motion in the Ocean”, a huge highlight on the album for me both lyrically and musically, resonates with me more than almost anything else on this record. Lines like “It seems that we are clams inside our shells / Side by side on rocks we feel the tide as the sea contracts and swells” emphasize the feeling of powerlessness an 18-year-old Canadian who just failed his first year of university in a city of 2.463 million people (as of 2016) can feel sometimes. Yes, perhaps many of these lyrics are a tad on-the-nose and almost approaching cliché, but that adds to the beauty of it. Does this really make the messages and emotions conveyed by Love It Love It any less powerful or have any less meaning? These emotions and themes feel so genuine it’s hard to hate them, as much as the cold, cynical, pretentious arsehole in me wants to. What can I say? I can’t help but like and relate to this dumb little album. It’s great.

Yeah, sure. There’s lots of folky indie rock out there that will give you these kind of feels. I’m sure there are thousands of bands like this that try to do the same things. I can’t call this album revolutionary, or even especially fresh and different. No, the power in this album lies in its consistency and lovability. It fits very comfortably in a genre and mood that’s been done to death, but the playful, casual arrangements, lovably self-deprecating yet optimistic lyrics, and complete relatability to this young, confused college student make it pretty damn special in my books. Listen to it with some friends in the forest and let the stresses of post-adolescent mediocrity float away from you for a bit. At the very least, you’ll feel a helluva lot less alone after giving this a spin.

Perhaps this was a very fitting album for our first review in the gargantuan community of music reviewers. It’s pretty hard to recommend a better album for a couple of kids just starting their journey into a brand-new world who have no fucking clue what we’re doing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy our reviews.

Love,

Max Gilmour

Bandcamp

[heartslogos]

the unclassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [14]

(815): When you wake up and wonder why your bleeding and it feels like you jumped into a ceiling fan, dont worry. Ill explain it all when I wake up.

/

(713): I miss my innocence.

(832): I miss being able to say, "I've never done this before."

-

“So?” Bull asks, “What’s your problem? She said she’d explain it all when she wakes up.”

“The problem is I don’t know where she is,” Maxwell says, “So I don’t know why I’ve got this huge gash on my back, I don’t know why my skin feels like it’s been rubbed with steel brushes, and I don’t even know where Ellana is. I was hoping you would because you’re…together. Sort of. I don’t know what word you guys are using, honestly. Somehow boyfriend and girlfriend seems really immature? And too banal. You guys can’t have normal words like that applied to you. It just does you two injustice and makes the word look cheap.”

“Did you hit your head?” Bull asks after a pause, “You’re rambling more than usual. That’s worrisome. Didn’t think you had a setting that got more you. No offense, Trevelyan.”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember! Maybe? It doesn’t hurt. So. Do you know where your…Ellana is?”

“My Ellana? If she ever hears you say that we’re both going to be in trouble,” Bull laughs, “Ask her brother. I swear it’s like he has some sort of tracker on her or something.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a super spy?” Maxwell groans. “I can’t ask her brother. I don’t know where he is and he never answers my texts unless it’s about work.”

Maxwell shudders.

He still can’t believe Mahanon got a chainsaw for that.

“Well, I’m not asking Mahanon for you. He wouldn’t answer me,” Bull says. “And I might have training in espionage and information gathering but you don’t use that on your partner. That’s just asking for trouble and I’m not going to fuck this up. Ellana Lavellan is more than capable of dishing it back in kind and probably with a little extra on the side. I love her and I also love our relationship and I really love my current state of existence. I’m not spying on her.”

“Well how else am I going to find her?”

“Ask her brother. If it’s about his sister and you mention that you were hurt and don’t know where she is he might consider it interesting enough to look into. Who knows? You might have done something outrageous enough that he’ll call you to tell you how stupid it was.”

“You assume it was me doing something stupid. And that whatever hypothetical outrageous stunt I pulled didn’t work.”

“Oh, it could’ve worked,” Bull muses, “But it still would’ve been stupid. Stupid can work, but it’ll still be stupid. If you really want to find her maybe ask Leliana. She keeps tabs on everybody.”

“Why are you spy types like this? What’s the point of all this mystery?”

“Aesthetics,” Bull says. “I’m going to hang up on you, now. Not because I don’t want to talk to you - you’re always a trip to talk to, Trevelyan - but because I’m driving and I’m attempting to run this guy off the road. Hey, tell Josephine my expense report might go up a few thousand. Text me later about how your thing with Ellana goes, yeah?”

-

“Overrated,” Herah and Mahanon say at the same time, high fiving each other without looking. “Listen, Evelyn, you had to get out of your ivory tower at some point.”

“It wasn’t a tower, Herah. I lived in a dorm that was vaguely cylindrical in construction,” Evelyn says, “My university was based out of a really old castle, kind of like Skyhold but not as big or nice or easy to expand upon.”

“You shouldn’t miss ignorance,” Mahanon says, ignoring Evelyn’s response entirely, “So when Sera and Dagna answer back with the ominous lines of something like not yet or maybe joke about you having sex, I’m going to point out that if it weren’t for your numerous near death experiences that involve an alarming amount of bears then you wouldn’t have met Cullen Rutherford. And more importantly, you wouldn’t have met me.”

“I don’t know why you’re rating yourself above Cullen Rutherford on this one, Lavellan.”

Mahanon looks affronted and he flips his long hair over his shoulder, gathering it and twisting the hair into a high pony tail, “Because I’m obviously a better experience to be had than Cullen Stanton Rutherford. I don’t care if they’re going to have a million spawn together.”

“Spawn?”

“Face it, Evelyn,” Mahanon continues, “A life where you don’t know how to hit someone with a haymaker and have it be effective isn’t a life you want to have. You’d be bored out of your skull with the mediocrity.”

“He’s right, we’ve done nothing but enrich your life,” Herah says. “I mean. Do you honestly want to go back to a life where you can’t say that you’ve went head on against an Antivan Crow, an Antivan Ambassador, a Ben-Hassrath spy, a Red Jenny, a former hand of the Divine, and a semi-celebrity in a game of Wicked Grace and came out not losing any money? That’s boring as fuck and you aren’t a boring person, as much as you try to be. Come on. No more pity parties. Let’s get going. I hear sirens.”

“Late,” Mahanon sneers, wiping blood of his cheek as he starts rummaging through the pockets of the Venatori agent they’d just killed. “The response time for the law enforcement here is awful.”

“I wish I didn’t have a mental spreadsheet of law enforcement response times splayed out in my head,” Evelyn says, “I wish that comment wasn’t just another data point in that spreadsheet.”

“How’s the ranking going?”

“Better than Sahrnia,” Evelyn says after a moment of consideration, stepping back to let the two assassins do their work before the police arrive and Evelyn has to smooth it over as much as possible.

Josephine has stressed, repeatedly, how important it is for them to try and cooperate more with local law enforcement. Even if they do have priority.

“Everywhere is better than Sahrnia,” Herah points out, “They’re basically the end of the scale on everything.”

[story-monster]

Mawwage

I’M BACK

Dun dun duuuuuuun

I took a few weeks’ break to enjoy the married life, that dweam wifin a dweam.

Being married is AWESOME.  I totally recommend it.  Definitely worth taking a break for.  But it does mean I’ve got a lot of catching up to do!  There’s all these great stories about married life, the honeymoon (a Caribbean cruise…it was fabulous), moving houses, everything…things have been crazy.  In fact, I shouldn’t be blogging at all.  I should be cleaning or writing thank-you notes.  (Er…what is the etiquette for those, anyway?  I hope it’s not like within a month after the wedding or I am in big trouble.  They are coming, I swear!)

This post today is about  THE WEDDING.

There is SO MUCH to say about the wedding.  This is going to be a BIG blog post.  Brace yourselves.

We didn’t have much time to plan the wedding.  It was a 2-month engagement.  We are old and don’t mess around.  Thankfully, I had The World’s Most Beautiful Wedding Dress™ already hanging in my closet, so I didn’t need to worry about that!*

*pictures below

I also put together style guides for all the vendors and bridesmaids and everyone involved.  A style guide is basically a library of pictures and direction for what the project will look like.  (Being an animation director teaches you things).

(The decorators looked at me like I was crazy when I handed this to them haha.)

The colors were white, ivory, and rose gold.  I wanted to channel a very classy, vintage feel (with a touch of Mary Poppins.)  I ended up loving these colors even more than I expected.  They are just glamorous.

My cousin Melisa, a pastry chef, worked the cake, and Jen’s Bowdacious Bows worked on the floral and Waffle Love got reserved for catering and gosh everything just came together like a dream!

There were a few hiccups.

Like, I had no idea how much food to order.  Mormon weddings are more of an open house, so you’re not quite sure how many people will show up.  I stressed a bit over that.

300 less than what I ordered, it turns out.

The decorators were really frustrating to work with. (They were pretty unorganized.)  I tried hard to not be a bridezilla…

But I was.

I ended up making the centerpieces.

Actually my friend Susan Arnita put the centerpieces together.

Look at how beautiful they turned out!

WOW

But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

FIRST:  PICTURES!!

We got bridals/groomals done a couple of weeks before the wedding, on March 9th.  This turned out to be a really good idea, because the weather was beautiful.  Here are a few of my favorites:

(That DRESS, AMIRIGHT??)

^^Check out that leap.  The Handsome used to be a BYU folk dancer and he has some grasshopper in his blood, I think.

Love the movement in that one

It was cloudy, but the sun came out at just the right time.

^^The picture is my favorite of them all.

GUH he’s SO dreamy <3 <3 <3

^^LOVE that bouquet.  I wanted something that was glittery and pearly but soft and loose, not tight and ball-y like a lot of brooch bouquets and by golly, Jen delivered.  She even made black leaves for it, it turned out sooo pretty.  I have it in a vase on my kitchen table now.

I also let some of my goofy side show.

#constancehatchaway

The Handsome thought it was HILARIOUS.   Our photographer, Patti Deru, was like: “I don’t understand it, but I like it!”

…but my poor mom was horrified.  She didn’t want me to share these on social media.

Sorry mom.

The Handsome let some of his goofy side show, too.

Lol ^_^

Those were the bridals.  (BTW, is bridals/groomals just a Utah thing?  I had a couple of people asking if that was normal here.  I’m actually not sure…I thought everyone did bridals, but I kind of live under a rock.  Maybe someone can tell me in the comments.)

The wedding day came fast and not fast enough.  A week before, the forecast looked like this:

Which was comforting.

I woke up around 5:30 AM and went to my hair person, Cindy Peterson, and she did my hair gorgeous.

I don’t have a close up pic of that but it was beautiful.

Then I headless chickened while getting ready, making sure I had my temple recommend, clothes, makeup, shoes, everything, before we headed to Salt Lake to get married here:

WOW

Didn’t take pictures inside (of course), but it was a really nice ceremony.  I loved going into the sealing room and seeing the smiling faces of all my family.  It made me all teary-eyed.

I nearly said “Yes” at the wrong time, and I was blushing crimson for the rest of the ceremony.

But it was still amazing.

We were released into the wild :)

The kids were so excited to see us.  They welcomed Uncle Brent into the family.

Haha I have like a million nieces and nephews.

I inherited a new niece and nephew, too!

Ava, who’s 5, gave me a big hug.

I met Ava over Christmas, and she is so sweet.  When she found out that I lived all alone in my townhouse, she was heartbroken.

And I was like:

And Ava was like

Hey, yeah!  I could marry a homeless guy!  Hahaha!

(Brent didn’t like that idea.)

Lololol.  Kids are the best.

Magically, the weather held up.  No rain or snow, but a storm blew up and made the pictures more interesting.

Me with my bridesmaids (and maid & matron of honor.)  They were my sisters :) :)

I’m pretty sure Katie was there, too.

I had Jr. Bridesmaids too (my nieces.)  They were fantastic!

It was so great to have all the family there.

After lunch at the Old Spaghetti Factory, it was RECEPTION TIME.

The church was really dolled up.

The cake, & waffles

I loved seeing all our friends and neighbors come through <3

Hahaha a big group of “Entwined” fans even came!

Awesome ^_^

My sis Emily played the piano.

She played all the best songs, everything from Mary Poppins and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Slipper and the Rose, it was a Sherman Brothers Spectacle.  She knows just what I love #^_^#

The sign on the piano, it says: “All the Single Ladies – Please Take a Rose in Lieu of a Bouquet Throw.”

I didn’t want a bouquet throw at my wedding.  I’ve never liked them–it’s just so sad that only one person gets the bouquet.  I wanted everyone to have one.  So, all the single ladies got roses.

They loved it :)

The cake cutting

Mmmm lemon raspberry.

(No face-smashing.  My hands were shaking so bad it’s lucky I even got it into his mouth, lol.)

The Handsome surprised me with “Some Enchanted Evening.”

It was lovely and romantic.  What a voice!  (I’ll upload this recording to my youtube channel.)

And then, it was time for The Dance.

A few weeks before the wedding, I told The Handsome how much I wanted to dance the Cinderella Waltz at my wedding.

He was ON IT.  (Seriously, what a dream boy!)

We spent a lot of hours getting it down.

I was sooo nervous…but it turned out great :)

A big thanks to all the people who sent me their recordings so I could cut it together.

End of the night.  We made an exit.

That was magical too :)

AAAAH and the bridesmaids had decorated the car like a BOSS.

It was exactly the way a car ought to be decorated.  It was gorgeous.

It had been a magical day.

Here’s to a lifetime of many more <3 <3 <3

(I really hope they’re less expensive, though.)

Thank you so much to everyone who came!  I really loved seeing you all.  There’s nothing better than to have the best people celebrate with you on the best day.

(Side note: some of the gifts didn’t have cards or we lost them.  I’d love to send a thank you!  Can you contact me if any of the gifts below are from you?  (They really are lovely!))

And now…time to write those thank you notes.

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Mawwage was originally published on Story Monster

[kpopfanfictrash]

Eros (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Seokjin

Rating: PG

Genre: Fantasy, Mythology!AU / Royalty!AU 

Word Count: 9,958

Summary: In the futuristic world of Europa, Queen Venetia rules her land an iron fist. None are more feared than the Akeran, an alien race Earth fought eons ago, who bear a remarkable similarity to the angels of lore. When you find yourself at odds with the Queen, it seems that there’s no safe place on Earth for you to run. Nowhere but your mysterious rescuer, and even he may be more trouble than he’s worth. 

[ A re-telling of the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros ]

[Prologue]

“Y/N, wake up.”

You hear, rather than see your blinds being pulled away from the windows. Feeling the sun too bright upon your eyelids, you let out a groan and bury your head in the pillows.

A tried, male voice lets out a sigh. Silence follows, save for the quiet – yet menacing – sound of his foot, tapping against the wood. You ignore him, almost drift back to sleep when your room abruptly fills with noise. From deep beneath your pillow mountain come the sounds of the world’s headlines.

“TWO HOUR DELAY ON THE TRANSATLANTIC DUE TO OVERBOOKED BULLETS…”

“RUMORS OF THE CONGICAN GOVERNMENT SUPPLYING EUROPAN REBELS WITH WEAPONS…”

“EUROPA DOLLAR DROPS COMPARED TO CHINESE YEN…”

Taehyung, your assistant, exhales while clicking the channels. “Boring, boring, boring.”

Though you’re not looking, you can see him in your mind – both arms likely crossed, eyes wide behind tortoiseshell frames while impatiently flicking his iComm at the screen. Taehyung – stubborn, brusque, not afraid to tell you how he feels. One of the main reasons you chose him as your assistant.

A reason which seems stupid, when Taehyung abruptly yanks the comforter off your bed.

“Hey,” you gasp, feet exposed to bitter cold – you draw these quickly upwards, like your bony body frame could ever suffice for a blanket. “A little warning,” you groan, burying your head further.

“The first warning was your blinds,” Taehyung cheerfully explains. “The second warning was the screen. This is actually the third warning and if you don’t get up now – a bucket of ice water is next.” 

He sounds just threatening enough to make real of the promise, so you crack open one eye. “I’m up,” you grumble, rolling sideways. “I’m up. No need to waste good water on me.”

Plastering a huge grin on your face, you slide out of bed and head into your bathroom. Turning on the water, you begin to brush your teeth with large, exaggerated movements – as though to prove how awake you are.  You’re rewarded by the sound of Taehyung’s laughter, loud from the next room. As he walks away, you see him already re-absorbed in his iComm – probably lining up the rest of your day’s schedule.

Taehyung always has a million things to think about, a million things to do because you’re currently the most popular movie star on the planet. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you switch the angle of your toothbrush and touch your iComm to the surface. News leaps from the device to your reflection, as you flick past the stories. Dropping Europan dollars, the movements of Congican rebels – seeing this, you pause, reading the word Akeron. 

The Akeron. An alien race, one that’s been of great fascination to you. For many years, there have been peace between your people – but it wasn’t long ago, a furious war raged between the two worlds.

Today’s story is an interview, given by an Akeron historian insisting the alien race is set to invade Earth through your iComms. iComms – short for individual Communication device, one of which, you hold in your hand now. Setting your toothbrush back in the holder, you begin to brush your hair while the clip continues to play.

REPORTER: “Dr. Simms, why do you think the Akeron are still a threat to Earth?”

DR. SIMMS: “I think the better question is, why do some people think they’re not? This may seem shocking, but there are people out there who want to befriend the Akeron. It’s the nature of time, isn’t it? As the years pass, we become accustomed to peace. We start to think, ‘Oh, maybe we were wrong. Maybe the entire war was fought over a misunderstanding. Maybe the two of our species can coexist,’ but these people are wrong. If you didn’t see the war firsthand – if you didn’t see the destruction it brought, it’s easy to forget.”

The historian speaking a twitchy man – each sentence is punctuated by him slapping the armrest of his chair, shifting uncomfortably when he does. In between words, he twirls his pen with long, bony fingers. While the reporter continues to respond, you read the brief history of Earth and Akera scrolling across the page.

SCRIPT: EARTH BEGAN EXPLORING SPACE IN THE EARLY 2050’S, AN ATTEMPT TO FIND A PLANET WHICH COULD HOLD THE SOLUTION TO EARTH’S GROWING CLIMATE PROBLEM. IN 2106, HUMANS LANDED ON AR-VII, AN INHABITABLE MOON IN THE NIVIRE GALAXY. A COLONY WAS ESTABLISHED IN 2110 AND IN 2112, EXPLORERS DISCOVERED WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN UNINHABITED TRADING POST ON THE FAR SIDE OF AR-IIV. THE AKERON PEOPLE (PLANET XII754) REVEALED THEMSELVES TO EARTH IN 2115 AND FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS, EARTH AND AKERA CO-EXISTED PEACEFULLY. BETWEEN 2115 AND 2140, HUMANS REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO EXTEND THE COLONY BEYOND THE EXISTING BOUNDARIES. EACH ATTEMPT TO DO SO RESULTED IN A LOSS OF MOMENTUM, AND THE HUMANS PULLED BACK AFTER A FEW MONTHS ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. EARTH-BOUND HUMANS BECAME SUSPICIOUS OF THE PATTERN AND INVESTIGATED THE INCIDENT IN THE YEAR 2145. THEIR LEARNINGS SHOWED THE AKERAN POSSESSED A DANGEROUS POWER – PERSUASION; WHEREIN THEY CAN MANIPULATE HUMAN EMOTION FOR THEIR OWN, PERSONAL GAIN. WAR ERUPTED OVER THE DISCOVERY 2150, ONCE TENSIONS ESCALATED BEYOND CONTROL. THUS, BEGAN THE FIRST WORLDS WAR. HEAVY CASUALTIES RESULTED ON BOTH SIDES, WITH OTHER GALAXIES EVENTUALLY INTERVENING TO SAVE BOTH CIVILIZATIONS FROM EXTINCTION. LINES OF PEACE WERE DRAWN, AND UNEASY PEACE WAS BROKERED BETWEEN AKERA AND EARTH. EARTH DECLARED ITSELF A NON-HABITABLE ZONE FOR THE AKERAN PEOPLE. MOST LEFT EARTH IMMEDIATELY – THE FEW WHO REMAINED WERE IMPRISONED, AFTER A FAILED COUP-D’ETAT BY THEIR POPULATION. AS OF TODAY, THERE ARE NO AKERAN LEFT ON THE EARTH’S SURFACE.

You stop pretending to brush your hair, reading the words flashing across the bottom of the screen. Your interest in the Akeron is a closely guarded secret. One you’ve never dared tell for fear you’ll be considered crazy – or worse, branded a traitor.

With snowy wings, midnight hair and violet eyes, the Akeron look just like angels. Likely, they were the angels of old religion – there are several historians who’ve validated the Akeron presence on Earth for several millennia back. It was the Akeron, who first gave fire. The Akeron, who built the pyramids and invented the wheel. Each inexplicable, unexplainable event of human history: it can be explained by the Akeron.

Physically, the Akeron are beautiful. You’ve never seen one in person to verify this fact – only in propaganda, or through the screen of your iComm. Though the messages beneath their photos are usually terrifying, you can’t help but linger on their beauty. Hair silken as night, skin smooth as ivory but most incredible of all are their wings. Wings, stemming from their backs to brush the sky.

It’s small wonder, humans used to think them angels. The Akeron are oddly humanoid, if you look beyond their wings and their eyes. If it weren’t for those two features, they could easily pass for Earthlings. It’s the eyes, though. Eyes the color of violets and sunrise; on your iComm, the photos of Akeron always seem to be staring at you. Scientists explain that they don’t blink due to a heavy, purple-hued shield covering their retinas, the purpose of which blocks out foreign particles during flight.

Still, it looks freaky in photos. You blink looking at the photo – it breaks your staring contest in the mirror and you look awkwardly away.

“So, it’s a pr-etty busy day,” Taehyung admits, sauntering back into the room. Whenever Taehyung admits to something being busy, it means it’s probably unbearable. “At 9:00 am, there’s a promotional talk about the Fresh Water campaign,” he continues, munching on an apple he’s pulled from god knows where.

Your gaze moves to his in the mirror. “The what?”

“There’s a lack of Fresh Water,” Taehyung explains, waving a hand. “Company X is going to solve all that. You support Company X – Company X gives Y/N and Taehyung money in return.”

“Got it,” you mutter, turning away. Promotional appearances are just part of the job.

“From 10:00-10:45, there are touch-ups for that United Nations spot. You know, the one with the flag...?” Taehyung trails off, looking as though he’s trying not to laugh.

“And the crown?” you groan, nodding glumly. “Yep. Great.” 

Just add this to the list of awful photoshoots, honestly. The UN shoot was for national pride or something, you faintly recall the messaging while getting your hair pinned into place. It was implied the Queen herself asked that you do it – though you highly doubt this to be true. The Queen has far better things to do than concern herself with you, a movie star.

Taehyung continues talking, reciting a fifteen-minute break for lunch, a couple of limo rides and one meet and greet with fans. You tune all of this out, allowing your mind to wander away.

“Are you listening to me?” Taehyung suddenly interrupts, one hand on his hip. “What if I walked out now, let you get dressed by yourself? You’d probably wear something awful, like chartreuse. Oh,” he blurts suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Chartreuse.”

“Veto,” you respond, wrinkling your nose. “And I am listening,” you sigh, even though you weren’t.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing for a second. “Well, you’re going to want to listen to this, since tonight is HUGE.”

Everything is huge to Taehyung. The sentiment is a foreign one since all concept of magnitude and scale for you have long since worn off.

“At 17:00,” Taehyung begins, voice dropping, “you’re doing a news panel… with Queen Venetia!”

Your gaze snaps up, make-up brush slipping to clatter uselessly against the counter. “Is this…” you pause, dazedly shaking your head. “Is this what shock feels like?”

Taehyung laughs. “Get used to it, emotionless girl. You’ll be in her presence in a mere ten hours.”

More than a little shaken, you look at yourself in the mirror. The Queen – tonight you’ll be meeting the Queen and suddenly, everything about you seems wrong. Your hair is flat. Your bangs are long and childish. Your usually dewy skin is dull, grey with the lackluster aura of no sleep and coffee. You tug on your bangs expectantly, as though the motion might cause them to shrink.

“Stop psyching yourself out,” Taehyung calls out as he leaves.

Sticking your tongue out in the mirror, you grab your makeup brush to pick up where you left off. You’ve never met the Queen before, Venetia is older, nearly fifty in Earthen years. She was just twenty-five when she found the throne, when the people crowned her Queen of Europa. This was at the end of the first Worlds War.

Queen Venetia is beautiful, as most things in Europa are. With auburn hair and deep brown eyes, her face is all sharp angles. Rumor has it Venetia is single-minded to the point of ruthlessness, but you prefer to think of her as ambitious. Powerful women are always feared for this fact. For all her potential faults, Venetia united your country. Long ago, Europa was a pitiful coalition of nations trapped by small-mindedness and petty desires. China laughed at you in the distance, growing its economy while you struggled with basic policy.

Being divided was a weakness, one which allowed the Akeron to easy manipulate. During the first Worlds War, Venetia was the leader of an anti-Akeron political faction. Her group gained traction by supplying Earthen troops with both military and money and most historians cite Venetia as the tipping point in the war, due to their funding leading to the creation of the Block. The Block is a (not very creatively-named, admittedly) device able to block the Akeron from manipulating waves of human thought.

The Block forced the Akeron to fight you physically, without their powers – and once this happened, they started to lose. Despite their superior strength and wings, the Akeron are a largely peaceful nation. They aren’t used to altercation and were woefully unprepared for the type of guerrilla warfare Earth instilled. This was one of the main reasons Akera decided to make peace with Earth.

This peace wounded their pride, though, which is why many here on Earth still view the Akeron as a threat. Queen Venetia does – she’s constantly speaking on the dangers of complacency. Peace isn’t bulletproof, she likes to say. In fact, the real dangers posed by the Akeron at the end of the war were so great, it led to Venetia being elected Premier General of Europa.

When Europa consolidated, it became clear that a monarchy was the best system of governance and Venetia became Queen, putting into place a large board of advisers. One adviser exists from each state in the nation, though they hold no real power beyond a certain, antiquated influence. It’s hard for any, one, voice to be heard today. It’s a problem which stems from Europa being divided into so many political factions, making it hard for any one faction to gain enough influence to be heard.

Of course, no one dares say these things out loud. Fiddling with a bobby pin, you stare nervously at yourself in the mirror. Venetia has done a lot for your people, as well as for Europa. She’s a competent Queen, one who’s enabled Europa to hold your own against the remaining global powers. 

This is what you tell yourself when you resume brushing your hair, pushing all uncertainty to the back of your mind.

“If you’re not ready to go in five minutes,” Taehyung calls out, bored. “I’m going to take a picture of your messy bedroom and post it online.”

Hurriedly twisting your hair up in a knot, you leave your bangs low for the time being. Both hair and make-up will be touched up at the promo shoot, anyways. While slipping on a pair of printed pants, you hop zipping up a tan, leather top and black ankle boots. With two seconds to spare you walk out of your bathroom, just as Taehyung is entering with his camera app in one hand.

“Oh, good,” he grins, turning this off. “I was afraid you’d make me break my confidentiality agreement.” Taehyung pauses to evaluate you briefly, clinically. “Are you even wearing make-up?”

Shrugging, you shake your head no and wonder if Taehyung will tell you to go back inside. It’s always a toss-up, which he values more – your face in the public eye or your schedule.

“God,” Taehyung groans, turning. “It’s unfair that your face looks like that. Go downstairs and get into the car – the sight of you is making me sick.”

Giggling, you duck past him to head out in the hall. While walking towards the front doors, you glance sideways in the mirrors and try to see what Taehyung does. You tend not to examine your physical appearance too often, since it’s all anyone else seems to notice.

Objectively, you know you’re pretty. Your proportions are even, bone structure delicate and your eyes are a sparkling shade – dark at the edges, before giving way to a lighter center. Your eyebrows were once labeled out of control, but constant styling and tweezing has made them a, ‘defining feature.’

It’s nearly impossible to see yourself as others see. In your mind, you feel your beauty is too much. It’s like looking at the sun when all you really wanted was a candle. In theory, boys and men all want you but, they tend to go for something less threatening. Even other male actors and models won’t touch you. Every night, a different girl or boy is brought back to their bed, but never you. You’re on another level to them, a woman on a pedestal.

Turning away from your reflection, you decide to stop looking. It’s best not to look, before your reflection shows the bitterness of your thoughts.

The iCar is waiting when you step out the front door of the hotel and, fighting the usual barrage of hover-cams and photogs, you and Taehyung slip into the backseat.

“Fuck,” Taehyung mutters, glancing outside. “Those hover-cams need more restrictions, I tell you. It’s perfectly indecent, the way they pop up out of nowhere. You could’ve been naked or doing something compromising.”

“The most compromising thing I’ve ever done, was when I compromised to give up desserts but not salty foods,” you return, arching a brow.

Taehyung sighs, mock-serious. “Now, imagine a camera had been there for that.”

Despite yourself, you smile. Taehyung can be annoying sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he’s the closest thing you have to a friend.

“Front station,” Taehyung intones at the car.

An automated voice indicates affirmation and you pull away smoothly from the curb. Watching the city flicker by, you stare out the shape of your window. The two of you landed late last night, meaning it was too dark to see anything on the drive in. The city today is shrouded in fog, like most places are. Every so often, a sleek black building emerges, only to melt away quick in the sheer wisps of grey. 

You think about this often, the fact that most of your life is spent in pieces. A bit of street here, the edge of a lamppost there. Most people only see what’s in front of then – wherever your eyes happen to be looking, at that moment. You’re trained to see only part of a picture, to assume the whole based off those parts. It means limited perception isn’t the fault of mankind, but perhaps your insistence on full perception is.

While the scenery slips by, grey and black are blurred by a stream of cars passing on either side. All too soon, you feel the vehicle slow – pulling off the main highway to approach a large, steel gate. Entering the building, Taehyung rolls down his window to punch in a code on a pad which wasn’t there a second ago. The doors shudder open and you continue, deep into the clear stretch of tunnel. The doors slide shut behind you and you blink, at the sudden flood of light. High-def strips blare to life on either side and when you finally reach the end of the tunnel, your car neatly parks along the side of the landing pad.

“Thanks, machine,” Taehyung says cheerfully, patting the front console before exiting, gesturing that you do the same.

You exit as well, sans the patting.

Entering the building to walk down through the hall, you pass frosted doors which are impossible to see beyond. A seemingly non-descript one is your destination, coming to a stop midway down while Taehyung knocks. A flurry of excitement results at your entrance, your arm immediately grabbed and yanked sideways to sit down at a dressing table. Coughing weakly, your eyes water at the wave of perfumes and hairspray, watching while your hair is brushed and combed, neatly styled in place. Your eyes are lined in kohl, lips plumped and glossed to perfection. By the time the artists are done, you barely recognize your own reflection, which honestly suits you just fine.

Your clothes are declared edgy and boho-chic – whatever that means. At least it means you get to wear your own items. While they’re pulling and prodding your body, you read through the speech you’re supposed to give at the event. It’s lengthy, boring and makes you sound like a complete idiot. You think this is probably a bad thing, the fact that you don’t care.

The moment you think this, you wince. You don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in theory, you have a good life. You’re wealthy, famous, considered incredibly beautiful by many. You’re beloved by the public, without any physical hardships to speak of. It’s hard not to notice the gaps though, the holes in your life which exist around facts. You’ve never had a friend, nor even a boyfriend. Your parents died tragically when you were young, though the tragedy has somewhat escaped you, because it was so long ago, you can barely remember them anyway. There’s a hole in your life, where attachment should be and sometimes you wonder what the point is, without the quintessential kinds of relationships the world seems to love. Ironic, that the world’s interest in you has led to your disinterest in the world.

Once your skin is considered flawless and your eyes inhumanely perfect, you’re led aside to a small, white waiting room. The furniture, the walls are all blank and you quietly pass the time alone with yourself. Perched on the edge of the couch, you recite your speech in a voice no louder than a whisper.

Water, the most important substance on Earth…

The rest of the day passes in the usual blur of lights, applause and handshakes. The meet and greet is your favorite part of the day, like usual. You love meeting the children and making them smile. Less fun are the older men you’re forced to hug, pretending not to notice when they try and cop a feel. Worse still, are the men your own age. The ones you don’t know how to converse with, nor they to converse with you. Give you a script and you’ll dissolve into character within seconds, filled to the brim with quippy retorts, snappy comebacks and romantic banter. But place you, the real you, in the middle of a room full of men, and you get something like this:

“Hi.”

Unidentified male looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. “Uh, hi.”

Long pause.

“So,” you cough, shifting your weight. “Did you travel far today?”

Refusing to make eye contact with you, a bead of sweat rolls down Average Guy’s perfectly cute forehead. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Travel can be fun.” Travel can be fun? Why would you say that? “I do it a lot,” you inform, wondering why speaking is so hard.

“Yeah, for sure.”

This is usually the point where either A) the guy looks around in panic, or B) where he steels himself suddenly to look you in the eyes. Either way, the result which follows is rarely positive.

“…”

Silence, just silence. This is usually the end of things because the guy will inadvertently look stricken – unable to believe you look like this in person, as though he thought every photo, each video and broadcast was a trick. Some sleight of hand which made you invincible. After they look at you, there’s typically only one of two options. Most lapse into stunned silence, going through the motions of a handshake or hug with you – maybe a photo before they’re pulled slowly away by your guards. The rest adopt a sleazy bravado, as though trying to prove you don’t affect them. Today was no less than six of these jerks and when the event is finally over, Taehyung shakes his head from side to side.

“I don’t know how you put up with those people,” he mutters softly.

“They’re not all bad,” you sigh, thinking about your last guest. A little girl, no older than three who hugged you and said, “beau-thi-ful,” through the brunt of her lisp.

“You must be a saint,” Taehyung laughs, scrolling through his iComm. “Actually – from the way the people worship the ground you walk on, you might as well be.”

When he says this, you look down uncomfortably. By now, it’s hard not to believe in a higher power. Your life has held too much cruel irony, for someone not to be pulling the strings. Only some omnipotent, slightly sadistic other being could take someone as shy and introverted as you and give you the face that you have.

Upon entering your second iCar of the day, the two of you are swept away to an unknown location. Taehyung is too absorbed in his iComm to explain, flicking past messages with the touch of expert fingers.

“Oh, look – the prints from the touch-up are done,” he announces, turning his device around to look. Taehyung manages to keep a straight face as he does, which means that the moment you see them, you nearly spit out your drink from laughing.

“Oh, dear god,” you laugh, grabbing the iComm. “These are absolutely terrible.”

Taehyung starts to laugh, openly cackling while you flip through his iComm. A few weeks back, you did this photoshoot for the UN for World Unity month. The theme of the shoot was national pride, with a spokesperson from every nation chosen to take part in an interview and photo shoot. You were chosen for Europa, which came as a huge surprise. Typically, Venetia is the one who’s asked to do such things.

‘The Darling of Nations,’ reads the caption and while scanning the article, you’re surprised to find you sound rather intelligent. Your interviewer was impressed with your knowledge of current events, and the chat gradually drifted from a teen, fluff piece into something more.

The photoshoot, though. The photoshoot is comical, at best. Europa is a nation of monarchies and as such, they thought it’d be brilliant to dress you up in a crown – one so loaded with diamonds, your head still aches from the thought. Just a crown, though – nothing else, beyond the national flag. Said flag is draped provocatively across your frame, shadowing all the right place to provoke desire and not much else. It’s an interesting contrast to the content of your article, that’s for sure. The piece below it isn’t nearly so scandalous.

“I mean, I get that they’re trying to promote international unity,” responds Taehyung, tapping the frame. “But maybe they’re trying to promote other unity, as well…?” He raises both eyebrows suggestively, while you promptly sock his arm.

“I have no control over what they do or don’t make me wear, dickwad,” you grin, flipping your hair before looking outside the window. Taehyung continues to laugh on the seat beside you, while you mostly ignore him. Despite this, you’re in a remarkably good mood arriving at the Sveen Hotel.

No less than ten guards scurry outside to greet you, surrounding your car to open the frame of your door. “Looks like a storm brewing, Ma’am,” one nods, holding out an umbrella. “Best be getting inside.”

When he says this, you look up to see that yes, it is dark but then, this also isn’t unusual. When the skies aren’t covered with man-made smog, they’re enclosed by disasters of the Earth’s creation. Weather hasn’t been stable in nearly fifty years; that teetering balance of climate change tipped long ago.

The umbrella is opened over your head, lest your perfect curls and makeup be ruined, and you allow yourself to be herded, hustled inside while the skies open above you. Rain slams to the pavement, bouncing at your ankles when you enter the building. In the ensuing silence of the doors, you pause, shaking water free from your shoes. Tall, black beams rise from the floor, interwoven before you to meet in a peak overhead. The floor beneath you is obsidian, polished and gleaming in electronic candlelight. The sight of it is beautiful, a little over the top, if you’re being entirely honest. 

Kind of like the woman walking towards you.

Queen Venetia is tall, stately with deep, red hair and pale skin. The set of her face is elegant, nose sharp amidst high brows and cheekbones. Her face is expressive, those arching eyebrows able to be a person all by themselves. Right now, though, they rest in a thin line. She mutely takes in the rest of her surroundings – including you, acknowledged with a quick sweep of her gaze.

Standing in the entryway, damp pants clinging to your legs and complexion windswept – you find yourself flooded with feelings of inadequacy. When Venetia comes to a stop before you, the emotions only intensify. It’s amazing, how she manages to look down her nose at you, despite being the same height – if not slightly shorter. Venetia seems to be one of those people always at the center of the room. Even standing in a corner or off to the side, every eye turns her way out of respect. She’s a black hole, in that way; sucking in gazes, thoughts, the attention of others. Even light can’t escape – there’s no shine to her hair, nor her eyes; rather, they seem to be the most severe form of matte. She exists to draw in color, but not release it.

It’s odd but standing here you feel a similar pull towards the Queen. Your entire body is riddled with awe and unsure what else to do, you make an awkward attempt at a curtsy. Glancing upwards, your breath quickly catches at the murderous expression on Venetia’s face. This smooths away quickly though, rearranging to one of pleasantry. The rapidness of this makes you question your sanity.

“My darling, Y/N. How wonderful to meet you,” the Queen trills. You must have imagined the earlier expression, since now Venetia is showing such concern and happiness, it’s impossible to imagine her otherwise. Enveloping you in a hug, Venetia turns her lips to your ear.

“Dry your clothes, dear. The cameras don’t like a sullied princess,” she whispers through closed lips. While the Queen pulls away, her smile never wavers. She gestures elegantly at the crowd, linking her arm through yours. “We must away to make-up! Thank you all, for kindly coming tonight.”

As you turn, dazedly led aside by Venetia’s pincer-like grip on your arm, it’s hard to control your rising panic. Still, you keep up the façade until entering a twin panel of doors separating you from the cameras. Venetia’s expression immediately drops, along with your arm.

“Those cameras drive me insane,” she mutters, her clipped tone matching her brisk pace. “What a horrible photo opportunity – the two most beautiful women in the world,” she mimics, lips curling while she walks. “You. You, there,” she intones, snapping her fingers at a black-clad assistant hurrying alongside. “Whose idea was it, having me hug her?” The Queen refers to you as though you’re no longer in the room. “As if it were not enough for me to speak to her, a hug?”

The assistant looks back and forth between you, wide-eyed. “I... I don’t...”

“Oh, forget it,” Venetia snaps, heels clicking against marble while removing a customized iComm from her pocket.

You continue to walk beside her, wondering what, exactly, Taehyung signed you up for. Only a moment ago, the Queen seemed so warm and welcoming but all that is gone, without the face of the cameras. You feel suddenly like a teenager – awkward, gawky, uncomfortable in your skin. Young, juvenile, unworthy. Words swim through your thoughts, dance in the seams to swirl before your eyes.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Blinking, you realize you almost walked into a door. Your thoughts were so single-minded, so oddly wrapped around your feelings that you exhale, turning around for Taehyung to swim into focus. “Oh. Hi.”

“You okay?” Taehyung looks at you with a semi-concerned expression and you realize behind him, Venetia has stopped to watch.

“Yeah, fine,” you mutter, shaking your head – as though clearing any residual inadequacies.

When she sees this, she smiles, the Queen turning quickly away. Once she’s disappeared, whirled around the corner in a haze of silk and perfume, Taehyung turns his head to look at you.

“Well," he exhales, arching a perfectly-made brow. “What a truly,” you pause, when you shoot him a look, “special woman,” Taehyung finishes, smiling weakly. 

“That’s our queen,” you respond, quietly pulling yourself together. Without saying another word on the matter, you enter the dressing room. Whatever the Queen’s feelings are towards you, whatever that interaction just was – you’re here because you have a job to do. Nothing more.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t vote for her,” Taehyung grumbles, following behind. 

His words are utter nonsense, or course. A slur used throughout Europa to describe dissatisfaction with the Queen. The idea of democracy is now laughable, thought you cannot deny it holds a certain appeal. Having the power to be heard, to make a difference – well, it sounds like paradise. The only way to make change today is to be rich. Or powerful. Which really, means being rich.

Whenever reporters ask Queen Venetia, “Your majesty, how has Europa’s monarchy changed today’s surface of politics?” she always chooses to answer, with a withering look and a shrug.

Her answer is stark. “Simple, it has not changed the landscape of politics at all. True Democracy is a myth, a utopian state which cannot be reached. Truthfully, whether money is controlled behind the scenes or from center stage, it matters very little. Politics and power are always the same.”

The unflappable determination of the Queen has always been an inspiration to you. You’ve wanted to meet Venetia for so long, that to be so instantly despised by her is crushing. It’s your worst fears, confirmed – the fact that you’re not good enough, you never will be. It’s foolish of you to liken yourself to the Queen when you’re very clearly unequal. 

She knew what to say, how to walk while single-handedly charming the entirety of the room. It was unnerving, impossible to stand beside. Thinking this now, you very nearly walk into your chair, so consumed by the thought.

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaims, saving you in the nick of time. “Your head is in the clouds today, I swear. Pull it together before the panel,” he chides, clucking his tongue to walk in the direction of wardrobe.

The panel. A moment of panic follows, as you begin to wish you’d listened to Taehyung explaining this morning. The danger of floating through life is that you tend to miss things and from of the corner of your eyes, you see Taehyung rifling through a stack of outfits laid out for you. He shakes his head at each option – no, no, no.

“This way, Y/N.” 

An immaculate woman gestures you follow, so you do. Winding your way through heaps of clothing to the make-up station, you sink into your fourth chair of the day. For someone constantly referred to as the most beautiful face in the world – this sure seems to involve a lot of make-up.

“Just a quick touch-up,” the woman nods – before proceeding to spend over an hour contouring, blending and prodding with numerous instruments of torture.

“You having fun?” Taehyung teases, appearing behind you one hour later. He smirks, bending low to lean his hands on the chair.

“Oh, loads,” you respond dryly.

Taehyung lets out a snort. “Well, whenever you’re ready – I’ve picked out your outfit. It’s fabulous, you’re going to love it.”

“Just a few more minutes,” your make-up artists allow, waving him away and the poking and prodding continues.

It feels like hours, that you stand from your chair and wandering into the dressing area, you find Taehyung has laid out your outfit. A royal blue dress with a plunging back, sensually curving to a point over your rear. Tiny pearls line the seams, stitched upwards to create a truly stunning visual. The dress itself is short, but long sleeved. Classy, yet sexy and Taehyung has truly outdone himself choosing. When you turn to look at him, you find him lounging over yet another chair, grinning.

“Told you,” he declares, waving his hand. “I’m even a little jealous you get to wear that.”

Grinning widely, you grab the dress to disappear behind the curtain. The dress doesn’t have a zipper, just slides up over your body and when you appear from behind the wall, Taehyung lets out a whistle.

“You’re going to blow them away,” he declares, walking forward. “Y/N, if you’re half as smart as you are pretty, the rest of the world doesn’t stand a chance.” Reaching out, he stubbornly fixes a loose strand of hair in your up-do. While he does this, the door slides open to reveal yet another woman in the threshold.

“Hello,” she smiles, walking inside. “I’m Nicola, I work at GNN. I’m here to guide you through a couple points before the panel tonight.” Nicola is beautiful, with flawless dark skin, brown eyes and hair pulled back in a bun. The only makeup she wears is gold eyeliner, which causes her eyes to sparkle. Her face is wide, open and you feel you can trust her instinctively.

She must be dangerous. “Sure,” you smile, pulling out your chair. “What would you like to talk to me about?”

Nicola nods, sitting delicately beside you. “Well, how is your day going?” she asks to break the ice.

You arch a brow, since you’re not used to small talk. “Fine, and yours?”

“Very well, thanks.” Nicola pulls out her iComm to flip through the screens. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” she responds, stifling a smile when you laugh, “let’s get on with this. The segment you’ll be in is a follow-up to your most recent article. A ‘review and react,’ if you will,” Nicola adds pleasantly, glancing upwards.

When she details this, you freeze. Looking over at Taehyung, you see him frowning in the woman’s direction. “React?” he asks, his voice low. “To what?”

Nicola seems surprised by this. “To what? Haven’t you read the article? It’s causing a sensation, and it’s not even published. I think the key points you’ll need to address will be Intergalactic Policy, Democracy in the Present Day, and –"

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Taehyung drawls, holding up a hand. His expression, pleasant before, is now decidedly not. “Hold on. None of this was in the brief I was provided.”

“Yes, well,” Nicola crosses her ankles, the gesture smooth, “the network decided to change tonight’s content rather recently. There wasn’t enough time to notify all parties.”

“Right,” Taehyung’s gaze flickers. “I’m sure there wasn’t.”

Nicola doesn’t respond to this, merely looking away. “Anyways. Your thoughts on the matter, Y/N?”

You’re speechless, staring in horror while you begin to realize the gravity of the situation. Searching through the haze of your memories, you remember being in a rather bad mood the day of the interview. Another arrogant man who looked down on you, who thought you were just another vapid actress he’d need to handhold. When he asked condescendingly if you knew what “colloquial” meant, you began to get mad, and spouted actual opinions – not the usual, boring nonsense you rabbled. The reporter noticeably perked up, engaging you in lively conversation and you were so happy to be seen, you failed to realize what was happening.

That man was a reporter, and you were his prey. A thin sheen of perspiration breaks out over your skin, while frantically try to remember the things that you said “I…” you trail off, looking at Taehyung. “I’m sure there are less sensitive topics to discuss?”

“Oh, no.” Nicola’s response is eager, rising out of her chair. “The people want to listen to what you have to say, Y/N. Ever since the article leaked, do you know how many hits it’s received?”

Mutely, you shake your head no. Whatever the number, it can’t be good.

“Over three billion,” Nicola states, voice quiet. “The article was leaked at 14:00. It is now 16:00. Do you know how many hits per second that is?”

“I can do basic math,” you reply to her, voice stiff.

“Of course,” Nicola responds quickly, almost gently. “I only meant that it’s astounding. You’ve always held mass appeal, Y/N – may I call you that? – but now, with a newfound personality,” she adds, smile widening. “We have a true star on our hands.”

Taehyung snorts to the side, unamused.

“Not that you weren’t already a star,” Nicola backtracks. “The public has always had a certain fascination with you. But may I be so bold, to say that you rarely speak your own mind? You always sound like a character from one of your movies, never entirely yourself. Never Y/N,” Nicola comments – and it sounds as though she may have more, but Taehyung cuts her off.

“That’s enough,” he demands, standing to cross into the room. He plucks Nicola’s iComm from the chair, shoving it into her arms and motioning she leave. “Out, please. I’m sure Y/N can prepare for the rest on her own.”

“I meant no offense,” Nicola responds, as she walks towards the door. On the edge of the threshold, she pauses to look back. “Y/N, I’m rooting for you tonight. Don’t overthink the answers. Your article was a breath of fresh air, honestly.”

With that, she exits, and the door falls shut behind her.

A long, tense silence falls over the room. “Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice is quiet, deadly. “What did you say, exactly, in that article?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, biting down on your lip. Your head spins with the effort, suddenly nauseous. “It might be bad, Taehyung. I was really frustrated and,” you sigh, “I might have… just slipped.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” Taehyung snips, pulling up his ever-present iComm. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung passes the article from his device to the wall, pulsing before you in living technicolor.

The photos are there, you draped in the flag and smiling coyly at the camera. The caption beneath it reads: “Y/N: more than just a pretty face.” When you see this, you groan, knowing there are worse things ahead. 

There’s a quote of you stating, “I believe the Akeron people are misjudged, today.” Another, where you add, “history is written by the victors.” Taehyung continues to flick past each paragraph, mouth becoming a thinner and thinner line in response. He groans at, “the entire point of utopia is that it’s unattainable – it’s man’s endless drive to reach beyond that has historically, driven progress.”

When he reaches the end of the article, Taehyung clicks off his iComm. “I think… that’s enough,” he responds, looking a little sick. “I – well,” he pauses. “It’s small wonder, Venetia doesn’t seem to like you.”

Your laughter is manic, a high-pitched sound more hysterical than comical. “Yeah, after I publicly shat upon her monarchy and global policy, it’s understandable she’s not overly fond of me.”

“Not only that, Y/N.” Taehyung exhales, looking up from a second article he’s reading. “Just look at what you’ve started.” 

Walking over to the window, he yanks back the curtains and looks over expectantly. Gathering your courage, you walk up beside him and let your gaze tentatively drop down below.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. 

People. Lots of people – hundreds, maybe even thousands.  All of them craning their heads to look and when they see you standing there, they start to applaud. There come shouts of your name, shouts of approval and with your eyes wider than normal, you watch the drapes fall from his hand. “Taehyung,” you exhale, looking his way. “What do I do?”

Taehyung continues to stare at the curtains, jaw tight. “Y/N, I have no idea.”

You’re sweating, standing in the wings of the GNN news set. Tonight’s panel is comprised of a semi-circle of couches, set in the middle of a studio – mirror cameras wrapped on all sides to catch every angle. Mirror cameras – just the thought of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s a self-centered, narcissistic invention at best; a camera which is also a mirror, enabling the person being filmed to see every flaw of themselves.

Shifting nervously, you try to calm yourself by memorizing the details. It’s a game you play when you’re bored – which is a lot of the time, on your modeling shoots.

“Good evening, citizens of Europa! Welcome to the nightly news, here at Global News Network.” The announcer sits at his desk, speaking with an eagerness that exhausts you. He’s middle aged, tanned with slicked-back hair and when he flashes a smile and winks, you wince away from the wings.

“Our first guest is new. You may know her from her movies or one of her many digital spreads. Or maybe even the tabloids,” he winks, insinuating edge to his tone. “The always lovely,” he drawls, “slightly controversial,” he gestures, “darling of Europa –Y/N!”

The lights pan lower when you enter, walking out of the wings to wave at the mirrors. Smiling happily, you mouth, “hello!” to the cameras. 

When you sit, you purposefully turn your back and draw attention to your dress. The newscaster takes the bait, making small talk about the designer while you nod and smile, emitting one-word answers. The newscaster’s script flashes red on the mirrors, reminding that you need to keep to a schedule and with an apologetic smile, he turns around to the audience.

“Y/N caused quite a stir these past few hours, hasn’t she?” he asks, titters answering from the dark. You sit there motionless, beatific smile frozen while you pretend you can’t hear. “Her article brings into question the very pillars from which our society is built – proving brilliant brains, to rival that incredible exterior. Is a militaristic dictatorship still necessary? Do the Akeron still pose a threat to the Earth?” The announcer arches a brow, as though posturing his doubt. “We’ll find out, in tonight’s panel.”

Leaning back, he turns to face you. “Over the next hour, we’ll explore these issues and more. Now, some of you may not realize how high this woman’s influence reaches,” he chuckles, leaning conspiratorially into the lens. “But tonight, our World Unity spokeswoman’s thoughts captured more than just our attention. Oh, yes – tonight we will hear a rebuttal from none other than Queen Venetia herself!”

Even though you knew this was coming, your stomach drops at the mention of her name. You mutely applaud when she enters, eyes transfixed on the Queen as she crosses the stage. There’s no girly waving when she walks, merely a nod of acknowledgement from one screen to the other. Her smile doesn’t quite meet her gaze, which remains cold when looking at you. She’s dressed in an elegant black pantsuit, looking equal parts understated and in command while walking into the room.

The announcer stands to shake her hand, eyes widening, when she deigns to give him a smile. Venetia sits in the chair opposite yours, demurely crossing her ankles to gaze, stone-faced, at the cameras.

“Two of the most beautiful women in the world tonight,” the announcer chuckles, sitting back down. “I’m truly a lucky man,” he adds, while Venetia laughs easily.

“Ah, Charles – you do flatter us,” she winks, lightly touching his arm.

Charles – that’s his name. You recall this with a snap, dejectedly noticing that Venetia is so much better at this than you. When a beam of light swivels, momentarily blinding Venetia – you shake your head sideways, feeling suddenly lighter. Your thoughts were self-deprecating, more so than normal and turning away, you reaffirm your decision to ignore the Queen. Tonight, is about damage control, deflecting the results of the article.  

With a tiny tinkle of laughter, you cross your ankles. “Thank you,” you murmur, lowering your eyelashes – forcing the entire room’s attention to you, while Venetia’s eyes narrow.

“Let’s dive right in, shall we?” Charles asks, blissfully oblivious to the tension before him. “Y/N, in your recent article you state you believe the continuation of a monarchical regime may limit our capitalistic growth. Why did you mean by this?”

Ah, shit. “Wow, Charles,” you smile. “You weren’t kidding about jumping right in.” A laugh track plays somewhere in the back, as you airily wave a hand. “I meant only that diversity is key in economy. Here in Europa, we have a very diverse population.”

The announcer raises a brow. “Ah. Perhaps you misunderstood my question. If I was too complex,” he frowns, “let me know. Did you have help, when you gave the earlier article?”

A slight buzzing crawls over your skin. Staring at this man, listening to the way he dismisses you, the blood in your veins starts to boil and, fingers tightening on your armrest, you struggle to control your emotions. “Not at all,” you respond pleasantly. “The idea of a monarchical system of governing being the sole driver of a nation’s economy is presumptuous, of course – but there’s no denying it has significant impact.” When Venetia’s eyes widen, you realize your mistake – but now it’s too late to backtrack. You’ve already lost your temper, already said your piece and now there’s nothing to do but continue. “The consolidation of power in one person,” you state, refusing to look at the Queen, “places limitations on the creativity of the masses. It eliminates the ‘think tank’ effect, if you will.”

“The ‘think tank effect,’” Charles jumps in, eagerly turning to the camera, “is a theory popularized in the twenty-first century, capitalizing on the worth of general human ideas. It involves a group of people sitting for long periods of time while ideating new concepts and theories. These ideas, in turn, are sold for money.”

“Well, yes,” you frown, “but also for the betterment of society. There was a trend in business, towards the middle of the twenty-first century, where larger corporations drove change; societal change, environmental change, economic change.”

“And look how well that turned out,” Venetia interrupts, her voice soft.

Both your heads swivel her way – only to find her cool, calm, collected.

“It’s true,” you nod, allowing her criticism. “Not all businesses choose to operate for the greater good, but don’t you think that’s driven from a natural human inclination to greed, not from the nature of business?” you demand, meeting the Queen’s gaze head-on.

Her lips tighten, almost imperceptibly. “In which case,” she muses, “monarchy and capitalism are really the same.”

At this, you shake your head. She’s twisting your words. “In some ways, yes. But where a capitalistic society succeeds, and a dictatorship fails,” you wince, when there are audible gasps from the audience. Venetia doesn’t like to be called a dictator. Stammering slightly, you continue, “is t-the delimitation of power, and the pressure of supply and demand. It’s the notion of checks and balances – eliminating individual greed, by having more than one voice in the room.”

From offstage, you see Taehyung’s head fall softly into his hands. It appears you’ve just made things worse – much worse. Charles struggles to regain control over the room, leaning forward – until Venetia cuts him off, dark eyes bright with her anger.

“But why,” she hisses, “should decisions be left to society? Are the masses so faultless, so irreproachable? A few hundred years ago, the people elected puppets into office. Movie stars and TV personas who did nothing but spout childish exhibitions and lead us into war. Why should they, the people, have the chance to break us again?”

Venetia turns towards the cameras. “Our lands have a bloody history from the wants of the people,” she declares – stating the word people, as one might say leprosy or cockroaches. “Each attempt to create freedom and equality led to what? Socialism, communism, war, famine,” she answers, spitting out each word with vehemence. The sound is barely human, a permeating hiss audible throughout the studio.  

“We were a laughingstock,” she adds, deadly quiet, “of the universe, due to the wants of our people. The only way to rebuild is through leadership. The only way to be strong is through vision,” Venetia bares her teeth, emphasizing she is the one with that vision. Not you.

Fingers trembling, you lace them together in your lap. She’s right – but no, she’s also not. Blinking, you attempt to clear your head because it’s odd, your thoughts are all muddled. They keep snaking around one another, arriving at Venetia’s conclusions.

“Strong leadership exists in monarchies,” Venetia declares. “You want a history lesson, little girl?” she asks, turning to meet your gaze. When she does, you recoil – because Venetia’s eyes are pure, unadulterated black. Not dilated, but black in their entirety. You’ve barely time to register this, before Venetia blinks, dark eyes returning to brown and leaving you wondering if maybe you’re the one hallucinating.

Venetia tilts her head. “Allow me to quote Napoleon,” she continues. “’One bad general is worth two good ones.’ When power dilutes, the entity weakens, and the people suffer. Is this what you want – a weakened state? One the Akeron can attack, or worse?”

The Queen leaves her thought open-ended, settling back while you’re left to consider. Her fire has calmed to a dull flicker, self-satisfied smirk appearing while she waits for you to counter. You’re shaking, sweating and when you look helplessly at Charles, he looks pointedly away. Taehyung is no longer standing in the wings; you notice this fearfully, uncertain when he would have left. He’s no longer there though, meaning you’re alone – except.

You remember the article. You remember Nicola and the hundreds, thousands of people who stood waiting outside and slowly, you turn back to the cameras. You are not alone, you remind yourself – and when you remember this, you open your mouth.

“Europa,” you start. The word is too quiet, so you clear your throat. “Europa is a great nation. A mighty one, with a storied history and complex, cultured assortment of people. At one time we were fractured,” you acquiesce, bowing your head. “We were many different countries, all of them weakened by our divisions. Venetia is right, saying we are stronger now. We are stronger in our unity, but that’s just it,” you exhale, turning to look at the Queen.

When you move, you see even Charles is listening – he’s forgotten his place, leaning forward in his seat.

“We are stronger united,” you repeat. “We are stronger together. Think of a rope. A rope is one hundred different pieces of yarn, wrapped together to form something much stronger. One, single piece of yarn cannot pull a ship. A rope can.”

“Outdated,” chimes Venetia, sounding bored.

“This is not a courtroom,” Charles interrupts. “Continue, Y/N.” The Queen sits up straight, somewhat shocked by his interruption – but Charles pays her no heed, looking at you. 

“Europa is a great nation,” you resume, licking your lips, “but we could be better. The limitations on business, individual expression have hindered our ideas, which in turn, has weakened our economy. Other nations – like Congica – export. We only import.”

Taking another breath in, you relish the freedom of speaking your mind. You’re saying too much, you know you are – but you also know the damage has already been done. Looking at Venetia, you see her fuming. Her gaze threatens to strike quick where you stand, so you look up and continue.

“This paranoia over the Akeron, the constant preparation for a war we aren’t fighting – it’s distracting us from our true potential,” you insist, wishing desperately to see the citizens you’re addressing. Instead, all you can see is the mirror image of yourself.  

“I’m not trying to overthrow, anything here” you add, somewhat quietly. “I’m not suggesting we reinvent the system, nor that we put an end to the current one.” Looking over at Venetia, you manage to backtrack. “I’m merely suggesting, your Grace, that the people of Europa are worth more than what they’re currently valued.”

That’s it, that’s all you have to say. A dangerous silence falls, radiating from every pore of the room while the Queen seethes before you, though her face doesn’t change. Her beauty is a mask, one which smiles in agreement with everything you’ve just said. Her eyes, though – her eyes on yours are death incarnate.

“Wow, wow! What a night – what a show!” Charles beams, attempting to wrap things up. His naiveté and charm seem to serve as a reminder – the Queen breaks eye contact with you, as turning to face the host.

“Yes,” she laughs, an almost natural sound, “what lively debate!”

Folding his hands before him on the table, Charles nods in satisfaction. “It was, indeed. Unfortunately, this is all the time we have for tonight.” Waiting a beat, pre-recorded groans echo through the studio. “I know, I know,” he smiles, blindingly white. “I’m disappointed, as well. All good things must come to an end though, and we were very lucky to have the whole hour! I doubt this will ever happen again,” he winks, while canned laughter plays.

“Ladies,” he nods, gesturing forward.

At the end of competition, it is customary in Europa to shake the hand of your opponent. It’s a symbol of respect and understanding – and so, you extend your palm. Venetia watches, taking her time, extending so slowly you start to blush in response. When your hands finally meet, you exchange the smallest, briefest of touches before she yanks quickly away.

“And we’re off,” someone yells, blinding lights instantly dimmed.

You blink, taking a moment to adjust to the change and when you’re able to see, Venetia is no longer onstage. She’s gone, leaving just you and Charles alone – while a halo of red-brown, disappears down the corridor. She leaves so quickly, you can’t even be certain it’s her. Charles clears his throat awkwardly, mumbling something about an early dinner appointment before exiting the stage.

You’re now left alone and, heart hammering, you start to descend from the stage. Walking away, you meet the gazes of several curious stagehands, but they look quickly away – exchanging hushed glances and whispers, behind their hands as you pass. You need Taehyung. Need to find him, but while you half-jog through the hall, Taehyung is nowhere to be seen. He should have been there at the end, waiting for you. It’s unusual, that he was not.

“Excuse me,” you ask, tapping a woman on the shoulder. “I can’t seem to find my assistant, could you –”

When the woman sees it’s you, her eyes widen and shaking her head quickly, she brushes past you offstage. It’s strange, and when you try to ask another individual, they barrel directly past you without allowing for eye contact. Slowly, a pit forms in the center of your stomach. It’s okay, it’s fine, you’ll find the way back yourself.

Peering down the hall, you quickly realize all the marble corridors look the same. This was stupid, you shouldn’t have left the set so fast – Taehyung likely just went to the bathroom, will probably be looking for you in a matter of minutes.

Despite telling yourself this, you can’t manage to believe it. Something about this seems off. Something about tonight seems off, as you walk slowly forward. Beginning to walk faster, you berate yourself for your cowardice. Nothing is wrong, you’re being paranoid about that and it’s only after the third or fourth hallway that you notice the quiet.

Taehyung, Nicola, all the skinny, black-clad assistants from earlier – they’re all gone. Steady silence sits in their place, filling the halls with an ominous weight. It presses into your skin while slowly, your speed-walk turns into a jog. Then a run and before long, you’re sprinting, fast through the halls. Shiny black surfaces stare back, reflecting the state of your obvious panic. Skidding around a corner, you pause only remove your god-awful awful heels.

Starting to run again, you have an odd, almost dream-like sensation where you find yourself questioning why, exactly, you’re running – but this moment disappears as quick as it came, when your internal terror eventually wins out. Panic weaves through your veins, forcing you to remember everything said on air and you know that people have been imprisoned for less. The memory of the Queen’s eyes – black and burning – creeps, unbeknownst in the back of your mind. This all can’t be coincidence, it can’t be a dream.

You’re alone, lost – assistant vanished, midway through the show. There’s no way Taehyung would have left you, no way he would have abandoned you so fast. It it’s her, you realize, this must be Venetia.

The moment you think this, there’s a flicker of light and the hall plunges suddenly into darkness.

[Masterlist]

[sumsmasterpiece]

The Grand King Affair Chapter Sneek Peek:

Chapter Name: Tobacco Kiss

The breeze was warm against Tooru’s face, sweeping his bangs from his sweat speckled brow. Using his small hand-fan, Tooru was waving it to find some comfort, but to no avail. The hand fan was made of aqua lace, intricate and beautiful with an ivory handle which has been passed down in the Oikawa family for generations.   

“Why is it so hot?” he whined, laying his back completely against the willow tree behind him.

The face of his alpha adjusted, opening his beautiful eyes to stare up at his lover, “It’s summer, of course, it’ll be hot,” he answered.

The omega looked down at the alpha laying on his lap and grinned wickedly, “so mean, Iwa-chan.” He places the hand fan down on the blanket underneath them.

The General sighed and lifted himself up, “how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname?” He leaned in and kissed the omegas ear and whispered in his husky voice, “especially when you whine out much prettier things when I'm inside you,” his teeth tugged at the earlobe and Tooru shuttered.

“So lewd. So dangerous,” the omega panted, licking his pink lips.

The scent of slick wafted in the hot summer breeze, meeting the alphas nostrils. A grin that shared all the intentions and promises of what he would be doing, plastered itself across the alpha’s face. “You know it,” his finger trail down the pink lips of his lover.

The omega opened his mouth and took the finger into the warm cavern. His tongue lightly flecked against the pad of the finger and slowly his mouth worked to take the whole digit in. Brown eyes never leaving those hazel green ones. Hajime’s words were forgotten.

The alpha’s eyes glazed over with awe and amusement. The queen looked breathtaking no matter what he did. Such elegance, yet still, this moment felt so lewd. Tooru’s tongue swirled around the finger, bobbing his head and sucked graciously. After a few bobs of the brunettes head, his teeth lightly scraped over the finger lightly. All that ran through Hajime’s head was how those pretty pink lips and expert tongue would feel on a different part of his body, his cock more specifically.

Hajime pulled his finger free and an almost whine came from his lover's throat. “Patience, pet. I know what you want, believe me.” The alpha purred.

“Hajime~” A moan rippled past the moist lips.

The said alpha lifted his head, moving his body until he sat in front of the omega whose hips were squirming. He lifted the white skirt of Tooru’s sundress and smiled. “No underwear, huh? And you are already leaking, what a good boy.” He praised, his calloused fingers grazing the side of his inner thigh were some slick was. The alpha brought his finger to his lips and licked the salty body fluid, humming in approval.

“Stop teasing, Iwa-chan. I need you.” Tooru bucked his hips forward, his hands are frantic and bunching the dresses skirt around his waist. His right-hand trails down to his folds and begins to stroke himself in a frantic manner, eager to relieve some tension. Instead of removing the omega’s hands and doing what his omega demanded, Hajime thought the desperate motions of his omega to be utterly adorable and watched as the hand and fingers inched in more and more inside of the omega’s core. “Iwa-chan!” He pleaded.  

“But you are doing such a good job on your own.” The alpha teased, rubbing circles on the omega’s hips.

“I do this enough when I can’t see you, but you are right here and I want your huge cock in me right now and--” Their lips smashed together and it was a swirl of tongues and teeth and hands. Both ending and beginning where the other was, perfectly in sync.

Iwaizumi was the first to part, gazing down in those lust filled chocolate eyes. “If you say more sinful things like that, I won’t go easy on you,” He purred and began to nuzzle and nip at the pink-tinged ears of his lover.

“Who says I want you to go easy on me?” That devilish smirk grew as he spread his legs wide and flipped their positions, so he is now straddling his alpha. “Won’t you let me take charge now, General, sir~” His breath tickled Iwaizumi’s ear as his whole body shuddered.

Taking that as a yes, Tooru pulled on Hajime’s zipper of his combat pant, now beginning to be stained by Tooru’s slick, and reached inside to grasp the wide girth of the alpha’s cock. The warmth and weight of the cock felt perfect in Oikawa’s hand as he tested it with one stroke before bringing it to position at his entrance.

Iwaizumi brought his hands to Oikawa’s hips to steady him as he began to sink down slowly.

“Iwa-chan~” Oikawa panted out quick puffs on Iwaizumi’s face. He was losing himself in the stretch and feel of the wide girth of his lover’s cock inside of him. Though Hajime has been inside Oikawa many, many times, something about this switched position made the feeling of his alpha all the more new and exciting.

As they began to move to find their releases, Oikawa totally forgot about the humid heat while his heart swelled with adoration and love.

---

Oikawa’s eyes fluttered open. He must have dozed off after their little activity.

His nose picked up on a smell. It was a sweet smell. Oikawa knew of this scent very well. He knew it because it was always a smell around the house. Images of Oikawa’s father filling up his pipe and lighting a match to then take a few puffs. Tobacco.

Groaning as he stretched himself out, he realizes that he was using Iwaizumi’s hip as a pillow while he slept. Sitting up, he let his head lift to find a cigarette was between Iwaizumi’s lips while the other end glowed and then he released the smoke from the side of his lips, away from Oikawa.   

His gaze found Oikawa’s and his expression froze in panic. “Sorry, I’ll put it out,” Iwaizumi placed the bud between his pointer and middle and moved to place it toward the grass.

Before he had a chance to put the bud out, Oikawa grabbed it and brought it to his lips and took a small drag before the flood of smoke burned its way through his throat and he began to cough. “Hey,” the alpha panicked and grabbed his canteen of water to hand it toward the queen. But Oikawa shooed it away, bring the bud back to his lips and taking another drag, this time it didn’t burn as badly.

Iwaizumi was at a loss for words, his eyes just grew wide as he watched this beautiful creature in front of him do something that was seen as common and lower class, turn into something completely sinful.

Oikawa was taking another drag when he opened his eyes to look at his lover, “What? Am I doing it wrong or something?”

Iwaizumi shook his head and curled his finger in a come here motion. Oikawa took another drag and blew it out before coming closer. Closer. Closer. Until his nose was touching the alphas. Oikawa leaned in and kissed Iwaizumi’s top lip, sucking it into his mouth to then release it. Oikawa continued his ministrations of Iwaizumi’s lips, cheeks, jaw, and neck. The alpha hummed in joy as his fingers made their way to what was left of the cigarette and plucked it out of the omega’s fingers.

He brought the tiny bud to his mouth and mouth and took one last puff and then rubbing the cigarette in the earth. He then leans in and kissed the queens lips, forcing his tongue to open his mouth to him. The taste of tobacco was shared amongst their tongues but they didn’t care as the alpha rolled his omega under him and deepened the kiss.

When the burning for air was apparent in their noses and throats they parted, panting and drooling.

“I don’t want to go back,” Oikawa panted against Iwaizumi’s neck and nuzzled against it. “He could never make me feel like you do. Not in a million years.”

Hajime brought his hands to the silky chocolate hair and began to pet his lover. He knew all too well how Oikawa felt in that house. He knew it to be a prison, and he had to treasure these moments that they had together. He looked straight into the omega’s eyes and placed a chaste kiss to his lips and pulled away.

A lustful haze filled those chocolate eyes, Tooru found his alpha’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “Do you love me?” It was a whisper of a question.

“Yes,” Hajime answered instantly.

“How much,” a smile played on those pink lips.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, Hajime was weighing the words and trying his best to come up with an answer. Tooru’s heart was beating rapidly. Did he say the wrong thing? Of course, he did. What alpha could ever love a marked, taken omega like him.

Hajime leaned forward and placed his lips to the omega’s ear, “There is not an answer I can give you that can express the way I love you. It is more than words and almost impossible to show with actions. The way I feel feels as if it is apart of my very soul and being. All I know is that I love you, and I don’t see myself from ever stopping your highness.”

A new wave of slick pours out of Tooru and he wants to curl his face and hide it away because there is no way he is not red. Who on earth says things like that and means in fully?

‘You know exactly who’. His conscience tells him. ‘Take what is yours. Keep him. Feel him. Love him.’

“Show me then,” It was barely above a whisper but Hajime heard the words as if they were aloud as cannon fire. “Show me what your love is like. I want to know what love is, alpha.”

When Hajime showed Tooru what his love felt for him, it was as if the world began anew. Before there lovemaking was fast and desperate and rebellious. But this time, it was slow and patient. Both knowing what made the other needed to go over the edge but ignored it to just enjoy the feel of one another. Oikawa truly knew that this must be what love was like, being slowly pushed to the edge but not being afraid and instead of having undoubtedly trust and ready to take the plunge or to soar so high that he would never want to come down.

---

“What if we run away?” Iwaizumi was lazily running his hands through the chocolate strands at the nape of his lover’s neck. He thought about the idea of them running away from the very moment he laid eyes of Oikawa, but he never voiced it before. Well, until now.

Oikawa sat up, leaning over his alpha while his hand still laid on the broad chest. “What? Leave with you and become your mistress?”

The hand at the omega’s hair stilled as he pulled them away from the hair and instead found rest at the still pink cheeks above him, “Never a mistress. I would treat you as my equal and as my one and only. I’d never want you to be something I hide away in shame or to show you off as my prize.”

Oikawa could cry at those words. He always did feel like a prize or an object, given to who his parents seemed fit or who had to most money that they could pocket for him. Feeling like a person, Oikawa never truly felt that way until this perfect man crashed into his life.”

But the fantasy of actually running away with his lover came to an end when he felt the weight of the locket on his breast. The locket with the picture of his other true love, Taro.

“But what about my son?”

Neither of them spoke and Oikawa wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the thoughts that Iwaizumi was thinking. With nothing spoken, Oikawa laid his head down on the chest where his hand was and just listened to the thump of the heart that he wished would never stop beating.

[colorfulfashionofsien-na]

I haven't been doing very much shopping this season, partly due to all that we've had going on in my family, but also because I'm finding that my wardrobe is becoming more complete and I simply don't have a need for many extra pieces. I've been gravitating towards more timeless styles, so when I do make new purchases, I am trying to focus on classic staples that I can wear for years to come. Often this means investing in well-made pieces & patiently waiting for sales.

I’ve been a Banana Republic fan for two decades & used to shop there almost exclusively for workwear when I was going into the office each day. I do feel like their prices have risen quite a bit over the last few years, but I’ve never had an issue with quality, so I typically wait for a promo code to buy something. I picked up this sweater & skirt earlier this month and wanted to share them with you today because they're both half off! They just launched their Friends & Family Event, where you can get 50% off everything with code BRFAMILY - the best part is that there are no exclusions for this sale, which only happens a few times a year!

I’ve been needing a new ivory cable knit sweater to replace an old one that was ready to be retired. I'm super-sensitive to itchy fabrics, so I wanted to find something that wouldn’t irritate my skin. This one not only has a flattering fit & soft finish, but it also has a bit of stretch to it, so it holds its shape really well. This is a beautiful basic that you can wear a million different ways (I went with my usual size).

I love the tailored fit & double-breasted buttons on this a-line skirt, which will go with any sweater or blouse in your closet. Because I'm 5'8 ″, I ordered it in the Tall and the length is perfect for me. I found this to be true to size - it’s fully lined & also comes in petite & regular. Side note: it’s machine-washable, which is a huge plus (just don’t put it in the dryer). Check out more of my favorites from this great sale in the scrolling bar below!