#ignore that it changes from page to page i couldn't be bothered to go back and edit it again after doing the other one

[nimbusclan]

Interlude 2-3

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Aw, one big happy famil-- oh, no. oh, wait,

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[flamingoofeathers]

Hello, I would like to request a request, young maleficent and fem reader, I apologize if I wrote something wrong, English is not my first language

𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗖𝗘 || 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗧

pairings: maleficent x fem!reader

summary: The VK's getting in detention after their attempt to steal the book from Merlin's office was supposed to be unbearable, but the presence of a certain detention monitor made it all more bearable for Maleficent.

genre: fluff with a bit of angst

one-shot; wc: 2.2k

main masterlist maleficent masterlist

a/n: it’s like 1:54 a.m here and i’m tired but i cant sleep and i really wanted to get this one out before sleeping, this isn’t proofread so i apologise in advance for the mistakes

After getting caught sneaking inside Merlin’s office, Maleficent and the rest of the VK’s were sent to detention the next school day.

The crew begrudgingly made their way into the far corner of the school, it isn’t the first time they’ve been sent to detention, but that fact doesn’t make it, this god awful room any bearable.

Strangely enough, the detention room was unusually quiet that day, it would often be filled with villain kids who got themselves in trouble. Uliana continued to bitch about the unfortunate results of their failed plan to embarrass Bridget during Castlecoming.

As they sat inside the room, they waited for whomever was going to keep an eye on them, waiting to make that person’s life a living hell for the next 2 hours.

“Ugh, I couldn't even wear the gorgeous dress I bought for the dance, ugh” Maleficent complained.

“No one even asked you to go with them, so why bother?” Hades countered, rolling his eyes.

“Well, for your information, I don't care about the company...asshole. I just wanted to come and ruin some girls' dresses, set stuff on fire…or something to make that boring ass party any bit interesting.” Maleficent fired back.

“Oh please, you wanted to go there just to gawk at the goody goody” Hook interfered, tired of the bickering happening between the two.

“I beg to differ-” Maleficent was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“And speak of the devil” Hook sighed leaning back on his chair, plastering a fake smile towards the smiling girl.

“Good Afternoon! I will be your monitor for today!” The girl, Y/n, said flashing everyone a smile making them dread the next 2 hours, except one horned girl.

“Just today?” Maleficent inquired, changing seats to be near the girl. The royal blushed slightly and stuttering “well- i-” she cleared her throat “i am not sure who will be with you tomorrow” she said staring into the black haired girl.

“Well, that’s a bummer, and here I was hoping we could spend more time together. '' Maleficent feigned disappointment, knowing that the girl is too soft hearted to let the matter go.

“Oh! rest assured that i will ask the headmaster to be on duty tomorrow, if that will make you happier” The girl said smiling towards the girl who silently clapped her hands, muttering a small ‘yay’.

The two girls stared at each other before getting interrupted by a cough coming from Hades.

“Hellooo, we’re here too, but if you want the room all to yourselves we can arrange that” Hades said sarcastically, ignoring the burning glare coming from Maleficent.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, I just got a bit ... .uhh….distracted.” Her cheeks tinted red “But, as much as i’d like to let you leave, the headmaster said that you must write” the girl paused before reaching towards the stack of book, before pulling out a piece of paper and turning towards the blackboard and writing:

“I mustn’t sneak and steal from the principal's office”

“...this for at least 4 pages....front and back” the girl still smiling, her positive nature never falling off, not even noticing the sudden drop in atmosphere.

The VK’s looked at the girl as if she had grown 2 heads.

“4 pages!?” Uliana screeched.

“Front and back….what the fuck” Morgie continued.

“Yes and no magic” Y/n said, showing anti-magic cuffs given to her by the headmaster.

“No magi…you’ve got to be kidding me” Hook scoffed, even if he himself didn’t have magic, the others could’ve done it for him.

The horned girl simply shut her mouth, not wanting to say anything rude towards the sweet girl she’s been after for months. Maleficent took a deep breath before plastering another smile and standing up, approaching the lovely girl that stood in front of the class.

“Darling?” Maleficent said, tucking a piece of hair that had fallen from the royals perfectly styled hair.

“Yes?” Y/n said shyly as her cheeks returned to the red hue it held before except this time, much darker.

That small action from the girl she had a crush on made her forget about the others in the room and simply stared at the girls captivating green eyes, that is until a piece of paper was thrown at them along with a “get a room!!” coming from Hades. Maleficent glared at her so-called friend, raising her hands to curse but Y/n had grabbed it whispering “No magic allowed” Maleficent resigned slowly putting her hand back down, but looked at her friend with a fiery glare.

“Darling, as i was saying, do you think maybe just for today you can spare us and let us…use magic” Maleficent said using her flirting skills.

“This is actually disgusting me so much” came from Hook but the two girls ignored him or simply didn’t care enough to listen to him.

“Uli are you seeing this?” “I don't care.”

“Well, i’d get in so much trouble if the headmaster were to find out i let you use magic” the girl reluctantly said, torn between following the rules and impressing her crush.

“What he doesn’t know won’t him, right, Darling?” Maleficent pushed.

“Well…” the girl was still conflicted between the good and the bad.

“If you let us, then maybe you and I can go on a date this weekend?” Maleficent said, trying to convince the girl. It was cruel to use this to convince the girl but, whether she let them use magic or not, the girl would’ve still taken her on a date.

“A date?” Y/n’s eyes widen looking down, her whole face turning red.

She was fully considering it this time, but inside there was this disappointment that her crush would only be willing to go on a date with her for the price of something else.

Y/n looked back up at Maleficent this time her smile was sad and the red hue on her cheeks were gone.

‘Have i said something wrong?’ Maleficent said.

“You don’t need to worry about the date, Maleficent, you can use magic this time and i won’t tell the headmaster” Y/n said with a new found professionalism in her voice.

“Please, sit back down and progress to the task at hand Y/n said before pushing past Maleficent to get to her own seat, opening a book and starting her own work. Meanwhile, Maleficent stared at the girl with a sad and confused look on her face, but she still went back to her seat, continuing to stare at the girl.

“Nice going…Mal” Hades said from behind her.

“I swear to god, I will curse you to eternal sleep if you don’t shut up” Maleficent said, turning to grab Hades' collar and threatening him. Hades raised his hand in feign surrender holding in his chuckle.

“Ugh. Whatever” Maleficent groaned before magic-ing her pen to start writing.

“Mal! Mine too!” she heard Hook said gesturing to his own paper. Maleficent waved her hands and Hook’s pen started writing on his own as well “Thanks!”

That night Maleficent had stayed up all night long ranting about Y/n to Uliana, the sea witch forced to stay awake and listen to her friend complain about her ever so tragic love story.

“I just don’t get it, Uli, why did she suddenly become cold earlier, I was about to score a date!” Maleficent stressed.

“Well, you basically-” Uliana started only to get interrupted by the girl, who was, by the way, walking back and forth their dorm waving her hands around.

“OH MY GOD!! MAYBE I’VE BEEN READING THIS ALL WRONG AND SHE DOESN’T LIKE ME!” Maleficent yelled, turning and looking at her friend, horrified.

“Jesus Christ! Mali, you basically implied that you’d only go on a date with her ONLY if she allowed us to do magic, not because you actually like you.” Uliana explained finally rising from her bed and approaching her distressed friend.

“But I do like her” Maleficent muttered.

“Yeah, but does she know that?”

“I suppose not.” Maleficent sighed, defeated as she plopped down her bed, Uliana following along, comforting the horned girl.

“How about you ask her out, for real this time” Uliana comforted as she let the girl rest her head on her shoulder.

The next day in detention, Y/n had kept her word and was there on duty, but only this time she didn’t utter a word to them, just giving them their task of the day, which is extra homework of Virtues and Values. Today no one complained about the work as they were weary of Maleficent's temper that day, so they just sat and did the work, well, except for Uliana who made Morgie do hers.

Once Maleficent finished her work, she neared the girl who was, quite obviously, avoiding her.

Y/n, noticing someone approaching her desk raised her head, only for her to put it back down.

“Maleficent! If you’ve finished your work, you can just put it down here and you’re free to go” Y/n said with her head still down, refusing to look at Maleficent.

When she was met with silence, Y/n looked up and saw Maleficent’s eyes filled with hurt and hesitancy as if she wanted to say something.

“Are you feeling alright?” Y/n rose to her feet and rounded the desk to touch Maleficent’s face, checking for fever.

“Oh my god, Maleficent! You’re burning! We should get you to the Medical wing!” The now worried girl said as she gathered her things.

The VK’S in the background laughed at the situation but Maleficent didn’t care as she stared starstruck at Y/n.

“Mal!” Uliana whispered-yelled to her friend, signaling to the frantic girl.

“Wait Y/n! I’m not sick, don’t worry!” Maleficent grabbed the girl's forearms, stopping her from panicking.

“But you have a fever!” Y/n insisted.

“I don’t…i don’t” Maleficent reassured, but the latter wasn’t convinced and tried to touch Maleficent’s face once more but got stopped.

“Uhhh…that’s what's making me burn up” Maleficent chuckled as she distanced herself a bit from the girl.

There was a continuous chuckling in the background from the boys.

“What?” Y/n said confused.

“Yeah…don’t worry about it”

“Are you sure?” Y/n asked wanting to be sure, her fri- schoolmate was ok.

“Yes, but there is one thing you can do for me, Darling.” Maleficent said with an unusual insecurity in her voice.

“Oh! Anything!” Y/n urged the girl to tell her what she can do to help her feel ok.

“Go on a date with me” Maleficent breathed out, her tone hopeful.

At that, the other girl's demeanor deflated.

“Oh…umm, I really can’t let you use magic today, Maleficent, I can't risk the headmaster finding out, I'm sorry” the royal apologized as she moved past Maleficent.

Maleficent felt heart broke at that, she knew how she worded it yesterday wasn’t really…ideal, but it still hurt.

“I don’t mean it like that, Y/n.” Maleficent hurried to explain “Would you like to go on a date with me this saturday?”

Y/n stared at the girl, dumbfounded by the sudden turn of event, her cheeks getting back its red hue.

“Are you serious?” The girl asked, fully turning towards the black haired girl “This isn’t a prank? Or a way for me to let you use magic during detention?” The girl wanted to clear her confusion, as she didn’t want her heart broken in the hands of someone she really did like.

“Non no, none of that, i’m asking you on a date because i’ve liked you for so long and i thought i made it obvious but apparently not, so here I am, officially asking you out” Maleficent said as she walked closer to the girl and held her hands.

“What?” The other girl was dumbfounded.

Maleficent chuckled at the reaction “ Would you, Y/n L/n, like to go on a date with me this saturday?”

“Oh my god, I would love to!” Y/n replied, hugging the girl. Maleficent stumbled back a bit, not expecting the hug from the girl but once she gathered herself together, she hugged the girl back tightly.

The sweet moment lasted for a second, before the sound of applause covered the room.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me” Maleficent said, irritated at the interruption. Meanwhile, the other girl had completely forgotten about the presence of the rest and grew embarrassed at her actions, so she hid behind Maleficent.

The applause suddenly stopped when Uliana grabbed Hook and Hades by the ears and dragged them out of the room with Morgie following, handing Y/n their homework at the exit.

“I’m so sorry about them” Maleficent apologized, facing the girl who had looked at her with a furious blush on her face.

“Oh, you look so cute, Darling” Maleficent cooed at the girl, causing her whole face to turn red.

“I really really like you, Maly” The girl suddenly said.

Now it was Maleficent's turn to blush.

[locallixie]

it’s a sign! — jongho

> summary . an unexpected romance was still able to blossom despite the silence between you and him.

> genre . fluff, high-school au, mutual pining, deaf!reader, reader and wooyoung are siblings, gn!reader.

> warnings . none

(wc) > 3.6k

(sunny’s note) ☆ description of hand movements (signing) will be in korean sign language (ksl), i’ll try my best to be as general yet accurate as possible to not offend anyone. i felt exhausted these last few weeks, so i apologize for slow uploads.

Quiet, it has always been so quiet. Never heard the sounds of calm waves, or the voice of your loved ones. You didn't even know how your name was pronounced. However, you liked how quiet it was. Your ears naturally already tuned out everything, easier to sleep peacefully that way, easier to focus since there wasn't any loud sounds bothering you. It was a blessing in a curse, being deaf for you.

Your family predominantly used sign language to communicate, but speaking was still a big part between your parents and your older brother, they didn't want you to feel left out. Cochlear implants were put in consideration before, however, they were quite expensive and your parents were unsure if you were ready for it yet. So for now, you would stick with the pre-existing silence.

Of course, going to school was a struggle when you have a disability. You couldn't rely much on your peers, the pacing of each subject was different but all were equally difficult to keep up when you weren't able to listen in with the lecture. It was scary going into middle school as a deaf kid, yet, it was another kind of terror to go into high school.

"You okay?" Wooyoung asked verbally while signing at the same time. Though this was your third year already, the sound of your heart felt like it was the first day of school. Riddled with anxiety, you hesitated to leave your brother. But you nodded nonetheless, half not wanting to further bother him, half just wanting to get everything over with.

"Text me if you need anything." Your brother signed to you before bidding goodbye. There was a new homeroom teacher this year, and some of your classmates from last year were also changed around. Which meant you were back in the position of having to familiarize yourself with everyone, and having to inform people that you were deaf all over again.

Your friend changed homeroom this year, you wouldn't be able to see him too often then. You barely know anyone here, either because some of them were newcomers or you just haven't met them before. The new people looked oddly intimidating, maybe it was the anxiety talking? But there was something about them that made them seem unwelcoming.

Laying on your desk, tired from the night before since you didn't get a good night sleep. Too anxious to go to school, worried that you might overslept, or ruin your uniforms. All the worst case scenarios kept popping into your head, not letting you rest until you worn yourself out and fall asleep.

A subtle vibration sent across the surface of your desk, gently notifying you of something, a presence. You weren't expecting anyone to approach you, since everybody were occupied with their own businesses, you minded your own too. You saw his lips moving, but you could not make out anything he was saying. Terrible at reading lips, and the other person wasn't aware that you were deaf.

He was confused as well by how you were not responding, if you were intentionally ignoring him while maintaining eye-contact. You placed a single notebook on your desk, 'communicating book'—it said on the cover, written in black marker ink. This one was your fifth or seventh one, you have lost count after going through several during middle school up until recently.

'Hi, my name is Jung [Y/N], and I'm deaf so I apologize in advance if I don't response to you immediately. We can talk through this notebook!'—Holding up the notebook to him, the first page was written beforehand. You slid a pen over to him, implying that it was his turn to 'speak'. That was how most of your conversation usually begin, on very rare occasions, you might be lucky enough to meet someone who could speak sign language. But for the majority, you spoke through the pages in your notebook.

The other wrote down something on the next blank page, he then showed it to you, 'Sorry, I didn't know. I'm Choi Jongho by the way, I don't think we have met before.'

Jongho was a new student, he spent the last couple minutes at the assembly to meet the other classmates, he must have missed you back there. Though you did leave with Wooyoung right after the opening ceremony this morning, so you two wouldn't meet either way. You couldn't understand what they were saying, why would you stay there any longer?

You two seem to clicked well, he even invited you to join him for lunch already. It was a bother having to write out everything you wanted to say to him, there were just way too many topics you wanted to share. Yet, he sat there, writing down every single sentence, every thought he had on his mind to keep the conversation going until the bell would eventually break you apart.

"Mom made you lunch, be sure to eat it. Do you want to sit with me and my friends?" Wooyoung spoke along with his hands. Your brother could be quite protective at times, it made sense since you were a deaf kid running around school without one warning sign. If something were to happen to you, he might blow up.

You replied, "No need, I'm sitting with a friend." Taking out the lunch box from your bag, wrapped up delicately in a light blue plaid cloth. You could already smell the pleasant aroma of the grilled chicken your mother prepared.

"You made a friend? That's good. I'll see you later!" He pat you on the shoulder, before leaving your classroom. Jongho was sat at a table, waiting for you by the time you got down to the cafeteria. You spotted him easily by the warm brownish colour of his hair—which stood out from a majority of natural black. You sat down across from him, placing your items on the table. The lunch today didn't look all too bad. Normally you would eat the lunch provided at school, but home-cooked lunch box was a thing your mother did every first day of school, a good luck ritual of some sort.

'You brought your own lunch, what are you eating?' The words displayed on Jongho's phone screen. You shrugged, not knowing for sure. You smelt chicken, and eggs, and stir fried vegetables, that was all you could guess.

Gosh, she went all out with the presentation, you felt bad eating it now that the bear head was made out of brown rice. The vegetables were cut out like stars and hearts, decorative picks were included on top of fruits. You appreciated the effort, but a bit of embarrassment stuck in your stomach. Would the other kids make fun of you for still having your mother make you adorable lunch boxes? You wouldn't know, but you wouldn't enjoy the teasing nonetheless.

Jongho smiled, he even giggled at the sight of your lunch box. "Don't laugh!" Signing towards him, a bashful expression stood on your face.

'It's just so cute~!' He typed out on his phone, chuckling at your pouty face at his comment. At least he didn't make fun of your lunch, its childish appearance simply asking for talks. You got out your utensils that was wrapped with napkins, finally began to ease your empty stomach.

Mid-conversation, Wooyoung came by to disrupt your peace. His intentions were clearer than day, you knew him far too well to be suspicious. He came to check out your new friend, having to meet his approval to continued hanging out with you. As a compromise, he bought you the soda you liked. Though, Wooyoung could freely be as skeptical and disapproving of Jongho all he wanted. Because you, yourself, felt Jongho was genuine.

You let out a dragging sigh, 'Don't mind my brother, he acts up every time I befriend someone new.'—Explaining to the other person after you were sure your brother was a far enough distance from the table you two were sitting.

'You two seems close.'—To which you just nodded and returned to eating. Wether or not these were intrusive thoughts, unwilling to admit the fact that he found you cute when you are frustrated. All pouty and grumpy, your cheeks protruding as they were stuffed with meat, rice, and vegetables. An angry chipmunk was the only suitable comparison.

Though you established many good relationships with your peers, you mostly spent your time hanging out with Jongho. After Jongho's multiple requests of being seated next to you, your homeroom teacher finally agreed to arrange you two together. Would it be better anyways? He could assist you with academic matters when he is closer to you, win-win situation!

‘You’re learning fast!’ You excitedly complimented. Recently, he has been picking up sign language to less burden you with always having to write as your only source of communication. You were glad to help him since he was learning on his own. Again, you slowly signed each character of his name with your hand, getting him familiar with the alphabet.

“Like this?” He asked as he started moving his fingers to sign.

‘Did you just sign my name?’ Jongho only smiled after reading your text, admiring the stunned look on your face. He knew more than you had originally thought, at this pace, he would be fluent in no time!

Feeling a strong vibration ran through your forearm, his phone lit up in a split moment. It was Wednesday afternoon, which meant you had clubs to attend. Jongho held his fist under his mouth as if he was holding a microphone, he was off to practice his singing for the upcoming school festival that his band will be playing at. Before he went, he turned around to look at you one last time as good luck. You just gave him a gentle smile, while moving your opened hand in a circular motion above your fist.

You were contented with the never-ending silence you had been born into, even so, there were definitely times you wished you could hear. After you met Jongho, you have never stressed over your disability more than you were now. Every-time you passed by one of his rehearsals, seeing all the girls and guys cheering him on with so much amazement in their eyes, you couldn't help yourself from feeling left out from the crowd. You have never heard your best friend's voice, and you desperately wanted to.

"[Y/N]!" He couldn't hide his excitement when he spotted you at your desk, calling out your name as he began running towards you. Taken back by how your immediately turned your head to him, like you heard every syllable that he had just now produced.

Jongho leaned on your desk, "Did you hear what I said?" Actually, not quite. Sounds were all over the place, you have never heard your name be spoken up until recently. You took a good week to recover for your cochlear implants, during it, you had gotten a little more used with your family members' voices and the way words were pronounced. However, you would need a lot more time to learn how to talk, and learn to live with all the noises of life.

You have never knew how loud life could become, like how the sound of rain was strangely calming, but the summer of cicadas were annoying. The most pleasant sound to your ears was Jongho's voice, soft and mellow, and full of fondness. That was one of your many exceptions.

"I'm not used to this quite yet." You continued to speak with your hands. You wanted to take your hearing devices off but your mother insisted you keep it on during school, she didn't realize how much that overwhelmed you with all the new noises everyday.

Jongho brought his hand out towards you, opened and asking you for something. A bit stuck, hesitating in seconds before you took off both of your hearing devices and placed them on his palm. Instantly, every and all sounds cut off, washed out and silenced.

Solely his gentle aura remained, smiling at you with the same look as the first time you met. Though you were able to hear now, there was just this special type of noiselessness around Jongho, a comfortable silence where you didn't have to speak to keep things moving. You liked that, you liked that quiet atmosphere when you were with him. Not entirely quiet, your heart kept beating violently, making your whole chest vibrated in an inexplicable excitement. It was calling out his name, and you couldn't even talk.

You were fine with being deaf, but you adored his voice way too much to remain living like that. You would happily trade any and all other noises to only hear his in your ears. As it echoed in the depth of your heart, you wanted to push yourself more with your hearing devices just to listen to him talk and sing to you.

"Better?" He asked in signs.

"So so." Replying, fiddling with the two devices in your hands. There were so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn't quite express them neither verbally or through signing, they were all too complicated to be accurately translated.

The day of the school festival finally came, and you were most looking forward to Jongho's performance with his band. You came with your brother at first, but then he dipped to go with his friends—which left you wandering alone around school grounds. There were many vendors in the courtyard, selling handmade goods and delicious food items—most of them were operated by clubs, and some were from sponsors that the school invited.

Seeing some of your seniors selling sandwiches, you decided to came by as support. Yeosang was one of your brother's friends who was on the working shift that hour, he immediately greeted you upon seeing your arrival at his food stand. "[Y/N], how are you?"

"I'm good. What kind of sandwich is this?" Yeosang understood sign language quite well, you didn't know how he did, but he did. He was the some of only seniors that you were friends with—though many knew you due to your connections with Wooyoung.

"Just a grilled ham sandwich with cheese and strawberry jam, do you want one? I'll make you a new one." Yeosang put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves. What an odd combo, but it could be one of those rare gems for all you know.

As you were digging into your wallet for money, Yeosang stopped you. "It's okay, it's my treat. Just don't tell anyone." Though you tried paying, Yeosang kept refusing to take any money from you.

Despite the weird mix of ingredients, it was surprisingly tasty. You might ask Yeosang for the recipe to make some at home, or some for Jongho since you couldn't leave him out from experiencing good food. And speaking about Jongho, you haven't seen him at all. You figured that he was caught up with practicing and final rehearsals since his band was the only other performers besides from the indie singer that was invited for a gig.

A song suddenly erupted from your pocket, pulling your phone out as you saw Wooyoung's name above his number, he was asking to face-time you. You placed the phone on a bench before answering, since you couldn't quite speak well and would definitely have to rely on your hands to communicate.

"[Y/N]! Where are you? I'm with Jongho if you want to talk to him!" Wooyoung's face was very close to the camera, almost shoving his nose to screen.

Hearing noises from phones like calls was still a difficulty, and sometimes those darn glitches occurred and messed up everything. You had to tell him to move the camera farther away because you couldn't quite listen in with his voice blasting in the mic, and he all-together looked stupid. "I'm sitting in the courtyard, you left me, asshole!"

"Sorry, sorry, but Seonghwa came to visit so I had to see him." Wooyoung pouted, signing an apology through the screen.

"I want to see Jongho, put him on." You told.

The camera shook violently as your brother ran to Jongho, putting the phone in front of the boy for you to see. There he was, sitting with his lyrics in hand and warming up his vocals. His chestnut hair was styled nicely, he was dressed equally more stylish than he usually was, was that really your best friend? "Jongho, say 'hi' to [Y/N]!"

"[Y/N], I'm glad you came! Are you going to see my performance later?" Enthusiasm obvious through the glints in his sweet doe eyes, under that bad boy exterior which he had on today, your Jongho still shone through.

"I'll be cheering you on in the crowd!" You assured him of your presence during his stage performance soon later. "Good luck!" Before ending the call, you moved your hand in a circular motion above your fist as something extra that you wanted to tell him. Then the call ended, as they could only see your contact flashed on the screen for a split second and fading away afterward.

Jongho turned to his senior, "What did [Y/N] sign at the end? I haven't learn that one."

Wooyoung let out a giggle, patting the younger's shoulders before dropping a bomb. "They said they love you." He gathered with his friends, "Anyways, good luck on your performance, I'll see you!"

Oh...Oh! Jongho was shaking, in a good way. The pressure wasn't about pleasing the crowd, it was about impressing you now—which was so much harder, he really wanted you to have the best of everything. Each step he took leading to the stage, you were the only thing on his mind. This performance have to be perfect, because the one he love was going to be there cheering for him. Though he couldn't spot you between the sea of people, and he was running out of time to do so. Yet, he knew you were there, somewhere. Wherever you were, please know that he felt the same.

"Everyone, let's show some support for our performers!" The crowd began sending applauses throughout the gymnasium, band members pouring out onto the grand stage with their instruments. Taking a few short minutes to get plugged in and in tuned, sound checking the microphone and amps on stage. For the first time in your life, you got to experience your first concert.

It was an original song, God, the lyrics was so him. Jongho did have quite a stage presence there, and oh did his voice sounded amazing. You hated to admit, that hearing him sing was worth all the waiting you did before you got your implants. The sound made your heart vibrated, and everything as well. Speaking metaphorically, it was love, tugging on your heartstrings as some might put it.

After the performance ended, the stage entertainment was on hold for the next ten to twenty minutes to get the other set ready. You used that free time to go find Jongho. When you found him backstage, he was already helping his other bandmates with packing their instruments and bringing amps and cables back to the music room. Not wanting to distract him since those things were heavy, you waited outside for him to finish up with post-performance stuff.

The bassist, a senior that you only have seen in school and have yet to talk to, she spotted you outside. "Are you waiting for Jongho?"

You nodded simply, a bit shy to communicate with new people today. Even though you two have never spoke to each other before, she knew that you were Jongho's friends, because of how often he brought you up in conversation during practices and rehearsal. About how he desperately wanted you to hear his songs, how he wanted to know what your voice sounded like and if you would be a good singer, and how in love he was with you.

"Jongho, hurry up, your lover is waiting for you outside!" No warning, none at all, she yelled out. Filled to the brim with embarrassment, praying that he didn't hear the last part, or wishing that your device was malfunctioning back then so you wouldn't be caught in this situation.

After a few minutes, your heart pacing in your chest, trying your best to remain calm and not lose your mind. Finally, Jongho walked out. You were on the floor, contemplating wether or not you should take off your hearing device after what happened earlier. How could someone caught you lacking like that?

"Hey, sorry for making you wait." Jongho spoke up, scaring you with the sudden emerge of sound after it was quiet for a long while.

"No! Not at all! Should we go check out the vendors together?" You awkwardly asked.

He looked a bit on edge, as if there was something he was concealing away. The smoothies didn't help out with easing him much, and you were unsure of how to bring it up to him. Did the performance not go as planned or something? The silence between the two of you was never uncomfortable like it was now.

"So...um...I love you too." He spilt out. Quietly, lacing his fingers with yours as both your hands hugged each other.

You wanted to sign in reply, but he wouldn't let go so you had to sign with an extra weight. "Who told you?!"

His pointer finger slightly curving against his middle finger which stood up straight, the others curled in. "Wooyoung?! How could he?!"

Jongho technically saved your brother from getting killed, pulling you into his embrace before you could burst and go beat up Wooyoung. He felt nice, like a cuddling bear—at least if you could ignore the studded leather jacket he was wearing. You were hinting him all this time, confessing all of your feelings through sign language. Was it obvious? Definitely. Did he know that it was a sign that you liked him romantically? Eh.

"I love you." He signed back to you.

[yourheartonfire]

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture."

The protagonist jolted up to - oh no. Jolted up from where they'd fallen asleep on the floor of the backshelves, books and notes scattered around them like some kind of nerd bomb had gone off. And the antagonist, their old rival, was standing over them, lamp in hand and that same stupid sneer on their face.

"Shit. I mean..." The protagonist shook their head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here now," the antagonist said with narrowed eyes. "Which you'd know if you bothered to keep up with changes in your staff. The real question is what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be throwing a diplomatic reception or issuing royal commands or snoozing in the royal sheets?"

"You want a command?" The protagonist pushed themselves up. It was easy to put on the imperious mask when they were so tired and so irritated. "Help me clean this up. Then forget you saw me. Think you can handle that, Second Aide to Librarian?"

The antagonist's face was a study. But they put down the lamp with only a small whunk. "Yes, Your Majesty," they said and started scooping up books into a pile. The protagonist choked back a yawn as they sorted their scrawled pages of notes into piles. For a few moments they worked side by side in silence, the protagonist ignoring the looks the antagonist kept directing to the back of their head.

"I'm sorry... for your loss," the antagonist said stiffly. "I know you were close to Dax."

"Thank you," the protagonist said. It was a rote response now.

"The kingdom of Sterztan?" the antagonist said, rather more tentatively as they glanced at the title. "Don't you have people now to be experts for you?"

"Oh yes." The protagonist folded their notes into a neat stack. "The ambassador to Sterztan is one of my greatest allies on the council. And this morning she looked us all in the face and assured us that Sterztan would never pose a challenge to our metals imports."

The antagonist's brow wrinkled. Their fingers twitched towards the pages in their hands. "But... half Sterztan's economy is based on their silver trade."

"I know." The protagonist rubbed. "So my ally is either an idiot or a liar. Not the kind of research I can outsource to a secretary."

"Ah." The antagonist put down their books on a an empty shelving cart. "So of course you became hyper-obsessed over this and snuck off to waste a night researching something you already knew about Sterztan's economy."

"I didn't sneak anywhere," the protagonist snapped. "I am the crown-"

Abruptly the antagonist moved. Suddenly the protagonist found themselves crowded up against the shelves, the antagonist towering over them. "The crown," they said, "without their guards."

"How dare you!" The protagonist shoved the antagonist back. "Are you insane?"

"Are you?" The antagonist grabbed another book off the floor angrily. "You're our ruler now. I expect you to at least make better use of your time."

"But this is the only thing I'm good at!" the protagonist wailed. The antagonist froze in a half-crouch but the protagonist couldn't stop. Exhaustion and the unfairness of all it was too much. "I'm not supposed to be ruling anything; I was supposed to be here, doing research for Dax while he dealt with all the politics and rituals and lies-"

"Hey, hey, hey." The antagonist was crowding up against them again. But this time it felt... supportive? A warm hand on their back as the protagonist gasped for air through the panicked sobs. "You've got this."

"I really don't," the protagonist moaned. "God, I wish I were you. No that's not true. But I wish I had your job."

"There you go, that sounds more like you." The antagonist tugged at the protagonist's arm insistently, until the two were sitting side by side on the floor. "Okay. I'm going to write you a report."

"I already figured out the Sterztan thing," the protagonist sighed.

"Not about that. About every stupid mistake every great sovereign we've ever had made in their first year as the crown."

The protagonist wiped their nose on their sleeve. "That sounds horrible."

"It will be. But," the antagonist scooted closer. Their hand was still rubbing circles into the protagonist's back. It was weirdly soothing. "My point is that every great sovereign starts out green."

"Green like inexperienced, or green like constantly feeling that you're going to throw up?" the protagonist muttered.

The antagonist grabbed their hand. "I'm saying that once you compare where you are now against where our other sovereigns were in their first year, you're going to see that you're actually doing all right. I'm not going to lie, you're doing a lot better than I thought you would be."

The protagonist huffed a tired laugh. "That sounds... like a nice theory. Got the data to back it up?"

The antagonist quirked their lip. Not quite the same sneer. "Are you ordering up some midnight research?"

The protagonist hauled themselves to their feet. "Nope. You volunteered. I'll expect that report on my desk by tomorrow. That is, tomorrow tomorrow," they added. "Not in - oh, god, in six hours."

"Go to bed," the antagonist said, picking themselves up too. "Good night."

The report was on the protagonist's desk in 10 hours.

[loveftylost]

Kotatsu

First part

warning: just suggestive and Nendou touching yours boobs (spoiler)

afab!reader

“You just asked me to come to your house to be together at the kotatsu?” you asked Riki as he was sitting on the floor with his legs inside the kotatsu.

“Yup” he replied with a goofy smile. It was the middle of winter, hellish cold reigned every day for those who did not have heating in their homes and that was your case, there were days when you slept at the Nendou family's house just because your cute boyfriend was a walking heater. It was nothing new that every time you saw each other you were hugging.

Curving your lips into a faint smile, for Nendou's reasons “I like the idea” you walked towards him and kissed his cheek “I brought you instant ramen, do you want me to boil water so we can eat together?” You took one of the many ramens you got out of the plastic bag to shake it in his face, drawing his attention.

Before he opened his mouth to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard in the room where you were both “Riki, I'm going out for a while… Oh, kid, you're here.” Nendou's mother noticed your presence, you greeted his mother with A kind smile, she returned the gesture. “I will be outside the house” she warned again, now to both “don't do anything, I still don't want a grandchild” she spoke covering a smile with her hand, leaving the house leaving you alone.

With a red face you went to the kitchen to boil water, denying and reflecting on Midori's last words. Leaning your elbows on the table and hiding your face, rambling in thought, a sudden hug from your boyfriend's giant body brought your reasoning to the present.

“Come with me until that boils” his arms clung around your hips, reloading a little of his weight. As soon as you nodded he took you to the kotatsu, sitting back down in his place “sit down” he patted the ground with his hand so that you would sit down next to him. Ignoring his request, you crawled over to Nendou, cynically settling yourself between him and the kotatsu. “There was more place” he pouted for not putting his legs in completely.

“I'm sorry, I wanted to be closer to you” you leaned your head against his chest, snuggled between both heats, Nendou ended up resigning himself to the sweet words.

Reading manga together, Nendou would slide the page to read the next, sometimes asking if he could change it. For being a fool he read too fast, maybe it was just that he avoided the important parts and moved on to the action, he was never interested in delving into topics that he didn't care about them. You stopped his hand once more before he turned the page. “You read too slowly.” You gave an annoyed whine in response.

The hands that held the manga offered it to you to finish reading, those hands went down the floor before they slipped under your sweater, cold fingers played and squeezed the fat on your stomach that formed when you sat down in a deplorable way. A graceful breath made Nendou's chest bounce, it continued to bother your belly as you continued the patient reading of the dialogues. “You're already gaining weight” that comment was the apex of the fall of the peace that you refused to let go. Nendou speaks without thinking more times than you can count but sometimes he unintentionally offends.

“Stop” you ordered him, maintaining an ounce of patience.

“Nuh-uh” although you couldn't see his face it was obvious that he was a silly pouting “you won't let me into the kotatsu, I won't leave your soft stomach” he complained

Leaving the manga on the table with attempts to get Nendou to remove his hands from above you were simply not fruitful actions. “Don't complain, you're a walking radiator, you almost produced heat like Hairo.” Some people say that those who fight with fools are more stupid, you were an example of that-

Refusing to pay attention to you, he only raised his right hand higher than your stomach, feeling a boob, his entire palm covered your chest, now he had something else to play with. “You're not wearing a bra,” he squeezed, making you squirm, from the touch and his words. without shame. It was true, you weren't wearing anything, you thought the thick sweater was more than enough. His fingers slid to a hard nipple as he closed his palm, it was hard to tell if it was hard because you were horny at the moment or cold from the environment that was becoming a little hot.

He caressed and twisted that button, light sighs hiding the emotion that the slightest touch provoked. “Your nipple is hard, is it because of the cold?” The mocking words behind your ear were murmured “Mine are the same” he extinguished the flame he had created effortlessly.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I will upload the next part in a year lol

Also, I need someone who speaks Spanish/English to help me correctly translate the next part into English, please 😭😭 it will be intense

[jessybarnes]

Something New

Ship - Cockles - Single!Jensen x Single!Misha

Rating - 18+ Only! Minors DNI!!

Tags - Sexuality struggles, First-time m/m sex, anal fingering, anal sex, rimming, oral (male receiving), mentions of coming out, mentions of not being accepted, anxiety, angst, fluff, smut, comfort, drinking, cursing, NSFW title banner, seriously if you're a minor go away!

Word Count - 3800 ish

Beta - Just Grammarly and Me

Fic Aesthetic - Yours truly

A/N - This is a repost from my old Tumblr account. I am in the process of transferring all of my fics over to this blog. I hope you enjoy. :)

Misha flirted a lot. Everyone knew this and accepted it as a part of his outgoing nature. Jensen, on the other hand, still hadn't grown accustomed to the lingering touches and longing stares from his best friend. It wasn't that it made him uncomfortable, no it was very much the opposite. 

He tried to ignore the way his heart sped up every time Misha's fingers grazed his skin or the way he held him when they would hug, but it was impossible. Jensen didn't want to admit it. He was supposed to be straight, find a nice woman, and give his Mother and Father the grandkids they wanted. Instead, he was having an internal battle with his mind on whether or not his male co-star was hot. 

Jensen sighed and rubbed at his temples lightly. Currently, he was reading over the newest script for one of the upcoming episodes. People probably thought that playing Dean should have come to him naturally by now since he played him on TV for the better part of thirteen years. Sometimes it was more complicated than just 'getting into character' though. 

Certain scenes, much like the one he was reading now, involved Cas and Dean staring into each other's eyes for a longer than normal period of time. That part didn't bother him as much. It was the stage direction that was written in the script. Of course, he didn't write the script or the stage directions so he didn't really have much of a say in how their characters did things. 

Jensen stared down at the off-white paper. His eyes re-reading the same bold print that menacingly stared back up at him. 

INT. THE BUNKER, DAY There's tension between Dean and Cas from a previous argument.  They eye fuck for approx. 30-45 seconds until Sam clears his throat to get their attention.

He swallowed thickly wishing the direction would change, probably for the umpteenth time now. 

Couldn't they have picked a better way to word this?

A sudden knock at his trailer door made him jump. He tossed the script onto his coffee table before walking across the room to unlock it. The familiar silhouette of Jared should have put his mind at ease, but he knew his best friend of so many years would notice something was bothering him. Deciding there was no point in avoiding the inevitable, he flung open the door to let him in. 

"Hey, Jare"

Jared walked up the two stairs into Jensen's trailer and plopped down on his sectional. 

"You're awfully quiet today, Jay. What's going on?"

Jensen sighed, running a hand across his face. Good thing he hadn't been to hair and makeup yet. He didn't wanna piss anyone off this early in the day. Grabbing two beers, he tossed one to Jared and sat down. 

"I don't really wanna talk about it. Not like there's anything anyone can do about it anyway."

He took a long pull of his beer while Jared studied him. He watched Jensen's eyes glance at the stapled packet of papers quickly before focusing on the view from the window. 

"It's something from today's shoot isn't it, Jay?"

Jared picked up the papers and leaned back against the couch. Jensen didn't try and stop him, but he didn't elaborate either. He just sat and watched as the taller Texan read over the page he'd been mulling over a few minutes ago. 

"I don't see anything wrong wi-"

Jared stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at Jensen. He scooted slightly closer and pointed to the middle of the page. 

"It's the 'eye fucking' part isn't it?"

Jensen looked away, picking at a loose string in the hem of his jeans. The beer bottle rested loosely against his lips as he took another swig.

"Jensen, you should really tell him, you know."

It was a miracle the beer didn't come out his nose. It took him a minute to stop choking and gain his breath back. A blush crept up the side of his neck as he looked down at his lap. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jared."

Once again the script was tossed carelessly on the coffee table. Jared scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

"Oh c'mon, Jay! You can't possibly think I believe you. I know how you feel about Mish, and I think you do, too. It's okay to admit that you got a thing for him, and frankly, I think you should talk to him about it. I mean look at it this way, how many times have we told fans that it's okay to be yourself. Love is love, and honestly, I think Misha feels the same way."

Jensen let out a defeated sigh. He should have known better. He and Jared can read each other like a book, and sometimes that wasn't necessarily a good thing. 

"I can't tell him, Jared. I'm not supposed to feel things like this for another man. My parents didn't bring me up this way. I'm just going to grin and bear it until we get through shooting this. I'm an actor. I can just push my feelings aside until this is all over with." 

Jared set his bottle down and repositioned himself so he was facing him. Jensen looked miserable. He was clearly stressing way too much over this. He was pale and dark circles lingered under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"Jay, that's bullshit and you know it! You can't control the way you feel for someone. It doesn't matter how your parents wanted you to turn out. What does matter is who you want to be. If the real you is attracted to both men and women, then so be it. If your Mom and Dad can't accept you for who you are, then they aren't taking your best interest to heart."

Jensen rested his head in his hands and shook his head. 

"Even if they miraculously accept the fact that I have a crush on Mish, how the hell am I going to tell him? I have no idea how I'll get the words out, let alone bring it up."

Jared stood up and walked toward the liquor cabinet. He pulled a bottle of Crown Royal from the top shelf and blew the dust off. 

“Sounds like you could use some stronger liquid courage.”

Now it was Jensen’s turn to scoff. He watched as Jared grabbed two glasses from one of the cabinets and put a couple cubes of ice in them. 

“I can’t shoot these scenes drunk off my ass Jared. Bob will have my head.”

If Jared heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he focused on pouring them each a glass. Handing one to Jensen, he sat back down and sipped at it slowly. After a minute of looking between his glass and his best friend, he sighed and licked his lips. 

“Ah, what the hell, why not? Gotta get through today’s shooting somehow.”

Forty-five minutes later everyone was on the Bunker set setting up for the next scene. The crew was getting the lighting perfected while the director, who just happened to be none other than Richard Speight Jr., conversed with Misha across the room. Jensen shifted his weight nervously and tried to look anywhere else. His eyes kept finding their way back to him though. 

Even though their characters wore layers upon layers of clothing, Jensen could still tell Misha had been working out. His thighs were well defined in the black slacks, how the tan fabric of Castiel’s trench coat hugged his biceps made his mouth water and the way his hair was tousled sent image after naughty image through his mind. 

Jensen bit his lip and looked away. There was no way he was surviving this scene. Misha had him hook, line, and sinker, and the way things were looking he was going to end up walking off the set before they had a usable take. Before he was able to dwell on it any longer, fingers snapped in his face bringing him back to reality. 

“Hellooo! Jensen? You okay man? We’re ready to start, but if you need a minute we-”

Jensen pushed past Rich and stood on his mark that was taped to the floor. 

“I’m good. Let’s get this over with.”

Misha studied him, his piercing cerulean eyes making him shiver. Jared walked around the table and sat in front of the open laptop. Things were eerily quiet between the three of them. Normally, they would be joking around until the moment action was called. 

Rich took a seat in the director's chair and looked through the camera one more time making sure the angle of the shot was right before turning his attention back to them. 

“Roll sound!”

One of the crew members came in with a slate board and held it in front of the camera. 

“Supernatural scene thirty-two, take one! Marker!”

Rich took a deep breath and crossed one leg over the other. He knew this was an intense scene so he was mentally preparing himself to do more than one take. 

“Action!”

Misha walked around the table holding a tattered old book. Jensen eyed him furiously as he snatched it out of his hand. 

“Dammit Cas! I know we needed this book, but I told you not to do anything stupid!”

Misha tilted his head sideways, narrowing his eyes. The hand that was holding the book now rested rigidly at his side, his fingers curled into a fist. 

“Dean, this was probably our only chance for us to get this book! I took a chance and brought it back unharmed. I did it for you! You want to save your brother don’t you?”

Jensen slammed the book on the table a little too hard causing Jared to jump. It wasn’t in the script, but no one said anything so he continued with his line. 

“You could have waited for Sammy and me! We could have gone and got it together. Cas, you could have gotten yourself killed man! When are you gonna learn that you’re our family Cas? Family sticks together. Sammy needs you ... I need you. 

Misha stepped slightly closer to Jensen and lifted those ocean eyes up to his green ones. Jensen was shaking. Whether it was with rage or nervousness he didn’t know, but he had to finish this scene. He couldn’t do this more than once. His eyes flitted down to Misha’s mouth just as his tongue came out to wet his lips, and dammit if he didn’t feel his cock twitch. He couldn’t do this. He needed to get out of there. Just as he was about to storm off to the confines of his trailer, Jared cleared his throat. 

“Guys … get this! So, the writings in this book are apparently a dead language! There’s some sort of codex that requires piecing together, but I think I can crack it if I can just get past this encrypted file.”

“Cut!”

Rich stood up and rubbed his hands together. 

“That was great guys! Very well done with the dynamics. Oh! Nice touch with making Jared jump Jay. His face was priceless! I’m recommending that one for the gag reel.”

Jensen wasn’t listening. He was still staring at Misha, who was now taking off Cas’ tan coat. He watched as his back muscles flexed under his white button-up, and immediately felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t stand in the same space as his co-star any longer. It was too much. Everyone watched as he took off towards his trailer. Anything was better than feeling this way in his opinion.

“Jensen? You sure you’re feeling okay? You look a little flushed. Hey! Jens- Where are you going? We gotta do another take. Jensen?!”

Once he was back behind his trailer door he immediately stripped off all his clothes and tossed them in a pile. Nothing sounded more appealing than a cold shower. He relished the feeling of the cool spray as it cascaded down his body. Jensen propped his arm against the shower wall and rested his head against it. He needed to figure out how to suppress his feelings because he didn’t think he could go through this every day. 

Ten minutes later he cut the water off and shoved the shower curtain back. Jensen shivered as water droplets clung to his skin. He wrapped one of his burgundy towels around his waist and padded back into his kitchen to grab another beer. 

“Hey Jens.”

He didn’t expect to hear another voice coming from his living room area, and he definitely didn’t expect it to be Misha’s. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around. 

“Jesus, Mish! What the hell?!”

Misha stood and walked across the room not stopping until he was mere inches from him. Jensen swallowed thickly looking down at the neck of the beer bottle to try and distract himself. 

“Why are you avoiding me, Jay? Jared says you’re not, but I can tell you are. You’ve barely said two words to me today other than when we filmed that scene. Even then, I could tell something was wrong. You rarely break character.”

Jensen shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Mish I … It’s not that simple. Y-You didn’t do anything wrong … I just … I can’t do this.”

Misha grabbed his arm before he could get away and pressed him against the wall. The way Jensen’s breath hitched didn’t go unnoticed by him, and that only confirmed his suspicions. 

“Can’t do what Jay?”

Jensen inhaled sharply, the smell of Misha’s cologne nearly making him moan.

“Wha - What are you doing?!”

Misha rested a hand on Jensen’s chest. The water droplets still lingered and he could feel the rapid beat of his heart against his palm. 

“Shh. Just relax Jay. Just let go.”

Jensen closed his eyes, shuddering under the warmth of his fingertips. 

“I - I don’t know what you’re ta-”

Before he could finish his sentence Misha’s lips were on his. For a split second, all Jensen could do was stand there. Eventually, he threw caution to the wind and began to kiss him back. His lips were pillow-soft and he tasted of spearmint. It was intoxicating, and it only made Jensen more dizzy with want. 

Misha tilted his head and licked at Jensen’s bottom lip requesting permission. He granted him access without hesitation groaning as he licked into his mouth. Misha’s knee pressed between his thigh forcing the towel around his waist to come loose. The friction against his dick along with Misha’s perfect lips kissing and licking along his pulse point became his undoing. Jensen wasted no more time contemplating whether he was making a big mistake or not. The hottest man he’d ever laid eyes on was bringing him pleasure he’d never felt before, and he intended on returning it tenfold. 

“Unngh M-Mish… fuck…”

A low growl came from Jensen’s throat as he maneuvered them toward the hallway. His towel lay forgotten on the floor, his hands finding refuge in Misha’s short dark locks. He tore at the slightly shorter man’s shirt trying desperately to remove it. Buttons littered the small space scattering in different directions when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. Misha chuckled and brought Jensen’s head down for another bruising kiss. 

“Wardrobe is gonna be pissed you know. That was one of Castiel’s only clean white shirts.”

Jensen worked at his belt and wasted no time in shoving Misha’s slacks down his legs. His mouth watered at the sight of his tented boxers, a noticeable wet spot becoming more prominent from his arousal. 

“Don’t care. Wardrobe can take it outta my pay. Need you too bad.”

Misha knew how reserved Jensen was, and the fact that he was unable to speak in full sentences and was on the verge of losing control was by far the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Slowly Misha sank to his knees and looked up at Jensen through his long lashes. He wetted his lips placing open-mouthed kisses on his thighs. Jensen whimpered shamelessly when Misha licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock. Before he could process what was happening, Misha took him deep into his mouth and didn’t stop until he hit the back of his throat. 

“F-Fuck! Christ, Misha... “ 

Misha couldn’t get enough of how Jensen tasted. It reminded him of sandalwood and old spice. He stripped off his boxers and began palming his cock, moaning at the way Jensen was coming undone by his mouth alone. 

“Fuck Jay, you taste so good. Wanna feel you cum baby. Wanna taste every last drop of that sweet nectar.”

Jensen was so close he could taste it. The heat coiled in his lower belly, and his hands instinctively came out to grasp the back of Misha’s head. His rhythmic thrusts soon became more erratic as the first waves of his orgasm washed over him. 

“Oh fuck! Mish I’m gonna… fuck I-I’m gon- ah!!!”

Jensen watched as Misha swallowed around him making sure not to miss a single drop. He stood, pressing his lean body against his, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw. 

“Such a good boy Jay. You taste so good too.”

Jensen’s breathing was ragged as he came down from his high. His eyes were closed and his cock was still rock hard. He was a goddamn goner. Never in his life had he come that hard, not until Misha anyway. 

Mere minutes later, Jensen was sprawled out on his bed. Misha was rooting around in his drawers for something, and soon he realized what it was. His eyes went wide at the small bottle of lube and the predatory look in his co-star’s eyes. 

“Mish, I… I’ve never…”

Misha silenced him with a sweet kiss on his lips. 

“I know baby, don’t worry okay? I’m gonna make sure you’re nice and prepared for me. Gonna make you feel so good, Jay. Can’t wait to hear those pretty moans you'll make just for me.”

The sound of the bottle cap opening filled the room and soon Misha was coating his fingers with the shiny liquid. He leaned his body over Jensen’s, resting his weight on one arm. The other slid between his bow legs finding his entrance with ease. Jensen sucked in a breath as Misha pressed one digit against his opening. 

“Shh, baby you gotta relax for me. Just breathe, Jay. Let me in and I’ll show you how good it feels.”

Jensen opened his eyes and was met with Misha’s lust-blown ones. He let out a shaky breath, and let his mouth fall open as Misha eased in his finger. He eased it in and out slowly creating a steady rhythm. It wasn’t painful, but it was definitely foreign. Soon Misha slid in another finger and curled them upwards searching out his prostate. He knew he’d found it when Jensen’s back arched off the bed and the prettiest moan he’d ever heard fell from his lips. 

“Mmmm, Jay… I wanna taste you. Get on all fours baby. Gonna show you how good it feels to be worshiped.”

Jensen flipped over on his belly and gripped his pillow. Misha hooked his fingertips into the place where his thighs met his hips and pulled him so his ass was presented to him nicely. 

“So beautiful... “

Misha placed a hand on each side of his ass and spread him open. Jensen dipped his head low and groaned when he felt the wetness of Misha’s tongue against his hole lapping at him repeatedly. He could feel the familiar heat in his core and began fisting his cock furiously. 

“Oh God… Mish! Please… p-please need to feel you…”

Misha pulled away, his chin glistening with saliva. He turned Jensen over so he was laying on his back again. He pushed two fingers back inside him and began to scissor him open gently. His mouth leaving love bites along Jensen’s inner thighs. 

“Gotta get you ready for me baby. Don’t wanna hurt you any more than necessary.”

Soon Misha was three fingers deep and Jensen was wantonly meeting every thrust. He could almost cum like this. Watching his best friend coming undone by his hands alone. It was almost too much. 

“Please f-fuck me… please! Need you. Fuck Misha please!”

Misha removed his fingers and slicked his cock up with lube. He once again leaned over Jensen and captured their lips in a heated kiss. He knew this would hurt, so he did his best to distract him from the pain. Pressing firmly against his tight hole, he sheathed himself inside him. Both of them moaned obscenely at the sensation, and Misha tried not to cum at the way Jensen’s muscles squeezed him deliciously. After a few seconds, he felt the Texan’s nails scrape bluntly against his chest. 

“Fuck me Mish… Wanna feel everything you’ve got.”

Misha growled and pulled out almost completely, before slamming back into him. Jensen threw his head back and gripped the sheets, not caring that his sinful moans filled his trailer. They built up a steady pace, and both were well aware that people walking by could tell what was going on. Soon Misha’s brutal thrusts became more sporadic. His forehead rested against Jensen’s as his cock pounded him, brushing against his prostate over and over again. 

“Fuck Mish, You’re gonna make me cum again… c’mon baby, fill me up. Wanna feel you cum inside me. Fuck baby, just like that...Oh, God!”

Misha swallowed his moans with a heated kiss. Jensen could feel his second orgasm of the day approaching as Misha continued to fuck into him. He began to stroke his cock feverishly, his ass tight around Misha’s dick as the first spurts of white coated his belly. 

“F-FUCK MISHA!!” 

Misha wasn’t far behind, filling him up, as he felt Jensen’s cum coat their chests. They stayed like that, breath heavy, and beads of sweat covering their bodies. Slowly Misha pulled out and grabbed the nearest article of clothing to clean them up. 

He climbed back on the bed and laid next to Jensen nuzzling into his neck. He felt the warmth of his arms snake around his torso and held him close. 

“Fuck, that was amazing..” Jensen purred. 

Misha peppered kisses along his pulse point and raked his nails lightly down his back. 

“You did so well for your first time, Jay. I’m so proud of you. Took me so well.” Misha said tiredly.

Jensen felt his breathing even out, and soon light snores fell from his lips. It was hard to believe how fast he was falling for this man, but he couldn’t wait to see where they’d take their newfound relationship. Whatever happened, he knew he would be along for the ride

[firstclasswithharlow]

Same Page

Drew Starkey and Amaya had been dating for several months. They were co-stars on the hit show Outer Banks, and their on-screen chemistry translated into a real-life romance. They were happy and in love, but things started to change when Amaya saw the movie Hellraiser with Odessa, After watching the movie, Amaya couldn't shake off the feeling that Drew had more of a connection with Odessa than her. She noticed how they laughed at the same jokes and how they seemed to have a deeper understanding of each other. Amaya tried to ignore her feelings at first, thinking that it was just her imagination, but the more she saw Drew and Odessa together, the more her doubts grew. Finally, one day, Amaya decided to talk to Drew about what was bothering her. She found him in his trailer, going over his lines for the next scene. "Hey," she said, "can we talk for a minute?" Drew looked up from his script and smiled. "Sure, what's up?" "I don't know," Amaya said, sitting down on the couch. "I just feel like something's off between us." Drew put down his script and sat next to her. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Amaya said. "I just feel like you have more of a connection with Odessa than me. Like you understand each other in a way that we don't." Drew frowned. "That's not true," he said. "I love you, Amaya. You're the only one for me." "I know," Amaya said. "But I can't help how I feel. It's like I'm watching you and Odessa, and I don't belong in that picture." Drew took her hand and squeezed it. "I understand," he said. "But you have to trust me. I'm committed to you, Amaya. I'm not interested in anyone else." Amaya nodded, but she still felt uneasy. She knew that Drew loved her, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. As the weeks went by, Amaya's doubts grew stronger. She noticed how Drew and Odessa would rehearse their scenes together and how they would often hang out after filming. She tried to ignore it, but it was like a thorn in her side. She knew that she had to confront the issue if she wanted to save her relationship with Drew. Finally, one day, Amaya decided to talk to Drew again. She found him on the beach, staring out at the ocean. "Drew," she said, coming up behind him. He turned around and smiled. "Hey, what's up?" "I've been thinking," Amaya said. "And I think we need to take a break." Drew's smile faded. "What? Why?" "I just don't feel like we're on the same page," Amaya said. "I think we need some time apart to figure things out." Drew shook his head. "Amaya, I love you. I don't want to take a break." "I know," Amaya said. "But I need this. I need to figure out what I want, and I can't do that if we're together." Drew sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay," he said. "If that's what you need. But I want you to know that I'll be here for you, no matter what." Amaya nodded, feeling a weight lifted off her shoulders. She knew that it wasn't going to be easy, but she also knew that it was the right thing to do. She hugged Drew, knowing that it might be the last time for a while. "I love you," she said. "I love you too," Drew said, holding her tight. As they parted ways, Amaya couldn't help but wonder if they would ever get back together. She knew that she had to follow her heart, even if it meant letting go of something she had once cherished.

[okwritingandpain]

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da: The Beatles x Reader

Chapter 11

"Well, if it isn't John Lennon!" Scott remarked as John walked into the record store. Great, Scott was here. John didn't like Scott very much, and neither did the rest of the band. He was a very rude, blunt, and a manipulative person. John had already seen how Y/N had wrapped herself around his finger. It gave him no comfort knowing Scott was her boss. Sadly, he felt like he was sometimes similar to Scott, but ever since he met the man, he had tried to change his demeanor. He had met Scott less than a year ago when she had invited him to dinner. The entire band had expressed to her their disliking of him, but she said that they didn't know the other side of him. John disagreed with her but understood where she was coming from.

"Hey, Scott." He replied, putting on a fake smile. "I'm here to pick up Y/N."

"She's busy," Scott said, flipping through pages of his magazine.

"She shouldn't be." John frowned, trying to look past Scott to see if Y/N was around.

"Well, she is." Scott replied, ignoring John. His blood boiled with anger.

"May I see her?" John asked, walking towards the front desk.

"I said, she's -"

"John!" Y/N smiled, coming out of the back room. John's face lit up.

"You're alright?" John snuck a glance at Scott.

"Well, of course I'm alright." Y/N looked worriedly at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." John replied, grabbing Y/N's hand to drag her away from Scott.

"Woah, calm down, John." Y/N pulled her hand away. "I know we're going out, but you don't need to rush things."

"You should consider her feelings, John!" Scott called, warrenting a nod from Y/N.

"I'm not -"

"You'll learn..." Scott muttered. John's face contourted into a menacing scowl.

"Well, things are getting heated in here. Let's go, John." Y/N started pushing John out the door. He didn't mind, but he wanted to throw a brick at Scott's head. Outside was John's bicycle, which lay on the side of the building.

"Hop on!" He said, patting the seat. Y/N sat on the seat as John stood and pedaled. She held on to him as they road down the streets of Liverpool. They passed shops and apartments that showed brightly in the glistening light of the day. The colors were like coral. It was like they were under the sea. It wasn't a long ride, but John could already feel himself getting tired.

"Who knew John Lennon could ride a bike!" Y/N giggled behind him. John smiled, thinking about Scott. It bothered him more than he liked it to, but he jut couldn't get it out of his mind. 

"Yeah, who knew!" John called back as they rounded a corner down an alley way. Multiple salesman tried to stop them on the way, but nothing interested Y/N. John debated on going back to look at custom guitar picks. He thought they were cool. 

"How far away are we from the date?" Y/N asked, jokily. 

"Not far." John replied with a smirk. "I only prepare the best for those I find well...the best." He chuckled to himself. They turned a couple more corners before the bike came to a halt in front of a museum. 

"A museum?" She asked, hopping off the bike.

"Not just any museum. A music museum." John left his bike on the side of the building. He grabbed Y/N's hand and they dashed into the building. John paid a small entry fee before they entered. Inside there were four sections to explore. Composers, Instruments, musicians, and famous songs. At least, that's what John liked to call them. He had gotten himself a tour guide job at this place a while ago, so he knew a few things about the place already. He led her to the instruments section where perfectly constructed instruments were sealed behind glass casing. John was most interested in the guitars, but Y/N wanted to see the pianos. 

"These are so pretty. I've always dreamed of playing a grand piano." She said to herself, looking over the glossy multi-colored pianos. 

"The piano truly is a marvelous instrument, isn't it?" John remarked, walking up behind her to put a hand on her shoulder. 

"You should play for me sometime." She smiled, walking towards the orchestral section. 

"How about you play instead." John laughed, following her. The place was mostly empty, except for a few people who John had the greatest respect for. People who actually appreciated the true beauty of music. 

"John?" A voice asked. He turned around to see his aunt standing behind him. 

"Hey, Aunt Mimi." John said with a shaky voice. What was she doing here? 

"Who's this?" She asked, looking at Y/N who looked confused. 

"Uh, Aunt Mimi this is Y/N, Y/N this is Aunt Mimi. She's the person who raised me for the past few years." John explained. Aunt Mimi smiled lifting her hand out for a shake. Y/N took it with respect. 

"So, is this your girlfriend?" She asked, letting out a small giggle. John blushed as embarassment grew over him. 

"I wouldn't exactly..." He trailed off, trying to think of the perfect excuse. 

"Yes." Y/N butted in, keeping her composure. 

"Why didn't you tell me, John?" She asked, admiring the young girl. "She's a pretty one and I have a feeling she's also rather bright." 

"She's amazing, I just didn't know how you would act..." John rubbed his neck uncomfortably. 

"What he means is that he didn't know if you could handle how impressed you would be." Y/N continued to act calmly as she covered John's weak act. 

"Well, I'm certainly impressed by your quick thinking." Aunt Mimi complimented, making Y/N blush. 

"Thank you." She replied, quietly. 

"So, when are you coming over for dinner?" The older woman asked, looking at John who was trying to escape moments earlier. 

"Uh, soon. Very soon." He said, still inching away from her. Both Aunt Mimi and Y/N glared at him. Sighing in defeat, John rejoined the pair. 

"How about tomorrow?" Aunt Mimi asked. 

"I can do that." Y/N relied with a smile. 

"Well, then it's settled!" She cheered, clapping her hands together. 

"Wonderful." John muttered, warranting a frown from Y/N. 

"I must be going." Aunt Mimi waved goodbye disappearing behind them. 

"That was quick." Y/N noted, turning to John. 

"She's always busy. The only reason she even came up to us was because of you." He explained, walking towards the orchestral section with Y/N. "Lets get back to the date. Do you play a stringed instrument?"

"I play violin." She replied. 

"Now I need to hear you play that too." He laughed as they continued looking over the many instruments. 

[free-for-all-fics]

Part 2/7 💜📸📝

“I didn’t like the way he stared at her.”

“Who? Oh, Mr. Masters? I didn’t notice.”

“Well, I did. He’s still looking.”

“Who, Fanny?”

“Mr. Masters.”

“Don’t look at him, then.”

“Do you think he’s after her, George? I rather hope not, if I’m honest.”

“Why? He has a bit of money. And he’s clever.”

“But is he just looking for a wealthy socialite?”

“Well, he seems quite taken by your daughter’s beauty, and he wondered—”

“Why? I mean, why should he wonder?”

“He wondered if there was anybody— Well, that is, anybody she liked.”

“Did he ask you to find out?”

“Who, me? No, no. I just—”

“Well, you may tell him that we don’t like anybody in our house. That is, we like a great many people, but we don’t like men. Oh, we like men, too, but don’t like men who wonder about who else we Skeffington women like. My daughter is too young and far too clever to bother about who wonders about her. It’s ridiculous, that’s all. Ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Masters to dinner? You can look him over and learn the worst. Give him a real chance, and perhaps you’ll like him even more than Sir John Talbot.”

“That won’t be necessary. An agreement between Sir John and I has already been reached.”

“Still invite him. You can size him up and he can size you up. If you don’t invite him, Fanny, then I will.”

You got eyes for Jim Masters, the chauffeur. Fanny had her suspicions, but there was some part of her that didn’t want to believe it. Manby said when you told your stories, Jim always made everyone be quiet so he could hear well. Jim was super likable. Everyone liked everything about him. You couldn't stop smiling when Jim started talking. The smiles you gave him made your mother want to puke. You smiled as if your relationship with Jim meant much more than the one you had with her. She’d never seen you smile like you smiled when you were around him. She told you to bring him to the house for dinner but you said he wouldn’t come because he was too shy and wouldn’t have time between his work, but Fanny wondered if that was the truth. Something changed. She felt it. It could have been so simple only if Jim didn’t get in the way. Both you and Jim kept saying nothing was going on between you. But she wasn’t about to believe everything was just rainbows and butterflies. In her eyes, Jim was using you to fill his sad, empty life. Fanny knew she had to do something. You’d been growing the idea of leaving New York since you came back from Berlin. Living with her didn’t help much with you being attached to your hometown. She and you never got to talk about it seriously, you didn’t really want to, but every time you hinted about leaving, Fanny tried so hard to ignore what it meant for her. Even those pictures in the morning newspaper were laughing at her... They were making fun of her impending doom. They were all saying,

“Ha ha ha. See? You’re gonna die alone here.”

She couldn’t let that happen. Then she remembered. Jim wrote secret letters to you. Manby got hold of the most recent one and gave it to her. In it, he was asking you to meet him. She locked it up so you wouldn’t ever read it. You weren’t allowed to see Jim of course and if you never saw that letter maybe you would think he didn’t like you anymore and maybe you would stop liking him. Your father would’ve known what to do. Fanny wished he was here. Unbeknownst to you, she knew where you kept your diary and letters. But they had no special meaning for her. Until curiosity got the better of her. What if you wrote something about Jim in your diary? What if your diary had something to do with Jim’s existence not just in your life, but in hers? She started digging. The first few pages were nothing outstanding. Just about your new school.

August 1932

When you live in one place your whole life, your next door neighbor is kind of like, your default friend. And Jeremy only got weirder over the years. With Janie Clarkson as his mother… I can’t put him completely at fault for how insufferable he was when he was a kid. Moving away has been a good excuse to...not see him anymore, but he did say he had plans to move out when he turned eighteen... I wonder if he’s going to follow through with those plans. Maybe he was just saying it because he was sick and tired of his overbearing mother and wanted to separate himself from her. Whatever his decision, hopefully the years have done him some good and he’s freed himself from his mother’s clutches. Hopefully he’s grown out of whatever his mother’s influence did to smother his individuality and corrupt his personality and behavior when we were in school together. Can’t say I don’t empathize with him. He and I share the same sentiment about our mothers. Maybe I'll give him a call to see how he’s doing.

September 1932

Starting at a new school is a right of passage at certain ages, yet when you are the only new person you feel that there is a spotlight on you. But in that attention there is a chance, right? There is a chance to find new friends to connect with. Going in with a positive attitude is easier said than done, but when you make a great leap, you have to commit to it, right? That's how you land with grace on solid ground. So this new school, I’m gonna make it be okay. I can do that. Starting at a new school is a chance to start over, to have a reboot of who I want to become, a chance to make new friends. On this first day of school I’ll go to meet my other family, the one I will spend years learning with. I will gain new brothers and sisters from various walks of life. I will become part of their community and begin that journey of growing into the fine lady I am destined to become.

October 1932

[…] As for now, I’m just gonna leave those POI on my ‘To Do List’ which is already filled with a crazy amount of homework. I now know why youngsters of Zurich will try their best to get as far away from school as possible after class: to escape from choking on the pressure that teachers give them! Even on weekdays, pretty girls like Stephanie will have their boyfriends give them a ride, and others make use of the power of PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION to get to the more crowded part of town. It does feel too quiet since I’m no longer in public school, but at least I don't feel as lonely as I did in New York. At least I don't have to watch everyone I know turn their faces away like I’m some kind of a demon spawn. At least I don’t have to be reminded how fucked up things can be in a single moment.

November 1932

[…] but people in this town see graffiti as nothing but trashy doodles. I want to show the hidden side of girls—their impulses, their urges. What are YOU hiding inside…? Fanny, Uncle George, Father… they all tell me, “Don’t worry about what people think. Be proud.” How could I ever be proud of myself…? My classmates talk about me…

“Well! I don’t think you suffer as I do. You don’t have to go to school with impertinent girls who label your father just because he’s Jewish.”

“If you mean libel, then say so, and stop talking about labels as if Father was a pickle bottle.”

“I know what I mean. And you needn’t be satirical. It’s proper to use good words and improve one’s vocabilary.”

“Vocabilary?”

Father told me that it’s important to have goals in life. I wonder what life goal I should have. I wonder what Father’s goal is. Might not be a bad idea to leave town, actually… The great thing about graffiti is, the world’s your blank canvas, your home, begging for you to paint it with your hopes and dreams. I can have fun anywhere. Maybe that should be my goal. I’ve decided that’s what I want to do with my life. I’m going to travel the world, painting, photographing, and documenting my own finds! Well, as soon as I’m old enough to escape Mother, that is. There was an explosion in my brain... the good sort... the type that carries more possibilities than I could be conscious of... but there were hundreds of ideas there in that buzz of electricity... I could feel it. It was the calling card of adventure, of paths awaiting my feet.

Fanny kept flipping through the pages, until she found what she was looking for. It wasn’t even a challenge. She saw just how far back your and Jim’s affiliation went. It was beautiful. She found the perfect story, all she had to do was fill in the ending.

September 1934

So funny to find this diary again! I must have forgotten it at the bottom of the drawer during my travels. I still remember how innocent I was then... So many years ago... I remember being thirteen going on fourteen. I wanted to learn photography, so Father hired Rupert to be my tutor. At first, I thought he would be too old to teach. Plus, his techniques were probably too ancient. But when he came, I was surprised that he was a very humble person. Despite our age differences, we talked for hours. I felt comfortable around him. Then he showed me the photos he took. They were beautiful. It was around that point that I figured out that Rupert was perfect as a tutor, that I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge the old man. I'm glad Rupert was my teacher. I spent nearly five years under his tutelage and it’s paid off! Though I am only eighteen going on nineteen and will never get a degree in photography, Rupert said I’m a professional in my own right!

September 1934

Today I climbed a great pine tree at Wakeforte Park to try to get a shot of something. I can’t remember what I was even trying to photograph, but I didn’t realize how far up I had climbed until I fell out of the tree! I met a kind man when I hurt my leg. He rushed over and helped me, asking if I was okay and if anything was broken. Luckily, nothing was.

You know that feeling where the first moment you see someone, it's like they have a big gold star around them, and you have to get to know them? Well, there's this man. I had no idea how I would ever, like, have an excuse to talk to him... until he opened his suitcase to take out some bandages and I noticed all the pictures, stickers, and souvenirs that decorated both the outside and inside of it. He was a seasoned traveler from the looks of it and, when I mentioned it, he said he just came back from a trip in Hong Kong a month ago and he was now visiting Switzerland. Just passing through, really. Maybe I should have been frightened of him. This older man who saw that I was alone, who possibly felt like I owed him something, which was the worst thing a man like that could feel. He looked grim, all right. I could see how his face might frighten a lot of people, but I couldn’t imagine being afraid of him. Somehow, I... I rather liked him.

“You have a very bad habit of climbing trees. This is no place for children.”

“You think of me as a child? Well, you’re wrong. I am much younger than that!”

“You think my face frightens people, do you?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. So you must’ve been thinking it.”

“Yes... sir. Frankly, I do. You understand, I don’t think you mean to frighten them, but your face— Well, you asked me, sir, and, yes, I do think so. But you don’t frighten me. You intrigue me. You’ve been to Hong Kong, huh?”

“My girl, there’s no spot on this earth I haven’t been.”

“Tell me about your time there. What was it like? What did you do?”

“Well, I confess once in Hong Kong when I was desperate I sold a relic of which I was only a part owner.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Being a citizen of San Francisco I sold my share of the Oakland ferry to an Australian who wished to make a gift of it to his fiancée. And a very lovely fiancée. You know, she had the most beautiful… Well, that’s another story.”

“I’ve bet you got a satchel full of stories.”

“Mhm. I got the stories, all right. Trouble is, finding somebody who’ll listen.”

“Well if there’s a couple of bottles of beer around, I might be persuaded to lend an ear.”

“If there isn’t any, I’ll make some. Drink up, my good woman. The Earth’s a savage garden.”

“…It was the third day. I had fallen in with a group of Moorish travelers. One of them was suffering, struck with the curse of Scrofula, so I prayed with them for her fortitude, that she might reach the Cave of the Mother with all speed. They told me that a temple was within two day's journey, should all go well. Yet there was an obstacle still to overcome. The path went through the demesnes of one Idris Hannachi, a robber-baron of the Ottoman people. Pilgrims had to pay a heavy tithe to use his water, and to travel the mountain pass. I had spice, and three thalers left. I prayed it would be sufficient…”

“…Nigh a tenday I’d gone without honest fare worthy of the name - drank naught but what the sky offered for my thirst. Why, some bread, cheese, and a cup of wine would’ve appeared unto me a feast! Surely those fine people wouldn’t begrudge me a mite of rest and repast before I got ‘out with it’? Fine, fine. I turned a deaf ear to the clarion calls with which my scorned stomach beseeched me. Graver matters were at hand. Plenty to digest, after all. A good deal to stew over, if you will. Words ladled with import should be savored so as to better absorb their meaning, wouldn’t you agree?”

“…And so I drank the native wine, signifying eternal friendship. It was a touching scene as I bade the Mahabus farewell. For eight years, I said, I’ve been your chief. I give you modern plumbing, surrealist art, and a smattering of air conditioning. I hope that in time you forgive me. And so I leave you, before I bequeath you any more of the horrors of civilization.”

“I’ve listened to you for two hours. And two hours more solidly packed with bologna I’ve never listened to in all my life.”

“Well…perhaps I did lie a little. I like my stories. Like to hear myself talk. I like a little drama, I do. Mind you, lately there’s enough of it about. Do you know, my dear, as you grow older, you’ll find there’s nothing fuller than the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“You’ve kicked around the world all this time and you got nothing out of it at all. I wanna see this world too. That’s all I care about. I wanna get out of this hole. But it’s not wanderlust with me. Who cares about what New York or Copenhagen or Singapore looks like? They probably all look like Sacramento.”

“They all do. Except Sacramento.”

“What’s going on in this world? Things are happening all around us. Why are they happening? You ever seen so much hate in one universe? Well, who sets it off and why? You read this in the papers and that. One person tells you one thing and another person tells you something else. Well, who’re you gonna believe? They all got an axe to grind. I’m shut up here. I know from nothing. But I’m gonna find out. I’m gonna find out for myself. And let me tell you one thing. They won’t keep me in the dark.”

“Well, listen. Don’t take it out on me. I’m not keeping you here.”

“I’m sorry. I get too excited. Let me tell you another thing. When I find out, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Okay by me. And with that, you rather like me, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I really do, in spite of everything.”

“And I like you.”

“What is your name, please?”

“Don'’t you think secrets are fun? Just refer to me as a wayfaring stranger.”

“But I owe you so much for coming to my aid. I should pay you back somehow.”

“You are paying me back by lending an ear. I want to know who’s letting me talk her ear off. You haven’t told me your name either.”

“Don’t you think secrets are fun?” you parroted his words back to him with a smile. “Just refer to me as an ambitious tree climber.”

“It sounds so mysterious. From where do you come?”

“I am of the wind whose sound is heard, yet none can tell from whence it comes or where it goes.”

“Well, the next tour group gathers within the hour. Try not to blow away before then.”

When I was a girl, Dad always told me to not trust strangers, especially men, but I’m a woman of eighteen, soon to be nineteen now and I don't think he’s a bad guy. If he was, why would he go out of his way to help me? They do say we sometimes become friends with those who are at the opposite ends, so maybe it's not such a weird thing. I’m exhausted but hyped up beyond my limits. I can’t sleep. How can I when the whole day just feels like a dream? Maybe if I meet him again at the park, I can tell him stories of my own.

October 1934

I’m finally focused on my studies, so I think I might pull an all-nighter. It won’t be good for my skin (I can just hear people calling me "troll" and "nerd"), but I don’t care. I have to make it to college. Dad is counting on me to do well. I’ll make him proud by getting into my first choice. All right, time to hit the books till morning! My future isn’t in Switzerland or New York, it’s wherever college life is waiting for me. Everything’s riding on my entrance exam next year. I have to get out before I go stir-crazy.

February 1935

Today I went to Wakeforte Park again, and he was there! I raised a hand to wave and he spied me in an instant, sitting by the water fountain as I was. His face split into the grin I had imagined him to wear often. Then he came over in fast, easy strides and took my offered hand in his two, shaking and squeezing. I hadn’t seen him in over four months. I thought I was imagining him at first, seeing things. But it was him! I told him about the book I read last night. It was about the species of plants and flowers and that even now not all of them are discovered! I told him I want to be the one to discover them, but I’m not good at science. Then he said if I don’t give up, I can do it. I’m happy I told him. It was as if no time passed between us at all and we picked up right where we left off. He finally told me his name - Jim. Jim Masters. I like being with him. I can be myself in front of him. He doesn't judge me, or tell me what to do. He cares about what I think. He makes me happy. He talks a lot to me recently, and I feel comfortable whenever he’s around. I can be myself in front of him. He said we could meet here at Wakeforte for as long as we’re both in the area. I wonder if this is what friends are like.

“Where were you born?”

“The corner of Market and Cherry Street. Same hospital my father was.”

“Market and Cherry? Where's that?”

“Foot of the East River. It's about ten miles, I should say, from the nearest governess.”

“How do they call you?”

“Skeffington.”

“Curious name. Skeffington. That’s a strange name for Market and Cherry.”

“You mean, is that my real name? Yes and no. When my father was a child and he came over with my grandparents, the immigration official on Ellis Island wasn't a good speller...and ‘Skeffington’ was the closest he could get to Skevinzskaza. That’s my father’s real name. But Skeffington is what he goes by, so it says Skeffington on my and my sister’s birth certificates.”

“Market and Cherry… That’s in New York, isn’t it?”

“It is. I grew up on Charles Street.”

“You are far from New York, Miss Skeffington. Do you miss your family back home?”

“There’s not much of a family to miss. My father and sister are here, and my mother and Uncle George are back in New York. There’s my aunt, Martha Tintagel, but she lives in London, so I’m not very close to her. I’ve only seen her face on Christmas cards and such and have never heard her voice or met her in person. She’s a Lady and has a husband and three children - two boys and a girl. She’s a happy mother, always wrapped up in them. She loves being tied up, and is sure she can’t stand five minutes on her own feet unassisted. My other aunt, Nigella Pontyfridd, is wife to my Uncle George, but she kept her maiden name and they have no children. She doesn’t mind, though, because her heart is full to the brim of Uncle George. They’re not really my aunts and uncle, though. They’re my mother’s cousins. We’ve just always called them that for simplicity’s sake. As for everyone else… They’re dead. And they died before my sister and I were born, so we never knew them. Anything we know about them comes from the word of others. I miss Uncle George and Aunt Nigella, but my mother…”

Sensing that you didn’t want to talk about it, Jim changed the subject. “You have quite an art studio here. Did you bring all these art supplies from America?”

“A few of them.”

“May I look at them?”

“Of course. I even painted something for you to take with you on your journeys. Something to remind you of me.” You showed him the painting. It was small, a miniature portrait really, but the detail was exquisite. It was a painting depicting the exact spot you met, more specifically, the tree you fell out of and the surrounding area.

“This is beautiful. Looking at this, I can feel as if I’m actually there. You know, some works are so familiar. Looking at them is like being home again.”

“That's a nice music box you got there.”

“Most of my belongings I could bear to leave behind. I sold almost everything I owned to get my passage to come here, but this… Never. It's one of the few things I brought with me from the States. I will carry it with me everywhere I go.”

“What’s that little song playing?”

“Do you like it? A man composed it for a young violinist he once knew, a girl of infinite beauty and sensitivity. So far apart in age, yet a pair of misfit beauties they were. I can see why they both ran to the other. As for this… A remarkable painting by the hand of an even more remarkable painter.”

“You flatter me, sir. But I’m so happy you like the painting. I was thinking of you when I painted it. I knew you’d be able to tell.”

“Why do you always call me ‘sir’? You know my name.”

“Well, perhaps if I saw you oftener than once every two or three months. When you happen to be passing through.”

“If you think it’s on my way, you’re mistaken. When I left Spain my tour required I proceed direct to Paris. So…you see?”

“Then take me with you, please. You promised.”

“My dear, an attractive woman doesn’t go to Paris. She lets Paris come to her.”

“Meaning you, I suppose? You are so wise and so clever. Paris is a good place for a new life. I believe Paris is where you go to reinvent yourself. Will you be returning to Sacramento, Mr. Masters?“

“For God’s sake. Jim. Call me Jim. Please. Mr. Masters was my father.”

“Jimmy,” you said teasingly with a smile to match.

Jim laughed but then turned serious. “No. Jim.”

“All right. Jim,” you said, liking the way his name sounded on your tongue. “I better get going. My sister, Fanny, is waiting on me. Goodbye, Jim.”

“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

“When Paris no longer comes to faith,” you teased him again before walking off.

Since he was heading out soon, he offered to give me a tour of the city.

“I was just going.”

“I’ll walk home with you. I’m afraid I’ve neglected my gentlemanly duties too long. Maybe I ought to go in and say goodnight to your old man and sister, huh?”

“Now listen. If you’re going to come around here to see me, you’ve got to promise to be friendly with my father, but not too friendly with my sister. While I want her to like you just as much as I want Dad to, she’s the pretty and sweet one of the two of us. We’re twins, but we’re nothing alike, you see. I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’d be greatly disappointed in you if you fell in love with her at first sight.”

“Who says I’m coming around to see you?”

“Who says you’re not?”

“Are you a natural brunette?”

“Practically. A chocolate rinse now and then.”

“I’m taking the boat out tomorrow at six. The main wall.”

“I’ll be there.”

“If you’ve got a good book, stay home and read it.”

“I don’t like reading. I was never much good at it in school. I couldn’t stand the snobs with impeccable taste. Still can’t. These people say: ‘I'd rather a good book than a shallow person’. They could cry over the plight of a fictitious character but they shamelessly insult real people because real people are ‘shallow’ and according to snobs these ‘shallow people’ don't deserve to live.”

“You don’t like reading? But last time we met, you told me about a science book you liked.”

“That was an exception to the rule. I can read, but only because of the efforts of my former psychiatrist, David Jaquith, and his wife, Charlotte. Adventure is allowing the unexpected to happen to you. Exploration is experiencing what you have not experienced before. I prefer spending my time doing something and actually experiencing it, instead of reading about it in some book. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so. In that case, I guess…I guess I should let go of this. I won’t need it after tomorrow. Just one final reminder of bad memories I can do without. You can take this. I've already read it. If you read this and tell me what you think of it, that bad memory will become a good one.”

You looked at the cover. “Pulp horror fiction?”

“Yeah…sorry.”

“No, not at all! It’s my guilty pleasure.”

“Mine too. This one's great, You ever heard of Henrik Creighton?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Oh! Well he—”

“Wait, we’re getting off-topic. Why did you mention taking the boat out if you don’t want me there anyhow?”

“All right, all right. Be there. Make that five instead of six. And uh, better bring your book along.”

“I’m sure there’ll be no need. You’ll have plenty of stories to tell me.”

“Don’t forget my jacket! It might get chilly later on,” Fanny called after you just as you were about to rush out the door for your…outing…with Jim. You didn’t want to call it a date. It wasn’t a date. Just a tour around town with a friend.

“You’re a darling. Wish me luck.”

“Aren’t I going to meet him?”

“What? And have him wonder why he picked me? No, you’re much smarter and better looking than I am. I’m only the intuitive one. We’re going out for dinner afterwards, so you don’t need to wait up for me.”

“I’ll wait up. If I want to.”

“And what will you tell Father when he asks?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle him when he gets home. Although you might have to tell him something when you get back. The truth, preferably. I might not wait up for you, but he undoubtedly will.”

“I don’t know why I’m making such a thing of it. You’re right. I could tell him the truth and he wouldn’t mind very much. He’d be happy I have a friend here.”

“We better not waste any more time dawdling. Isn’t Jim waiting for you outside?”

You gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re right! Gotta go!”

Out the window I could see the weird gigantic hill that was also visible from Jim’s motel room. He revealed that it's his secret base of some kind since few people actually visit Wakeforte Park and the surrounding area. He jokingly said he could take me there when I’m old enough. After dinner, Jim dropped me off at home and drove off. The second I went inside and closed the door behind me, Fanny was there waiting for me. She was sneakily watching me and this mystery man of mine from the window and now had a million questions. It was impossible to keep anything from my sister.

“Yoo-hoo! Hey, anybody home? Fanny, where’s Father? Isn’t he home? Is he asleep?”

“No, he’s still in Kreuzberg. There was a mixup and he has to take a later train. He called to tell me he’d be home tomorrow and to let you know. Lucky you!”

“Fanny, don’t tease.” Your admonishment was more playful than serious and Fanny knew that.

“Why, darling sister, who is he? Where’d you meet him?”

“Look, Fanny. I met him five or six months ago, but I’ve really only known him for two weeks at the most. He travels a lot. When we do meet, it’s mostly by chance. Well, he just came back last week. He's so handsome.”

“Where’d you meet this time?”

“He was with Mr. Hunneker. He drove up in a great, big, gray car.”

“Mr. Hunneker? As in Hamilton Hunneker, the Polo player?”

“That must’ve been the one.”

“Sister, you say the handsomest...”

“Well, make that the most distinguished.”

“Is he tall?”

“Well… Yes and no.”

“Is he young?”

“He’s young enough.”

“And he’s rich?”

“He is as poor as one might imagine an itinerant philosopher to be. Yet, as the hours go by I see that he is unfailingly generous to me. I am grateful to have a friend.”

“What did you say his name was again?”

“Jim. Mr. Jim Masters.”

“He can’t be so very rich.”

“He’s comfortably moderate in his money, But he’s rich in knowledge and experience. He asked me to go sailing with him Friday night. I accepted.”

“You didn’t?”

“I did.”

April 1935

I got some materials from my first choice in the mail today! I really want to be a college freshman at the Roski School of Art and Design in Southern California! If I got in, I’d be so, SO HAPPY! Dad, I’m going to work my ass off and be the best daughter ever! Thank you so much for everything!!!

May 1935

I’m so stupid sometimes. I was telling Jim that I was applying and hoping to get into my summer college program thing, and I was all making plans, telling Jim he should come visit me, stay in my dorm room. But he said, “Darling, I leave on June 6th.” I was like... “leave? You’re going? To where?” He said, “To Peru! What did you think I was doing all that stuff for?” I guess he’s been planning to continue his journey. And I guess he’s really going to do it. So I said, “I’m just... never going see you again?” He said, “Let’s just have fun while we can.”

May 1935

I asked Jim what he had to do to get ready for his trip to Peru. He said, “Not a lot, really. As a rule, I don’t allow myself to bring too much with me— the more I carry, the more slowed down I become. I have only a few possessions, but unlimited contact with the outside world while I’m…on the road, so to speak. I just wander every day. And then I keep on wandering from there.” So.. he’ll just go away. To Peru and then… to who-knows-where. The other side of the country? The other side of the world? My mind can't process it. That he’s really going to be... gone. Just gone.

June 1935

Jim had his going-away party with me tonight. He’s so incredible... When he was telling his stories, I could practically forget...everything... That we only had forty-eight hours left... That I don't know what comes next... That I can’t live without him. Then, he dedicated the last story...to me. And I couldn’t take it. I was out on the curb in the alley, sobbing till my ribs hurt. I would follow him anywhere. But I can’t, not where he’s going. After a long time he found me. He said he was sorry. He said, “I wish things could be different. I just wanted to make you happy.” I said, “I don’t think you can anymore.”

June 1935

We agreed our last night together would be our happiest ever, and we’d forget tomorrow was going to come at all. It worked for a while— We had a good time seeing Gabriel off, then ran up to the attic to look through our photos, to find one for Jim to take with him...and looking at them, I realized they were all in the past, and there wouldn’t be any more, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, and I cried, and he held me. He said he knew it was hard, but life would move on. I said I didn’t want my life to keep moving without him. That’s when he cried too. I was so exhausted, I must have fallen asleep like that, in his arms. In the morning, I woke up, and I was finally alone. I thought I found my happily ever after, but it was all a dream. I have to get out of here. I want to disappear. But where would I go? This is all a bad dream. This is all a bad dream. This is all a bad dream.

Darling,

Meet me at our secret place in Wakeforte Park. You know where. I need to see you one last time before I go to Peru. From there, I’ll go to Greece to make myself worthy of you. Be assured, my darling, it is you I want, and not your family. Please, do not do anything we will regret. Just in case I’m held up and can’t get away to meet you in time or something, I will leave a message for you with your sister so she can give it to you. It’s a puzzle, a sort of belated birthday gift for you. In that puzzle, you’ll have to visit both yours and my favorite locations in Switzerland. In each location lies a clue that I had written on the wall of the building exterior. The clues, when put together, will point to you the location of your gift. I thought it was a neat idea. I like vexing your brain, because when you are thinking real hard, like when you’re trying to capture the perfect shot or drawing the perfect subject, you are more beautiful than anything in the world. You’re always drawing in that sketchbook, looking so intense. While I’m gone, you can keep busy by looking for what I hid. Start by using this piece of paper to mark where all the rock pictures are. They will tell you what to do next. Your favorite flowers, start keeping them in mind too. Find my hidden treasure, darling. It’ll explain everything better than I could before.

Your friend,

Jim

June 1935

Dear Miss Skeffington,

After carefully reviewing your application, we regret to inform you that we are not offering you admission to Roski School of Art and Design. We realize that this decision may come as a real disappointment. We also hope that you will understand the decision as a reflection only of the extraordinary talent represented in our applicant pool, not a judgment about your own abilities. This year’s pool of applicants was the largest and most accomplished we’ve ever received, making our decision very difficult. Although we’d like to extend admission to all our applicants, we have limited space in each admitted class. Of the more than 19,000 individuals who applied to Roski School of Art and Design, most are fully capable of doing successful work and making a unique contribution to the Californian community. It is painful to us that we must turn away so many superbly talented students. You may be tempted to ask what was lacking in your application. In truth, it is usually difficult for us to point to obvious weaknesses, when so many applicants have demonstrated real achievement and potential for the future. Our decisions say far more about the small number of spaces available and the difficult choices we make than they do about a candidate’s personal and academic promise. While regretting that we were not able to respond positively to your interest in Roski School of Art and Design, we want to wish you every success in your educational pursuits. Experience suggests that regardless of our decisions, most of our candidates will be welcomed by other outstanding colleges. We acknowledge the time and energy put into your application and congratulate you on your academic accomplishments. We invite you to reapply in the future and extend our best wishes for the coming year.

Best regards,

Roski College Admissions Team

All that hard work was for nothing?! No way! I can't stay here! I can't be stuck here in New York with Mother!

June 1935

Jim is gone, and I can’t stop reminiscing on the time I spent with him. It all happened so fast. I was outside in the park reading when Jim appeared out of nowhere (again). He said “hello” and I started telling him how I actually enjoyed the book and how I never read the same book twice in my life.

“Well, I’ve come to entertain you. I’ll read aloud, and you can listen. I do love to read aloud.”

“I’d rather just talk, if you don’t mind.”

“But this is German romantic philosophy! We throw off all our constraints and come to know ourselves through insight and experience. But it got out of fashion now.”

“Not in the Skeffington family, I’m afraid. It’s just that there comes much emphasis on perfecting oneself.”

“Ah! This gives you a problem?”

“I’m hopelessly flawed.”

“If only we could be ourselves without perfection, like your poet, Walt Whitman, who rides up and down the streets of Broadway all day shouting poetry against the roar of the carts. ‘Keep your silent woods, O nature. Your quiet places by the woods. Give me the streets of Manhattan.’ I think we are all hopelessly flawed. Oh, no. I love to talk, too. Very well. Let’s talk.”

Ten minutes later we were passing Bess’ Bakery. Home of the world famous Belgian waffles. “You’d find no better waffles than in Belgium itself,” said Jim.

There was also a gym across the diner. Fanny hated those kinds of places because they were teeming with creeps. I found my own POI: a bookstore! It was weird seeing a bookstore and a gym standing side by side though. At the end of the tour I finally got to taste that sweet Belgian waffle Jim worshipped. I miss Bess’ Bakery. Fanny never shut up about its doughnuts when we were children. The doughnut shop was her MUST GO TO place. Personally, I enjoyed the blancmange we’d get at another little shop. It was soft, so it would slide down easily. So tasty. But the doughnuts DID taste sweet. Just like Jim’s heart. Each bite was another memory to savor. But just like a doughnut, it had an expiration date. It turned cold and bitter. I miss its warmth. I miss its sweetness. I need it. I need to eat it up.

Why? Because after all those months, I just can’t forget about what used to be the light of my life. (I know. Overdramatic, much?) Resonating with Jim as much as I did is bound to leave that big chunk of residue. Let’s just say this diary is what’s left of our relationship. I miss him. Even when I’m with him. I see him. Even when he is not looking. As the time we spent together grew longer, one question kept on growing with it. What does the ME in Jim’s eyes look like? Does he see me as I see him? Does he see me as I see myself? Does he see me as I want him to? Things were so much easier back then. Jim could just say, “Hello”, and I would say “Hello”. Nothing but spending time together after that, with the occasional visit to Wakeforte Park. We had such a good thing going.

Every time I was around Jim, my head spun faster than a tornado. I didn’t “get” Jim sometimes. Like, his walk and his talk and everything were all “anti-authority,” but he said he was in JROTC and did drills in perfect formation, following orders, no question. He went to join the Army and had to lie about his age, about who he was. He said, “they didn’t need to know what they didn’t need to know,” like it was no big deal. This coming from the man who punched a man so hard the poor bastard was knocked out cold to defend my honor... I learned when to stop arguing though. I don't think Jim “gets” Jim sometimes. The person I saw depended on who he was talking to and what he wanted. He could be everything from invincible to vulnerable, albeit with a new story of each new situation. He had an infinite number of childhoods. His parents were happy, divorced, fighting, abusive, or dead. His father had been a banker, a road digger, a burglar, or unemployed. His mother had been a drunk, a politician, a Sally-home-baker, or a tart. He was an only child, the last of eight, brought up in a foster home or the heir to a fortune. Part of me wanted to walk away, but I was the only one he could tolerate. Why? Because I never asked to see behind his ever-changing disguise. Inside that body was a kid, a kid locked in at some emotional age far younger than his forty-something exterior. I’ll never know what happened to him but, whatever it was, it just stopped his development at that age. It was a one-way friendship, I knew that, but he needed someone.

July 1935

At night when I kneel to say my prayers I rest my elbows on the hope chest Uncle Fred gave me for my eleventh birthday. “We’re going to make a family someday, just you and me,” you’d said. Inside that chest are our dreams, Jim. I’m keeping them safe on my end, so you do your part over there and we’ll be right as rain soon enough. Moving on won't be easy but as long as I keep myself busy it won't be that hard. As for my weekend plan... I’ll just improvise in the morning. Write you later!

“Doesn’t it feel odd to have the rooms back? And only asked to sit in them. I suppose we’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know what it is to travel now. To walk around for a full day, to be tired in a good way. I don’t want to start dress fittings or paying calls or standing behind the guns.”

“But how does one escape all that?”

“I don’t know yet. Oh, Fanny, truly I don’t know if I could ever be good like Father. I rather crave violence. But I’m not dreaming of hitting anybody. I’m just unhappy.”

"Then you’d better have your tea while it’s hot.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said before. You’re not just as shitty as them. It’s just that I feel very lonely and overwhelmed. But I love you. I’m just unhappy, indeed,” you sniffed. “If only I could do like Father did and go to war and stand up to the lions of injustice.”

“And so Mother does in her own way. And Uncle George, with his charities.”

“Yes. But I want to do something different! I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m on the watch for it.”

“You’ll find it. And thanks for the apology, sis. I know it isn’t ideal living in this house… But I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“No matter what, huh? Let’s both go back to bed, Fanny. I’m tired.”

“Sure. Goodnight.”

July 1935

Let’s see, Dad. I hope your dear friend can help a girl out. Come on Corporal Mark Pearce, I’m counting on you. Ahem. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, my dear, I remember your father well and am forever in debt to his many sacrifices in the name of freedom. He was a frank man, so you’ll forgive me for being frank when I say that he'd have a conniption if he knew I put his sweet girl in the line of duty.’ W-what? Fa-Father would be proud of me! I’ve had more conniptions in my first twelve years of life than Father has had in his entire lifetime! Oh, well. No point in having one over the first rejection. If at first you don’t succeed, try again. Back to the drawing board.

July 1935

Aha, the WASPs! Boy, I’d like to slip into the cockpit of a Twin Beech! ‘Thank you for your interest in the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots. Unfortunately, all of our WASPS must be at least 21 years of age, at least five feet and two inches tall, in good health, in possession of a pilot’s license and 500 hours of flight time. Our records show you do not meet all of these requirements.’ Well, that’s just FOOLISH! I’m a fast learner and… Oh. No use crying over spilled milk! Once more unto the breach!

August 1935

From the office of Harold Perkins. Oh yes, the fellow from the local recruiting office. Surely they’ll have something for me to do overseas. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, We appreciate your numerous requests to be placed in the field, but believe me when I say the most action you’ll see is from behind a desk.’ Excuse me? ‘I’m sure you’re a top notch typist, so why don’t you come down to the Boston—’ Typing? I wonder what an itchy trigger finger would do to a girl’s word-per-minute. Oh, cheer up! Miss Skeffington, you’ll get there yet. No point in being all down in the mouth. Mother might begin to suspect something. She almost did at dinner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. You’ve barely touched your plate, my love. Go on, have some more,” she said. She’s got a point. My body needs the vitality for action.

August 1935

To trust yourself when all doubt. To lead from a danger only you can see clearly. To explain enable the blind to see. To give people the power to hear the extraordinary in the ordinary, the everyday and normal encryption of the spoken word. To show them the messages and conversations that happen all around us to different levels of the brain. That’s quite the challenge. That’s quite the challenge when, until you can prove it, they will think you mad and threaten you with the consequences that come to the insane. To speak and risk the twisting of the knaves of sophistry. That is what they ask. Last time I complied I almost died. I almost lost everything for nothing. So, tell me again why, tell me why this is the time, because even if it is now or never, I won’t act unless I can win. I know more than most what these adventures into the world of the saviors costs...and the cost is never to myself alone. You know what? I do trust myself. I do. It’s every other bastard out there I don’t trust. This is a world of monsters. So many monsters.

Those bastards. Kraut…bastards. You don’t belong over there. I do! When I find that gun I’m going over there and there will be hell to pay! Oh, for Heaven’s sake, where is that gun? Now, Dad, don’t you fret. I’ll find that gun lickity split. No soldier worth his salt ought to carry those shoddy government-issued pistols. Plastic handles? Pshaw! Give me checkered walnut any day. Practice, practice, practice. I don’t need fancy tools to disassemble a gun. See the cartridge here as a screwdriver. Just like Uncle George showed me. Next time, we should get a stopwatch and have some fun.

September 1935

Women’s Army Auxiliary Corp, you’re my last hope. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, thank you for your enthusiasm. While we are always eager for more Women’s Army Auxilary Corp, we are unable to offer you—’ …malarky! Fine. Let’s see what I can do at home. At the very, VERY least. I won’t— I won’t be deterred. Perhaps I could appeal again to Mark. He might listen to reason.

September 1935

Here it is, my last shot. Come on. ‘Dear Miss Skeffington, I’m not sure what you mean by being “ready and able” to fight. You’re five foot nothing, and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. How could you ever hold your own against a German brute? Think about holding down the fort instead. Think of the good you can do with a victory garden and a can drive. I’m sure a nice girl like you could certainly help out at the…women’s club bake sales downtown…’ Why won’t anyone give me a goddamn chance?

September 1935

I haven’t really been in a good mood since this morning. I got a letter at breakfast, but I didn’t have time to read it or even see who it was from since my schedule for the whole morning was filled. I left it in my dresser drawer to read later, and didn’t think much of it. It was midday by the time I got back. I’ve tried to lose myself in my art, but I’m not feeling it. Maybe it’s because Mother and I argued this morning? Probably not. We’ve clashed before. I’ve known for a long time we value different things. I just couldn’t stand Mother’s preaching attitude so I yelled back at her. I know I shouldn’t have done that but I’m so frustrated. She said that I’m not trying hard enough. What does that mean? I pressed her to keep talking, but she wouldn’t tell me anything after that. Is it because the Orwood girls teased me? I doubt it. They don’t know me. They’re just taking their issues out on someone. As awful as this morning was, this afternoon is looking up! Jim has written to me, and he’s coming to New York - more specifically, to Charles Street! Thanks to me, he heard about Mother’s advertisement for a new chauffeur that was put in the paper. Also thanks to me, the position still hasn’t been filled. Fingers crossed neither of us fall at the last hurdle and Jim gets the job!

Miss Skeffington,

It seems my luck has finally turned around. I received a phone call from the Silver Star Line, and it turns out I won a trip…to New York. I’ll be boarding the flagship Silver Star next week, and will soon be crossing the ocean to come see you. Or rather, your mother for a job interview. Hang tight, I’ll be on my way in no time. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see me!

Your friend,

Jim Masters

“Mr. Masters calling on Mrs. Skeffington. He’s here for an interview.”

“Oh, for the chauffeur position. Of course. Won’t you come in, Mr. Masters?”

“Thank you, I will. Hello, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Hello. Let Clinton take your coat.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s have some tea. How many lumps?”

“Uh…two, please.”

“Well, Mr. Masters, now do tell me all about yourself. Of course, I know all about your school and how you ran away to join the army. But before that, what?”

“Well, I used to live in San Francisco with my parents—”

“San Franscisco? My cousin, George, lives around there. I went to California when I stayed with him, you know.”

“Really? When?”

“During my pregnancy. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know it would be twin girls.” The mere mention of it brought forth a memory to the forefront of Fanny’s mind. A memory of Job. She tried to think of something or someone else but, once it began to play out, she couldn’t stop it.

~

“You’re laughing at me again. I suppose I’m just as fond of children as anybody else. Well, it’s just that... It’s just that babies grow up, and everybody expects you to grow up with them.”

“You’re not afraid of growing old, are you, Fanny?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, babies stay young for quite a long time.”

“Other people’s babies, never your own. Do I look puffy yet?”

“You look beautiful, Fanny.”

“I don’t know why. My face is all tear-stained.”

“Just enough to be becoming.”

“Well, I wanted to keep on crying, but I didn’t have the strength. You see, the sedative the doctor gave me made me very drowsy. Job, George is going to California in a week. I want to go with him and have my baby there.”

“You don’t want to have your baby in this house?”

“No.”

“But, Fanny, you love this house so much. Why, when we were married, you made me give up my home and live here.”

“Of course I love this house, but it’s too close to my friends. Soon, I’ll be all swollen and puffy and ugly. I don’t want anybody to see me like that. I couldn’t bear it. I won’t have them see me all swollen and ugly.”

“You’ll never be ugly, Fanny. And I don’t care how swollen you look. Fanny, a woman is beautiful when she’s loved. And only then.”

“Nonsense. A woman is beautiful if she has eight hours' sleep and goes to the beauty parlor every day. And bone structure has a lot to do with it too.”

“But I’m so busy in New York, and California is a six-day train trip. I won’t be able to see you very often.”

“I’ll write you every week, Job.”

“Fanny, that’s not the point. I want to be near you.”

“I’m so sleepy.”

“All right, Fanny. You can go to California if you want to. Fanny, aren’t you really happy about having...?”

~

Wanting to dispel the visions of Job and his sad, brown puppy dog eyes from both her mind and her sight, she quickly changed the subject back to what it was before. “Did you and your parents get on?”

“Yes, we got on very well. I’m an only child and, after my father died, I started to work for my mother as a sort of companion. Oh! And what a nervous, fidgety soul she was, too. Well, anyway, my mother had rheumatism, and the doctor thought, baths. Oh-ho, not that she hadn’t got baths. She had a very nice one in her house. Did you go to the baths while you were in California, Mrs. Skeffington? I mean, for your rheumatism.”

“I haven’t got rheumatism.”

“Oh, neither have I, but, you see, I figured baths wouldn't do me any harm, that is to say, while I was there. But I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. Not for the baths, of course, not at all, but for my writing. It's so good for writers. You see, my mother— Oh, but you don’t know my mother. What were you going to say, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. And I’m not Mrs. Skeffington. Not really. My husband and I divorced years ago, but I still go by his name.”

“I see. Well, Mrs. Skeffington… How are you getting along without him?”

“Oh, fine, fine, once I got used to it.”

“And your daughters?”

“You know, my daughters are... Well, they’re all right.”

“But they could be better?”

Around thirty or so minutes later, Jim emerged from your father’s office. You had been loitering outside, pretending to keep busy with drawing in your sketchbook so the servants wouldn’t question or bother you.

“How did it go? What did she say?”

“Your mother asked if I would like to be the chauffeur. She said your last driver wants to spend more time with his grandchildren, and is planning to retire. I have by the end of this week to decide.”

“And?”

“It’s a good opportunity. I’d get a raise in salary and I’d get to travel around the country. I think I’ll say yes.”

November 1935

It’s been almost two months since Jim first began driving for us. Instead of getting a taxi, Jim drives me. I know how to drive, I have my license, but this is one of the few times we can be together. Though we planned this scheme together, and I recommended him for the job under false pretenses so Mother would be none the wiser, it still feels strange that he’s the chauffeur and is technically below me. Social status serves as an invisible barrier between us when we’re in the company of others. As he’s driving, we talk freely as we always do whenever we’re alone together. I’ve been opening up more to him, telling him about the struggles I’ve been faced with, my rocky relationship with Mother, how I really dislike the confines and limitations of high New York society. I expressed that, despite having a successful art career, I felt empty and tired. Jim said that he wished he could do more to comfort me, since I’m going through so much right now. Sometimes, he will give me some suggestions when I ask what I should do. Other times, I just want someone to listen to me. Mostly, I am just happy to be with him. If only we could confess to everyone how much respect we have for each other, how much we admire each other. We’ve confessed to each other every opportunity we get, in different ways. I wish we didn’t have to hide, but keeping our friendship in secret will have to be enough for now.

“Hey, look, who’s taking you to dinner tonight?”

“Jeremy Clarkson.”

“Well, couldn'’t you speak to him?”

“I guess I could.”

“And who’s driving you to town tomorrow?”

“Matthew Jones.”

“Well, couldn’t I speak to him?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“And who’s taking you to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Brenda Jenkins. But nobody has to speak to her. We don’t like each other, so she probably won’t want me there, either. She was probably pressured into sending me an invite.”

“In that case, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Oh, I’d be delighted.”

“Shall we go to the Waldorf?”

“Not the Waldorf. That’s where I’m not having lunch with Brenda Jenkins and her friends.”

November 1935

I told Mother and Uncle George that I was going to a double feature with Ann Lemp and that I wouldn’t be home till the morning. That’s only the half-truth. I did go to a double feature, but it wasn’t with Ann. Only Fanny knows who I was with. Afterwards, Jim and I crashed at a nearby motel. There was only one bed to sleep on, so we shared it. We kept our clothes on, only taking off our shoes and jackets so we’d be comfortable. He slept on top of the covers while I laid under them. The lights went out... I was turned toward him... My eyes started to adjust, and then I could see he was looking at me, too. In the dark, he smiled. My heart was beating so fast. I rolled over, I felt so... I don’t know, nervous? After a minute he put his arm around me and turned me back to face him, and he was so close, and whispered in my ear, “I really do love you, you know. In a way I thought I’d never love again.” I just nodded my head and I really hope he could tell. I really hope...that he meant what I think he did.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Oh, Fanny! It’s only you. You startled me.”

“How was the double feature?”

“It was good, though I don’t remember most of either film, to be honest. We got distracted.”

“It’s past lunch time. You must be starved.”

“What makes you think I didn’t have any dinner or breakfast?”

“Well, you were out with Jim Masters. If you got potato chips, you were lucky. I saved you some leftovers. Turkey leg’s in the kitchen. If you’re hungry.”

“It’s beautiful. Can’t be Manby’s work. It’s too neatly arranged.”

“Manby did the cooking. I did the assembly.”

“Thanks. Mother very much worried?”

“No. I told her you’d be a little late because you had gone to Selena’s to do some shopping this morning. You called while she was out, and since it’s Sunday and the servants’ day off, I answered the phone.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you lie?”

“Mostly from force of habit. Although I did rather gather that Mother wouldn’t be too pleased if she knew that you were out with Jim.”

“I see. I can understand Mother’s attitude, though. You can’t grow very fond of a daughter you’re always trying to keep on a leash and out of trouble. She keeps herself separated from the servants, always strictly professional and impersonal. She expects the same of us. She doesn’t know Jim the way I do.”

“Of course not.”

“You saved this food for me, and you lied for me, and you like Jim. You sure nobody’s home?”

“Nobody.”

November 1935

A week passed since my movie night with Jim. Fanny and I were looking out my second story bedroom window at Jim, who was out on the driveway, working on one of the cars.

“There he is. Fanny, stand back a little. Well, I'm glad he's a man. Certainly would like to know a man for a change and have a little fun.”

“Don’t let Mother hear you say such things.”

“Hello! Good afternoon!” Jim called up to you, raising his arm to wave at you.

“That dreadful man, he waved back.”

“You’re every bit as bad as he is.”

“I know. I wonder how I could get to know him. I wish we had a dog or a cat, and it would get lost and he’d bring it back, then we’d get to talking...”

“I don’t think that’s very romantic.”

“Who said anything about romance? I’m going to go down. I’m going to talk to him.”

“And if Janie Clarkson or one of her friends catches you? What will they think? Stopping to talk with the chauffeur.”

“I don’t care. Anyway, Janie and her friends weren’t very friendly to Jim. They wouldn’t even say ‘good afternoon’ or ‘hello’ to him whenever they saw him when they passed by our house.”

When I came out the front door and walked down the driveway to meet Jim, he was wiping his hands off with a cloth.

“Miss Skeffington. Why do you sit at your window looking out at me when I’m working on the driveway or in the garage?”

“It’s my family’s property, and I can look out as much as I like.”

“I saw you. I waved to you, but you didn’t wave back.”

“I was embarrassed you caught me. It's rude of me, I know, but you always seem to be having such a good time. When I watch you work on cars, it’s like looking at a picture and I want to commit it to memory. I wish you could come inside. Then you’d be a part of the picture. But Mother mightn’t approve. She doesn’t believe Fanny or I should be too friendly or overly familiar with the staff. How muscular your arms are when you roll up your sleeves, your skin glistening with sweat from the summer sun as you comb your hair back from your forehead with your fingers while you pop the hood of a car to tinker with an engine…”

“Miss Skeffington.”

“Oh no. Did I say that last part out loud?”

“You did.”

“I’m sorry. My mouth has run away with me again.”

“No, Miss Skeffington. It’s your mouth that has me hypnotized.”

“Watching you just reminds me of when we were in Europe. You asked me to see a wrestling match with you and stay over at your friend's place in the city after. That was a lie-to-Mom-and-Dad situation. But it was sooooo worth it. The men in the arena were just so big and muscular and sweaty, and everybody was moving together like one intricate dance. Between two matches you leaned over and said, ‘how do you like your first wrestling match?’ I was so happy I felt tears starting in my eyes, and then you up and hugged me. I think you could tell I was crying.”

“I could, but I didn’t want to say anything and ruin the moment.”

“Sometimes you just have to lie to Mom and Dad, just like we did last week. You know, I’m going to tell you something. Everybody in this neighborhood likes you, except for Mother and her followers.”

“Isn’t your mother and her followers practically everybody?”

“Exactly my point. In fact, there’s a popular front against you. Mother formed it last night, and it’s made up of her circle of so-called friends, lovers, and their envious wives.”

“Guess I deserve it.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. But I don’t feel the way Mother does. If you ask me, I think you’re all right.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve always had a lot of fun talking to you. You know, you’re not such an ogre after all, no matter what they say.”

“In fact, I have a couple good qualities if you look deep.”

“You certainly do. You’re very understanding and you like Fanny and Dad. That definitely shows a lot of character. I wouldn’t be surprised if we became more than good friends after a while.”

I’ve felt like a shook-up can of nerves ever since. I hope we have a chance to talk again before I explode.

December 1935

Mother wasn’t home, something about doing some Christmas shopping, so Jim made an excuse and came into the house today. He came into my room and said he had a note for me from Fanny, just something to get past Soames. I told Soames I could manage from there and dismissed him, and then Jim and I were left alone. But everything was...different. He was sitting at my desk chair while I sat on my bed. He wouldn't look at me. Finally I asked him what was going on. He said he felt like he’d done something wrong that night in the city, that I must think... But I said no, there was nothing wrong. I just wanted to say... But I couldn’t find the words. I felt like I was going to cry, but I wasn't sad. He got up and sat next to me on the window seat. I looked at him. “Jim... do you...think...you could ever...” And that’s when he kissed me. A kiss should be the simplest thing in the world. Not this gentle stirring, like wind through the underside of leaves, inexorable as the glacier grinding behind us. So hot and yet it doesn’t scorch. No, with every breath, with every touch, his kiss carves.

January 1936

It’s different now. I mean, we still see each other all the time like before. But now when no one else is around...well, you know. So you COULD say we’re dating. But it’s secret. Secret dating? I don’t know. I mean I guess that’s the real difference: Now, when we get off the phone, or go home for the night...or it’s just quiet and we’re alone...we say, “I love you.”

March 1936

Mother’s birthday is next Thursday, the 12th. Instead of celebrating on the day, she’s hosting a birthday ball at the house this Saturday. Probably to ensure she’ll have the largest turnout possible. She’s invited everyone, even me and Fanny. Weird that she sent for us so she could tell us this HERSELF instead of having Soames, Clinton, or Manby do it for her. Even weirder is that she wants either of us there. Surely she wouldn’t want us, reminders of Father, to be there? I was expecting her to ask us to go to the theater again or make some other excuse to get us out of the house so that we wouldn’t take any attention off of her. Heaven forbid one of us talks to a man for more than five minutes while she’s in the same room. We’re her daughters, yet we’re seen as competition to her. Normally whenever she sent for us, she recited the same script along the lines of, “I wanted to explain to you and your sister, Fanny... l’m giving a dinner party on Thursday for some very old friends of mine. And I’m sure it would be a frightful bore for both of you. You understand? Why don’t the two of you go to the theater? I hear there are some very good plays now.” and we’d take that as our cue to make ourselves scarce. We’d always say, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course we do. All right, Mother.” After all, I reasoned that Mother, who considered herself a very sensible woman, was soon going to have a fiftieth birthday, and on reaching so conspicuous, so sobering landmark in one's life, what more natural than to hark back and rummage, and what more inevitable, directly one rummaged, than to come across Father? Perhaps it was the highly unpleasant birthday looming so close that set her off in these serious directions.

“Good morning, Mother.”

“Good morning, girls. Come in. What sweet dresses.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You don’t think, perhaps, they’re a little old for you?”

“You sent for us, Mother?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I wanted to explain to you, girls...l’m giving a birthday ball on Saturday for myself and some very close friends of mine. And I’d like you and your sister to attend.”

“Would you really, Mother?”

“Yes, very much. A lot of my friends have sons and daughters that are around your age. It’d do you both some good to mingle a little, make friends. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course we do.”

“Mother, do I really have to go? There’ll be all those people,” you asked, your voice laced with anxiety.

“Oh, it would hurt my feelings if you stay in your room or go elsewhere. Besides, dear, you must learn not to be afraid of people.”

March 1936

St. Mary’s is an old school and very well respected. Though Mother didn’t care for it. She wouldn’t, even if it was where Georgia O’Keeffe herself learned to paint. I teach nice young ladies to paint. What could be more respectable? I only kept it a secret because I knew she’d be angry and/or disappointed. She found out about it the same afternoon as Uncle George, so she thought my contempt for them both was at least consistent. But I don’t have contempt for anyone. “George, why didn’t you stop her?” she asked, to which he asked in return, “Me? What could I have done?” It doesn’t seem to bother Uncle George that I teach at the school, or Fanny. Mother tried to tell me that the people in charge at the school feel sorry for me, that’s all. She’s wrong. Not everyone is as cruel and mean-spirited as her. I said as much. “Is it cruel to mind it when you stamp on our name and drag it in the mud? Now, get out of my way!” she huffed, and stormed off. Neither I nor Uncle George made a move to stop her. She just needed time to cool off and get used to the idea. I suppose in any other circumstance, I’d have to drop it. But I won’t. I’ve given my word to the headmistress, and I’m not going to break it. Things may be uncomfortable, but so what? I won’t be put in a cage! Soames came in and asked if everything was all right. He heard our shouting, which is unusual in this house. It... It was unusual, yes. But every now and then, I wonder if it isn’t good to shout a little and let off steam.

“Masters, when you’ve finished unloading, run down to the school and remind my daughter that we expect her here for dinner. And tell her I mean it. Really. She’s working herself to death like a canary in a coal mine.”

“I think she enjoys it though.”

Fanny turned around to put him in his place. “Please tell her to come home in time to change.”

Jim nodded grimly and returned to the car.

“I can’t possibly come! Really, Mother is incorrigible!”

“It’s not poor Masters’ fault.”

“But what is the point of Mother’s soirees? What are they for?”

“Well, I’m going out for dinner tonight and I’m glad. Is that wrong?”

The sudden act of courtesy was enough to leave me frozen. But to think of it, a self-conscious beauty queen like her would love showing off how ‘tolerant' she could be. I learned that very often the most intolerant and narrow-minded people are the ones who congratulate themselves on their tolerance and open-mindedness. I’d prefer celebrating quietly with her in her room, but since the party is practically being held for her and she is my mother, I thought it would be somewhat rude of me to not be there. Maybe I can use this birthday party as an opportunity to sneak away out the back door and spend more time with Jim. He has been nothing but sweet on me since Mother hired him, so the least I could do is show up, make my rounds of saying hello and exchanging pleasantries and engaging in idle chitchat with a few of the guests, then make my move. It’s not like anyone would miss me. I know Mother especially wouldn’t. Maybe…just maybe I could even piss Mother off if I manage to strike conversation with Jim. A Skeffington spending the entire evening with the chauffeur? Mother would be beside herself, fuming about how I mess up her ecosystem. No peer pressure, Miss Skeffington. Just clean drinks and hopefully some casual talk with Jim. What could possibly go wrong?

You finished your hair as Fanny entered.

“Mother said you were honoring us with your presence at dinner.”

“It’s easier there in the school. And I can always get changed back into my painting clothes if I need to. This stuck-up thing. Oh, dear. It shows.”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll blend it right in. I can do it with just a few strokes of the brush. Splendid. I’ll stick to every chair in the place.”

“I thought if I pinned this bow over it—”

“A bow? There?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but you’ll just have to sit on it.”

“Sit all evening?”

“You could stand if you’d keep your back to the wall.”

“You’d better hurry, girls,” your mother said as she came in to check on you. “Guests are arriving.”

“Oh... Oh, how I hate to be elegant.”

“Oh, how I detest rude, unladylike girls.”

“And I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits.”

“Oh, the dress is lovely, darling. Just lovely.”

“Oh, thank you, Mother, for letting me wear your velvet and pearls.”

“They’re old, but you’re young and very pretty.”

“Oh, thank you, Mother. Well, my shoes are too tight, and I have nineteen hairpins sticking in my hair and a curling iron burn mark on the back of my dress, and I feel dreadful.”

“Where are your gloves?”

“Here. They’re stained with lemonade. I don’t think I’d better wear them.”

“Why, you must. You can tell a lady by her gloves.”

“Not this lady.”

“A lady barehanded? You have to have gloves. You can’t dance without them.”

“Ha! I can’t dance and keep a back to the wall anyway. I’ll crumple them up in my hand.”

“At least wear one of my nice ones and carry one of your ruined ones.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Don’t stretch it. Your hands are bigger than mine. Don’t eat too much. Wait until you’re asked. Don’t be afraid, darling. Have you and Fanny got clean handkerchiefs? And don’t put your hands behind your back or stare. Don’t stride about or swear. Don’t use slang words, darling. Vulgarity is no substitute for wit, and wit is very fashionable at the moment.”

“All right.”

“And please don’t talk about Europe all the time. And especially don’t mention Cascade. You’ll embarrass me and yourself.”

Though she didn’t bring it up by name, I could tell she was referring to that infamous dinner party, when my unpleasant characteristics became especially evident, where I, unknowingly to myself, embarrassed her by singing and playing badly. I was only a child then, and was regarded as the plain-looking sister. Though much more sensible than my mother, I was still considered to be very silly by her peers. Despite the fact that my father was studious and once described as the most accomplished in the neighborhood, I lacked genius and taste.

“And stop whistling. It’s so boyish.”

“That’s why I do it.”

“I just want to make things easier for you.”

“For me or for you?”

“Don’t disappoint me, darling. Not now that you’re here.”

“Not to worry, Mother. I’ll be prim as a dish. Let’s be elegant or die!”

“Oh, so boyish.”

“Mother, you’re perfect.”

“Oh, thank you, darling. And you. Aren’t you the pretty one? Walk toward me, darling, that I may appraise you. Go on. Walk to me. Stand up straight. Turn around. Shh. Mm, yes. Oh, it’s quite as I expected,” she said. “You know, you’re very tall for your age.”

“Really? But, Mother, I’m nearly... Well, yes, perhaps I am.”

She placed her hand under your chin to cup your face. “You possess a woman's chin. Skin is a little dull. Have you not noticed? Observe her mouth, Fanny. And as for you, darling, now that you turn up your hair, you should realize you’re a young lady. My daughter...a woman. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’s going to be a stunning woman, don’t you think, Fanny?”

“Yes, she’s going to be.”

“I’m not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it down or in two tails till I’m ninety. I won’t grow up and be Miss Skeffington. I won’t wear long gowns and look like a China aster. Oh, I’ll never get over my disappointment of not being a boy, and look at me! I’m dying to go and fight like Father did in the last war. Fine soldier I’d make. And here I am sitting and knitting like a poky old woman.”

“Knitting. Bless me. Poor you. Almost a lady. You must spend less time with the neighbor boys, and more time with me.”

You’ll never guess who I bumped into as I left the party that night. Oh, Fanny, it was meant to be. It was so perfect. There I was, weeping on the terrace, and there he was, Jim. He waited outside so he could give me some time without going too far.

Jim heard heels clicking on the garage floor and glanced up from the car engine. He did a double take as he saw you in your evening gown. You tilted your head shyly, waiting for him to say something. It was the first time you wore a dress since you were a baby.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“You look very fine.”

“Everything I own is trousers and shorts. Too boyish, according to Mother. Usually if I have to wear a dress or a skirt, Fanny lends me something. Mother lent me this dress from her season before the previous war. It’s very old, but she wants me to try to wear it out. If you ask me, it’s already there. Yards of fabric and I still feel naked.”

Jim continued to check you out.

“Where have you been all day?”

“Nowhere. I’ve just been busy.”

“I thought you were avoiding me.”

Jim walked purposefully forward. “Of course not.”

“But you haven’t come up with an answer yet, have you?”

Jim ducked his head and stared at the floor. “Not yet, I’m afraid. I know you want to see the world and play your part in its troubles, and I respect that, but… I have a lot weighing on my mind, and I need to sort it out before I can make a decision about us just yet. It won’t be long until I give you an answer. So, will you wait?”

“I’d wait forever.”

“I’m not asking for forever. Just a few more weeks. Darling, there’s something you should kn—”

“I’ve been thinking about us lately. Of course, I don’t want Mother to know that I deserted her so quickly so, if anybody’s around, you don’t mind if I act sort of cool and distant? To keep up appearances. Do you know how it is?”

“I certainly do. I understand perfectly.”

“Why are you smiling? I thought you’d be angry.”

“Because that’s the first time you’ve ever spoken about ‘us’.” Jim smiled with a sigh of relief and leaned forward to kiss you, but you held back.

“Yes, you can kiss me, but that is all until everything is settled.”

“For now, God knows, it’s enough that I can kiss you. The rest will be worth waiting for.”

You smiled at his reply and shared a kiss.

“In the meantime, you act as snippy as you like toward me so your mother and everyone else will think the front is still on.”

“Good. We’ll just act as if we never had that talk or shared that kiss. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean.”

“This can be good enough for us. It has to be good enough for us. I envy you. I feel so flat after the rush and bustle of the last two or three years. They were all sighing for the old days at dinner, but all I could do was think about how I wish everything could’ve gone back to the way it was in Europe, about how much more I want from life now than I did then. I wish I knew how an engine worked, for example.”

“I can teach you, if you like. But it’s very late. I think you’d better go back inside now, sweetheart.”

“Oh, please. Please, I can’t go back inside. It's dull as tombs in there. This is by far the most boring party I’ve been to in the last seven or eight years. Every time I go to one of these, l ask myself: What the hell am I doing here? I hate cocktail and dinner parties and all the schmoozers that come here.”

“Well, it’s a chance for all those people who admire your work to meet you.”

“No one gives a damn about art. All they care about is how much money they're gonna make out of it. They’re here for Mother and only Mother.”

“Are you sure it’s not too chilly for you out here?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Won’t she and the others worry?”

“They’re all so excited, they won’t care where I am. Come on, let’s have a drink! All the excitement of this whole thing has made me thirsty, so I brought a little pick-me-up. Shall we have a nightcap?” You pulled out the bottle you had stashed and hid underneath your dress skirts. Dresses could have their usefulness, you supposed.

“Scotch, neat as usual?”

“No. Bourbon.”

“Okay! But you know what your doctor would say...”

“Yeah... Well, he can kiss my ass! I’m old enough to choose my own medication.” Forsaking a glass, you took a small sip straight from the bottle, not caring how unladylike it looked, and then passed it to Jim as you leaned against the hood of the car together. You looked up towards the night sky from the open garage door.

“Why the fuck did I come back here?”

“Here?” Jim was, of course, referring to the garage and looked around. “To…drink?” He took a drink and handed you the bottle back.

“Back to New York.” You took another sip. “I spent the first twelve years of my life trying to get out of this place. And I succeeded. I should’ve stayed in Guatemala even after that school program ended. Sure, they got volcanoes and kudamundis everywhere…”

“What’s a kudamundi?”

“It’s like a little raccoon thing. They get into shit. People hate them.”

Jim took a swig when you passed the bottle. Instead of passing it back, he held onto it. “So is that what drove you back to New York? Kudamundis? Up in your shit?”

“No. It was the unrest in Germany. Dad thought maybe Fanny and I’d better come back here to Mother. We wrote her we were coming, from Berlin. But she never received the letters. I guess the censors must have confiscated them. We wrote her what we thought about the Nazis.”

“The Nazis. Yes, of course. Did your father come with you? I haven’t seen him, so I did wonder…”

“No. He’s still in Berlin. The Nazis don’t frighten him, but they frighten us, so...”

“So here you both are.”

“Here we are. It’s not at all the way I pictured it. It’s been done over, hasn’t it? Fanny and I were the last people Mother was expecting to see. Fanny…” you grabbed the bottle from him and took a long swig. “She’s the good one. When we were twelve, she got this binder where she planned out her whole life, and I swear to God, she’s going to stick to it. Bullet point by bullet point. Job, husband, house, kid. And when one sister is so on top of her game, it almost demands the other become a fuck-up, right?”

“What is ying without yang?”

“That’s how I see it. In Europe, she was off, doing life. And I was doing…something else. Backpacking, mostly. Surfing couches. Bumming around.”

“You did good getting off that boat when you did. St. Louis is dull as dishwater.”

“Jim, do you ever think of the old days there in Wakeforte Park?”

“Now and then, in the shower or in the car.”

“I felt quite at home there. More than I do here. Even back in New York, Fanny and I… We’re still like we were when we were kids. She will invite me places every once in a while. For the big events. Wedding. Baby shower. I’ll always say, ‘Sorry, sis. I’ll get the next one.’ But I never attend any of them. Too awkward. Too ashamed.” You took another swig. “I came back for Dad, and I’m staying for Dad. It’s weird living in someone else’s shadow. When the light shines on your life for the first time, it doesn’t look too good. Here I am. Nearing twenty. No roots anywhere. Except New York. So I figure I’ll make something of myself. I apply for college, hoping I can enroll somewhere to get a degree, then I tried to enlist in the war effort by applying to every branch and organization that accepts women... I wanted to do something my dad would be proud of… but I got rejected by all of them…” You trailed off and nearly fell asleep on your feet. Jim had to steady you before you collided face-first with the concrete floor of the garage.

“Um... You probably had enough to drink for tonight. A bit too much. My darling, you must be very weary to have drank so much. I’ll get you some water, help you to your room…”

“No, I can’t go to bed. Not yet.”

“You must, darling. I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?” His words had your attention for about three seconds, but you turned towards the sound of the front door opening. “There’s Mother and Manby now. Must be time for cake and presents. I better get out of here.”

“Let me walk you to the door at least.”

“It’s not that far. I can make it. Goodnight, Jim.”

“Goodnight.” He then stopped you for a moment so he could whisper in your ear, “And I give you leave to look in at me whenever you like.”

After you went inside with your mother, Manby walked towards Jim with a raised eyebrow. “I guess that irresistible charm of yours didn’t work on Miss Skeffington.”

“I’m saving it for you, Manby.”

March 1936

Oh, man… everything’s gone wrong! All my senses are screaming in pain. I don’t even remember drinking that much booze! Am I really such a lightweight? I had a tray sent to my room and slept in, but the pain only escalated the moment I came down after breakfast and Jim asked me, “Are you feeling okay?” No, I was not okay, and WHY IS JIM ASKING ME THIS? Did I do something to him?? It’s so unfair how because he’s a man and his body is built differently, he has a higher tolerance for alcohol than I do. He drank more than I did, but isn’t affected by it at all! According to Jim, I went from being quiet to crazy-happy and cute (his words, not mine) real quick. I was so close to being the center of the party that he had to bring me back to my room when Mother asked him to. We went upstairs to my bedroom and I wanted to wait it out, to make my triumphant return to Jim after Mother’s friends had left and everyone had retired for the night and fallen asleep. But my body had other plans, because I fell asleep minutes after my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even bother to change out of Mother’s dress and pearls. Why can’t I remember any of this??? Congrats, Miss Skeffington! You’ve reached a new low in life! Shit, is this how I die? I sincerely asked Jim if there was a good place to kill myself before I died of embarrassment. He said, “Maybe now would be a good time to show you my other secret hideout. Consider it an early birthday present,” since I passed the test by showing the whole room of Mother’s admirers and “friends” a different me. Is he seriously going to take me to another secret hideout of his?? I’m going to the Red Fern Gardens, the so-called most romantic place in New York with Jim (according to him). There’s something in my head that’s keeping me awake. And it’s not the hangover.

March 1936

Oh my god! Jim actually took me to the Red Fern Gardens. The hideout he mentioned was on a hill and had a wonderful view of the city. The whole place under the golden sunset. The best part of this spot was that it is quite hidden and unsafe. You could easily roll down the hill if you are careless or drunk, and no one could find you for days (how awesome is that?). Luckily, enough time had passed and most of the Bourbon had left our systems. I could tell the worst of its effects had worn off, but I still felt a lingering tingle or warmth in my blood. But being drunk in that wonderful moment didn't cause any accident, though. We sat there for less than an hour but it felt like an eternity. I can't even remember what we talked about. I do remember, saying how beautiful The Red Fern Gardens are and Jim being all indifferent about it. I guess you can get fed up with views like this too. There’s a motel nearby, so we have decided to make it our secret hideout from now on. That’ll turn it from something ordinary to something really special. Mother is uninterested in me, which should keep Jim and I safe. She won’t ever know that we are secretly meeting.

Today’s only regret is that I failed to bring the true essence of the Red Fern Gardens back with me (Photography can only capture so much. There’s so much more that can be seen with the human eye). At least the close up shot of Jim was not half as bad. When I came back down from the hill, it became clear that my life just became a bit more messed up now. I know because I really want to talk to Jim again soon. I know I promised myself to stay away from people, stay away from the drama. But when I look at Jim, when he talks to me, it feels like, maybe, just maybe it’s okay to have a little drama for myself. I'm not ready to define what this feeling is, but for now, I’m going to label it as ‘looking for a hand to hold' and just shove it under my bed just like the pictures I took. Help me get to sleep quickly today, Diary.

March 1936

Mother passed the crisis last night. Manby called Henri’s Beauty Salon to get Mother everything she’d… ”need”. He’s very familiar with Mother’s hair, so he’s made wigs for her. He’s also given her a face pack, muscle oil, wrinkle cream, tissue builder, massage cream, eyelashes, and astringent. She’s home now. She looks so…so…different.

“That must be Mother now.”

“Welcome home, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Thank you, Clinton.”

“Darlings. Fanny, dear.”

“Hello, Mother.”

“Georgie, I had no idea that you were here. You know, it's heavenly to be back home again. Manby, shouldn't you go and see that the luggage is taken care of?”

“Yes, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Georgie. This is such an unexpected pleasure.”

“Fanny, my dear.”

“Welcome home, Mother.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll have some tea, Mother.”

“Oh, I think that would be delightful. Oh, this looks so cheerful after that depressing rest home.”

“Notice how Fanny arranged the flowers?”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Fanny. They’re perfectly lovely.”

“Sit here, Mother. Let me help you with your coat.”

“All right. You know, I’m not really such an invalid. Well, wasn’t it just like me to contract a child’s disease? Georgie, I look dreadful, don’t I?”

“Fanny, you could never look anything but adorable.”

“You’re lying. I know perfectly well how I look. But after a few weeks' rest I’ll be quite recovered.”

“Of course you will.”

“Henri saved my life. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He’s so clever. Of course, here I am, chattering on about myself. Fanny, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, nothing very much, Mother.”

“Have you seen Johnny Mitchell?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him.”

“How is he?”

“Oh, he’s just fine.”

“And what are you up to, darling?”

“Nothing much. Drawing and photographing. I don’t have time to get up to anything else.”

“Only, Fanny and I were talking about you. You know, the other day.”

“Oh?”

Your sister looked at you, just as caught off-guard as you were. She hadn’t spoken to your mother once throughout her illness. From across the couch, she looked at you with wide confused eyes and mouthed, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you see, sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren’t quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we’ve all done it. I just want you to be on your guard.”

“Appropriate for whom?”

“Well, don’t jump down my throat, dear. I’m only offering friendly advice.”

“Darling, I never said anything to Mother, honestly.”

“I believe you, Fanny. How could you have done? She didn’t want any visitors. But why did she suddenly start talking about inappropriate friendships out of nowhere? Could she be hallucinating?”

“She thinks you must have a beau, and if we don’t know about him, then you have to be keeping him secret. It’s just Mother being Mother. Don’t make such a thing of it.”

“Fanny, you know how Mother is not exactly... super open-minded about things. It feels like every minute I don’t spend with Jim, I spend worrying about her finding out about us. And what would happen if she did...”

April 1936

I don’t get it. Why would Mother suddenly forbid me to be around Jim? Is it because he’s not rich? Or because of our age difference? Is that why she also forbade us from seeing each other? Mother is so judgmental and hypocritical! She doesn’t want me to be near Jim, saying that I should find someone who is closer to my age and of the same class as me. What does that even mean?? Who determines what class Jim is in? Did she find out about us? Does she know we’re in love? Did she talk to her friends? Did those odious women say something to her and get into her head? Jim didn’t say anything to me about it. Maybe he doesn’t love me anymore? Or maybe he doesn’t know about what Mother said yet? I feel so confused.

I’m not too young. You’re just jealous and angry. You’re so accustomed to hogging all the men, but now that they’ve all left you with no thought to return, you can’t stand seeing me happy and in love with a man of my own choosing. If you can’t have a man who loves you, I can’t either, Mother? Is that it? This is all your fault. Everything. You're a heartless bitch. You STOLE my only friend from me, my place in this world, ALL of it. And you don’t even care. I’m invisible to you. I fucking HATE you. You’re not talented! You’re not special! You wasted your life away, and then came out of nowhere, suddenly decided you wanted to try your hand at parenting and ruined EVERYTHING! FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF FUCK OFF!!! Get the fuck out of my life, you puffy, over-perfumed PRIMADONNA!!

I hate Mother for trying to stop me from seeing Jim. And I hate her even more for going so far as to drag John into it. John doesn’t deserve to be mixed up in this mess that she’s created. None of us do. She must be out of her damn mind if she thinks I’ll ever walk down the aisle or say “I do”. My engagement with John is just for show. I know it, John knows it, Jim knows it, and Mother knows it. When I mentioned to Jim that she seems to be really bothered by the name Nan or Nancy, he tensed up. I could tell by the way his hands gripped the steering wheel and flexed. When I asked if he knew her, he told me he did, and that he’d tell me about her and about himself, but not now, not in the car. It’s a conversation that requires the both of us sitting down. I let the subject drop for now. Nothing he could tell me could stop me from loving him.

Jim was there. He’s always been there. When you cut your knee from falling out of a tree, when you sobbed at night in a room you didn’t recognize, and when…you kissed him in the garage during her birthday party. You had no interest in men whatsoever and suddenly now you’re staying out late into the wee hours of the morning with a man more than twice your age?? That moment, Fanny got tired of doing nothing. You were in trouble. Jim was not for you. She didn’t know how to explain it, but…his presence here added to his enchantment. Somehow you thought your father’s charm glowed in him. It wasn’t George’s fault, but his stamp of approval was on Jim. If he stayed here, you’d run off with him, she was sure. And then he’d do to you just what he did to his first wife. Somewhere out there, there was Nan, Fanny thought, another woman who felt like she did that day she discovered Job’s infidelity with his secretaries. Nan was young and stupid when she married Jim and when she divorced him. It happens. She’s not the first girl to have been taken in by words that evaporated as soon as they were said, but it still hurt Fanny to see you, her daughter, potentially put yourself in the same situation. Did you even know about his past? Could you even begin to comprehend what life was like for Nan and those four girls after he scooted off? Jim was the cause of that woman's anguish. What do you—

She was sure you were headed for the same misery even now she couldn’t bring myself to describe, and you would assuredly wind up with a broken heart yourself because of him if you carried on as you’ve been doing. Fanny knew she couldn’t prevent that and, if Jim were to break your heart, you might not be as strong to cope with it as Nan was. But if your heart was to be broken, it wouldn't be because of her. She’d do the pleading now with Jim. If he really loved you like he said he did, he had to leave. Leave, and never come back. Only then you would know your place. It was looking more and more like George might’ve been right. She had to invite Jim herself. As you and Manby were downstairs in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a meal that you would undoubtedly take most of the credit for, Fanny knew she had to make the best of it. You were all going to have a wonderful dinner, and you would appreciate what she had done, even if you didn't know the half of it.

“Masters— that is, Jim... I must see you. Will you come to the house tonight? You needn’t stay but ten minutes. I must talk to you.”

“Anything wrong, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. Could you come over for dinner tonight?”

“Whose invitation? Yours or your daughter’s?”

“Mine this time. Say, seven o’clock?”

“All right.”

“Good.”

As soon as Jim set the phone down, he heard a knock at the door. Who could that be? It couldn’t possibly be you, and you were the only person he would’ve expected. When he looked into the peephole, he was taken aback and took several steps backward. What was she doing here? He hadn’t seen her since… He thought that maybe if he didn’t answer, she would go away. But when she continued her persistent knocking after a few minutes of silence, he was proven wrong. It seemed that she would wait him out, no matter how long it took. Having no other possible escape route and no other choice, he took a deep breath and braced himself before opening the door.

“Hello, Jim.” She stepped past him into the room. Jim said nothing as she looked around, only stared at her in silent astonishment, disbelieving that she of all people was really there. “You’re awfully quiet, which is so unlike you. Don't you recognize me, Jim? Look hard. Look into my eyes. You called them the most beautiful you'd ever seen once, a long time ago.”

“I’m afraid you’re making a mistake.”

“No, Jim.”

“My name is—”

“Don’t pretend. I know who you are.”

“And who am I?”

“You’re Jim Masters, My ex-husband.”

“Your ex-husband? My dear woman, Perhaps if you’ll tell me who you’re looking for…”

“Oh, stop it. I saw the picture In the newspaper announcing Miss Skeffington’s engagement to Sir John Talbot. But I couldn’t help but notice you in the background, looking at the couple, or more specifically, her, your eyes filled with jealousy and longing and…something else I dare not name.”

“Nan. What are you doing here? You’re an awfully long way from California if you’ve only come to see me.”

“I had to come to see if it was true. It is.”

“What are you talking about? What’s true?”

“I can’t explain it. I only know it’s happened.”

“What’s happened? Nan, what are you implying?”

“You’re going to marry someone else, and leave her, just like the way you left me.”

“Oh, Nan. Nan. You misunderstand. We’re not—”

“Jim, it’s wrong. You can’t go on hurting people.”

“Nan—”

“I can’t let you marry her, Jim.”

“Nan! Would you just listen to me for a second? I know what you must be thinking but, as I said before, you misunderstand. Miss Skeffington and I aren’t getting married. Not anytime soon, at least.”

“You’re not? But you love her.”

“Yes. And she loves me.”

“And you want to be with her.”

“Yes. And she wants to be with me.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“Nan, this is hardly the time and place—”

“No. You must have something in mind. Otherwise you would not be conspiring to run away with her.”

“How do you know about that? Who told you?”

“Nobody. I just know you, Jim. It’s the kind of person you are. Flighty, running away from responsibilities… So what will you do to make a living? Do you think you’ll go on ringing doorbells trying to sell streamline refusCans and she will wait till you’ve scraped enough pennies together so you can be married?”

“If you must know, yes, we do have a plan. I’ve got a job on a paper. I’m a journalist now, but I’m not a fool. I’ve got brains. I could go into business. She could pursue her art career and work on commissions, sell sketches and paintings for money. She could have everything she wanted.”

“Young men’s talk. Oh, you would still want to give her those things. But you don’t know Mrs. Skeffington if you think she’d let you do it.”

“Of course she wouldn’t want me to run away with her daughter. Would you, if you were in her shoes?”

“No.”

“I’ll stay here at the inn until she’s ready to make her departure. I don’t want to cause her unnecessary stress by pressuring her to get a move on. She has important matters to attend to involving her family and Sir John Talbot. Loose ends to tie up.”

“Loose ends to tie up or ties to sever?”

“Nan, don’t be cruel. You can insult me all you want, I know I deserve it and more after everything I put you through. But don’t insult Miss Skeffington’s intelligence and independence by insinuating that she has no idea what she’s getting herself into. She may not be very book smart, but she’s an emotionally intelligent woman who can make up her own mind. She’s not a mindless doll to be molded into what I want her to be, only to get thrown away as soon as I get bored of her. I’m many things, I’ll admit it, but I’m not her puppetmaster, stringing her along and playing with her feelings. I’m not manipulating her thoughts or actions in any way, shape, or form. She knew very well the risks of carrying on with me. It took a long time, but eventually we built trust between each other and finally there came a day when I felt I could tell her everything. So I did. About you, about our daughters, about what my lifestyle has been for the past twenty years, what a life with me would truly entail. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I urged her to think through the implications, and I gave her all the time she needed. She listened intently the entire time. She thought about it long and hard and, in the end, she realized the pros far outweighed the cons. She’s made her choice. I did nothing to sway her one way or the other. So don’t for a second imply that I’m forcing her to give up her family. If they want to cut her off, that’s their decision. It’s not her doing, it’s not her fault. Nor is it mine. I know nothing I can say can convince you of my sincerity. To you, I’m a monster. But to her, and to myself, I’m a man. I’m just a man who’s in love and who is loved in return. Everything I feel for her, and everything she feels for me, is genuine. As soon as she comes to me, as soon as she lets me know she’s ready, we’ll go.”

“Go where?”

“I don’t know yet. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure that out when we get there. The point is, we’ll be together.”

“So she’ll live with you? Unmarried?”

“Sure, why not? Nan, we’re not in the 1920’s anymore. The world has changed. People have changed. Many unmarried couples live together nowadays and nobody bats an eye at them. It’s much more practical, and not just from a financial standpoint. Don’t go clutching your pearls and acting aghast as if it’s too scandalous of a prospect. Many couples do it now as a sort of compatibility test, to see if they can actually stand living together before marriage. I’d never do anything to jeopardize Miss Skeffington’s reputation or put a black mark on her.”

“But this plan of yours… The worst of it is, you’d never know her disappointment. She’d never reproach you by a word or a look. But you’d always know what you’ve done to her life and so would she.”

“Well, let’s look at the other side of the picture, Nan. You say I can’t be with her. I’ll get over that, I suppose. But what about her? She gets excited about all my crazy dreams, but what happens to her dreams?”

“Well, you can run away if you want to. But listen, Jim. You couldn’t make her or anybody else happy. Do you know why? Because there’s only one thing in this world you’re good at. And that’s making people miserable.”

“Ahh. Don’t give me any of that paper cover philosophy. You listen to me. I quit selling whale’s teeth because of her. I wear ties because of her. I watch my English because of her. Well, look, I even went to work because of her. She has reformed me, and I’m not giving her up. Thank you for coming, Nan. Though I wish your visit had been under different circumstances, it’s good to see you. And thanks for all the things you didn’t say. You might’ve pointed out the beautifully poetic justice of a man deserting his family twenty years ago and being deserted by them in turn. Or you might’ve thrown together a few matsims, sins cast upon the waters, coming home to roost. Or you might merely have reminded me this is my past catching up with me. A final accounting. A case of delayed bookkeeping. You might’ve said all these things. But you didn’t. I don’t know if my prayers get much attention in Heaven, but they’re not just for Miss Skeffington. Of course, I thank God every day for how He made her, but I still have prayers for you and Sam, and the girls and their families. But I think it’s best you leave now. As much as I’d love to stay to chat and reminisce on our shared past and what we used to be, I have an engagement this evening.”

“What sort of engagement?”

“I have been invited to dinner by Mrs. Skeffington. Goodbye, Nan. I’ll give your regards to Chief Mahabu when Miss Skeffington and I are on the other side of the world.”

Instead of driving to the Skeffington residence, Jim instead opted to walk there. It wasn’t very far from the hotel, and Nan’s unexpected visit, though he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was right in her arguments, had still managed to shake him up. Though he hated to admit it, he was having second thoughts and could use the air to clear his head. But while he was walking, he could see a group of women up ahead, a circle of friends no doubt gossiping amongst themselves as he passed by them. Janie Clarkson was among them, and she had her legs crossed and was tapping her fingers on the armrest of the porch swing she was sitting on. Her hair was even neater than usual and her dress was new. She looked up from her magazine, smiling in that tense way she did when she was about to vent. She put her magazine down gently and smiled just the same way she did for her friends. They never knew the difference, but Jim did. 
“Did you hear about Rodger?” she began, her attempt to keep things light already waning. 
“Oh, no. What about him?” Mrs. Ridgefield took another sip of her coffee, trying not to lose all of her lipstick on the rim.
“He got his PhD last week, he called me, all excited. Those three letters just mean he wasted three years of his life and is massively in debt.” Then, despite the rising tension in her voice, she snickered. “What a fool, eh?”
Mrs. Ridgefield pursed her lips. She'd known Rodger a good deal longer than Janie and he'd always been a sweetheart. Not her type, but as far as friends went, he was a keeper.

With no other alternate route available to him to avoid the women, Jim squared his shoulders and kept walking forward towards the Skeffington residence, straight into Janie’s line of sight. As expected, as soon as she and her friends noticed him, she, though she didn’t greet him with so much as a “hello” or “good evening”, changed the subject to him. She was none too subtle as she purposefully spoke at a volume that let Jim know she wanted him to hear her conversation.

“Look, Gladys, Sir John Talbot is being announced.”

“He would be punctual.”

“That’s his car. Isn’t it a beauty?”

“It looks paid for. I’d still like a white horse.”

“Gee, Vera, an open car. It will muss Miss Skeffington’s hair up every which way.”

“No, it won’t. If she’s sensible, she’ll wear a scarf.”

“Well, what do you think of that man of hers? Miss Skeffington’s friend who's coming for dinner, Mr. Masters?”

“I’ve heard about him.”

“You have? I see. And have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, I have. I think— Never mind. I’ll be quiet again.”

“I don’t like the way my color looks plain. Has anybody got a bright red lipstick? Mine’s grown anemic.”

“Here, I believe this is for the lips. Make yourself beautiful for Alan.”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Maybe I better blacken out a couple of teeth. Now what do you think of him?”

“We all know what to think of him. The problem is how to get rid of him.”

“Why? Is he staying? Say, Fanny isn’t going soft on him, is she?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t say a word about doing such a thing.”

“But Fanny must be planning to accept him, make him one of the family.”

“You’re talking nonsense. Miss Skeffington is engaged to Sir John Talbot.”

“Do you think Mr. Masters is interested in her too?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Instinct.”

“Fanny’s also got it into her head that he’s interested in her daughter.”

“Mr. Masters seems to like her enormously. I think he may be, but I question his motives. He hasn’t been here for a while, has he?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“And I know why.”

“Are you going to enlighten us?”

“She must be planning to dissolve her daughter’s engagement to Sir John in favor of Mr. Masters.”

“I’m not so sure. Miss Skeffington is determined on a love match for herself. She wants to be happy. But Fanny has big dreams for her daughter. If she was going to dissolve the engagement, why announce it tonight all of a sudden? She would never put Masters in the class with Sir John Talbot. She will be a very rich young woman with him. If I was in Fanny’s shoes, I would have felt very guilty selling Miss Skeffington to that Masters. She deserves better than a fortune hunter. Or shouldn’t I say that?”

“You can say it to us.”

“And if anyone plans to marry her for money, he’ll need much more to offer than Jim Masters.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I know his kind like a book. He’s the ‘I-sold-papers-when-I was-a-kid-now-look-at-me’, type. I’ve got Miss Skeffington’s type neatly cataloged, too. Any bets? At any birthday party, she’s the sort that always piped up with: ‘I-never-had-a-birthday party-or-got-a-present’. Isn’t that right?”

“From what I can find out, he must be a fine one. It was a pity he backed off when Fanny had that trouble with her illness.”

“Maybe he thought she’d be too busy to bother with him.”

“You mean he wasn’t sure she’d survive the scandal.”

“Why? What’s he done?”

“I heard he has a daughter by his former maid that he refuses to provide for. Sent the maid and the child away to fend for themselves and live off scraps before the girl even popped.”

“Who?”

“That Masters.”

“Ha! I didn’t know the old fusspot had a child. Was it really born out of wedlock?”

“Mm, that’s not true. You’re talking nonsense. That’s quite enough on the subject.”

“You really think Sir John Talbot is worthy of all this here fuss?”

“Why sure he is, honey-child. Sir John Talbot has got money and lots of it. What Fanny wanted when she married was butlers like the Rawlings, with servants to order around. Now she wants the same for her daughter.”

“Then why allow another man in the house? I know the choice of husbands is eccentric in that family. They already claimed a Jew and soon they can boast a chauffeur, but even so—”

“Did anyone notice his eyes? They’re rather nice. Blue.”

“What are you doing? Defending him? Give me a piece of tissue.”

“Just because I happened to say he had nice eyes. Read your history. Some of the foulest people had the nicest eyes.”

“Well, I noticed them. They’re only fair.”

“Besides, they’re not blue. They’re brown.”

“Well, you’re crazy. They’re blue—”

“Oh, why are you always—”

“Now wait a minute. We’re not getting any place. What we need is a plan in case he intends staying.”

“Why does he stay? A man who’s wandered around the world all his life. You’ve got too much powder.”

“Whether he plans to stay or not, we’ve got to get rid of that-that indescribable monster as soon as possible.”

“Right.”

“Now wait a minute. I’m still not trying to defend him, but after all, I don’t think we ought to call him an indescribable monster. We don’t really know him.”

“All right. If you want me to, I’ll describe him. But the hair will be blue.”

“I dislike him just as much as you all do, but didn’t he fight in the last war?”

“First he ran away from his family.”

“That's the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“They couldn’t trace him anywhere. When they did find him, he was in an army hospital, wounded. He’d joined up under another name and lied about his age.”

“How perfectly splendid.”

“All right. That entitles him to one more night’s lodging. That better?”

“Much better.”

“But if you ask me, he’s got to go.”

“We don’t need a definite plan. All we’ve got to do is show him that he’s not wanted. We’ll freeze him out.”

“Freeze him out? Not with a man who’s been to Siberia.”

“It’s agreed then. We’re to keep the popular front against him ongoing, with or without Fanny. And nobody weakens.”

“Nobody. Gladys?”

“Nobody.”

“And in case anybody does begin to feel sorry for him, remember our motto: He shall not pass.”

“Well, I should be off.”

Jim entered the drawing room purposefully. Everyone stared.

“Yes?”

You tensed in anticipation.

Jim looked at your mother. “I’m here.”

Your mother got up and walked over to Jim. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. We mustn’t worry Manby.”

“You’ve asked me to come, and I’ve come.”

“Would someone please tell me what is going on, or have we all stepped through the looking glass?”

“Your maid has as much right to know as anybody else.”

“Why don’t I find that reassuring?”

“Miss Skeffington. How well you look.”

“Er, John. This is Masters, our chauffeur. Masters, this is Sir John Talbot.”

“Hello, Sir John.”

“Hello, Mr. Masters. Miss Skeffington never told me you were coming.”

“I didn’t know he was.”

“Well, the thing is, I was driving down from Rye and I suddenly realized I’d be passing the neighborhood.”

“What were you doing in Rye?”

“Oh, I was doing various car things.”

“I see. How do you know Miss Skeffington, sir?”

“Well, I don’t. Not really. But, uh, I want to. Very much.”

“We cannot always have what we want,” your mother mumbled.

“Oh, Mother, John, Masters is teasing. You know, before he was our chauffeur, Masters was our neighbor.”

“Or at least, my grandfather was. I was saying to Miss Skeffington, we should all see more of each other.”

“Maybe. Have you brought a dinner jacket?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you were very well-equipped to do your ‘car things’ in Rye.”

As John and Jim talked amongst each other, you went over to your mother and pulled her aside, speaking in a hushed tone so the men wouldn’t hear. “Did you plan this?”

“I might have said if he was coming from Rye, then he’d be driving quite close.”

“Rye is an hour or more from here. Don’t think I’m amused. I dislike my hand being forced.”

“No one’s forcing anything.”

“Just send John away! As quick as you can. For all our sakes.”

Instead, she then turned towards Jim and John, and raised her voice to grab their attention. “Now you’re here, Sir John, I hope you’ll stay the night at least.”

“Perhaps John is in a hurry to get home.”

“No, no, I’m not.”

“It’s settled then. Clinton, will you please tell Manby to set up a room for Sir John and to set a place for Masters at the table? He’ll be joining us for dinner tonight. And ask someone to unpack for Sir John.”

“Don’t tell me that Manby is the cook again tonight, Mrs. Skeffington.”

“Indeed, and why not?”

“Well, I think it’s time that I tried Miss Skeffington’s cooking.”

“Don’t worry, you will. Well, shall we sit down?” you said. Once John and Jim went into the dining room, you turned to your mother and hissed under your breath through gritted teeth, “This is so precisely not the way to win me over!”

Dinner that evening was an uneventful and uncomfortable affair. Nobody remembered anything about it except that time seemed to slow down to an unbearable slog. It was so unbearable that you, sick and tired of putting on the pretense, snapped. Whatever you said didn’t matter. What mattered was that you openly displayed your frustration as you threw down your silverware with a loud, metallic clatter and abruptly scooted your chair back. It made an irritating squeak against the fine wooden flooring as you threw your napkin on your plate and left, retreating to your room. Your plate was barely touched but your wine glass was emptied. You were so stressed that you had no appetite and were afraid that eating more than three bites would cause you to be sick and throw it all back up.

[bettyweir]

Betty Weir

Chapter 3

Betty Weir and Erica Jones both got into the cheer team, and hang out at the mall together!

Word Count: 2.9k

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Benny raises his hand in class.

"Yes, Benny?" The tired teacher sighs.

"Could I go to the bathroom?" he sheepishly asks, ignoring the question written on the board.

She sighs again, "Yes, yeah, just hurry up."

"Thanks." He picks up the flimsy boy hallpass and rushes out the door.

Did he really have to use the restroom? No, not at all. Benny had something much more important in mind.

He arrives at the gym doors, trying not to be spotted by the practicing class inside. The cheerleading team tryout results are posted on the board. His finger slowly moves down the page as he scans the list of names. Nice Erica got in As he gets closer and closer to the bottom of the list, his heart starts to sink.

Please. please please please please.

His finger stops at the final name, Betty Weir. He taps the page triumphantly, a huge smile spreading across her face.

She reads the last little blurb on the page: First Practice Today after school.

She steps away from the paper and fidgets the blue hallpass in her hands as she heads back to class.

Today's a new day.

As the class packs their things, ready for the school bell to ring, Ethan nudges Benny.

"Hey, wanna play Nights of Ninjitu Four at my place?"

"Oh, I'd love to. But…"

"I promise I won't kick your butt too hard this time, come on!" Ethan offers, "You can even ban my main."

"Oof, that does sound really nice, but I already have plans." Benny looks around the room, avoiding Ethan's gaze.

Thankfully, the school bell rings.

"Aww, okay. Well, feel free to stop by later, if you want!" Ethan shouts, adjusting his backpack and heading into the crowd.

"Later, E!" He waves, hoping Ethan will see his hand over the masses of students.

He joins in the crowd to wiggle his way to the bathroom. He doesn't bother being sneaky since no one is ever in here this late.

At least, that's what he thought. As he heads into a stall, he sees Rory fumbling out of another.

"Shit, shit, shit! I'm gonna miss the bus!" He hisses as he furiously scrubs his hands in the sink.

"Rory, you can fly."

"Yeah, but I like my bus driver!" He frowns, ripping the papertowel dispenser several times, before rushing into the hall.

Benny shakes his head and laughs to himself over the interaction as he changes.

As Betty enters the gymnasium, she sees small groups of cheerleaders sitting around in the bleachers, mingling while they wait for their first cheer practice to start. Erica is sitting off to the side lines of the groups, and waves down Betty as soon as she sees her.

"Ohmygod, holy shit!" Erica smiles, "I'm so glad you got in!"

"Me too! I can't believe it." Betty genuinely didn't use a single magic trick this time, it was all her. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face. "We'll get to cheer together!"

"Augh, you're too cute." Erica gushes. She stands up and starts stretching her legs.

"Sooo, have you been in any sports before this?"

"Cheerleading's a sport. Ha." Betty catches the looks around her and quiets up, "Ah, I mean, it's totally a sport! But anyway, um, not really. I'm just a home body. What about you?"

Betty starts to join in on Erica's stretch routine, putting her hands on her hips so she can stretch her back.

"Ah, yeah, cheer's my first sport too," Erica says, then she makes a little smirk, "You just seemed a bit like you would've been a soft ball player."

"Huh? How?" Benny shoots up.

"Never mind." she shakes her head and looks over to their new coach.

"Congratulation ladies, every single one of you got in." the coach announces, "Pat yourself on the back."

Betty twists her arms behind her to reach her back, and Erica stops her.

"And now, I want you to all change, and do a lap around the track in the field."

The team groans.

"Told ya we'd need to stretch." Erica smiles to Betty.

"Uhuh. Well, I'm gonna head outside to start on that track, or do you want me to, uh, wait?"

"No, go ahead. I'll be right out."

Erica follows the rest of the girls into the changing room and leads herself far back into the curtains, before speeding out of the gym with vampiric super speed. Betty feels a gust of wind hit her skin as Erica stops right next to her.

"AHH!!" Betty jumps, but relaxes when she turns around to see Erica, "Oh. Hey, Erica. That was quick."

"Thank you."

They both wait for the coach to open the fenced gate to the field before starting into a light jog next to each other.

"So, what do you think about the running?"

"OOuuhgh." groans Betty.

"You know, if track gives you trouble, I know how to cheat it."

"Wait, really?" Betty says between gasps, "That'd be awesome!"

"Alright. But not now."

"Wha-" she pants, "Why?"

"Because Ms. Malanchie is staring right at us." Erica says, jogging slightly faster. "Next time."

"Ahh! Wait up!" Betty quickly follows behind her.

The group of girls slowly gather in a circle at the end after finishing their lap. Some girls continue stretching while others go on their phone.

Erica, remembering something, pipes up, "Oh, hey! Do you have any socials?"

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"Hello? It's the twenty-tens!" she laughs, "MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, Insta, Tumblr? Doesn't that ring a bell?"

"Yeah," Betty scratches her neck, "But I don't have anything like that. Um, you know how homeschooling is."

"Yea, I guess you'd only be friends with, like, your Grandma and your neighbors or something, haha."

"Yeah haha, totally only for losers."

Meanwhile, on Benny's desktop computer at home, it displays his Myspace profile and his only friends: Ethan, Rory, and Grandma.

"Wellll, now you have me!" Erica nudges, "And I'd totally give you a shoutout! You'll get tons of friends!"

"Awe, who would even wanna follow me?" Betty twirls her hair.

"Come on! Your a hot cheerleader that's single." Erica raises her brow a bit, hoping for a reaction.

"God, how can you tell I'm single? Am I just that bitchless?"

Erica laughs.

"Well, I think with some luck, you wouldn't be."

The coach blares her whistle.

"Alright, girls! Let's go over the basic routine."

As they get dismissed from practice, the herd of cheerleaders head to the locker room.

"So, Betty…" Erica says as she puts on a black leather jacket, "Would you maybe wanna head to the mall?"

Betty grips her messenger bag tighter. Part of her wonders if this is supposed to be a date, but come on. This is probably just like, a normal girl thing.

"Uhm… I guess so."

"Ooh, great! I've been wanting to go with someone!" Erica cheers.

Betty relaxes. Nothing to worry about. This is totally just a Normal Girl Thing.

"Yeah, for sure."

Erica and Betty arrive at the Whitechapel mall.

"Okay, so, uhm, where do you wanna go first?" Erica asks walking in.

They walk past a couple of stores with displays of mannequins in form-fitting clothes. Betty feels a shiver run down her spine.

"Uhh, anything besides clothing stores."

"Awe, why?" Erica asks.

"I just find it all very," she gulps, "boring?"

"Alright, for sure. Hmm." Erica eyes the black store blasting out shitty emo music, "How about Hot Topic?"

"Uh, I don't think I've ever been there before."

"OMG, it's gonna rock your preppy little world." she says entering, proudly standing in front of a display of anime tshirts, "Okay, well, don't mind these."

She leads Betty towards the back, into the corner where the large display of band tees are.

"OMG they got so many Single Tear Tshirts!!" She squeals digging into a pile of graphic band tees, "Have you heard of them?"

"Uh… nope."

"No way…" Erica couldn't believe it, "I'll have to play you some of their song some time then, for now, help me find some shirts."

Betty helps Erica dig through the piles of folded shirts to find every Single Tear design they could.

"Hmm. Do you think I'd look better in the red, or black?"

She holds each Single Tear tee with just a differently colored background to her chest.

"Hmm… red." Betty answers.

"Ooh, cool. I've always felt like it was my color. And it's by one get one free, so let me know if you find something you like."

Betty and Erica slowly walk around the small store, looking up and down the rows of shelves. Betty finds a small minecraft creeper charm hanging off a necklace.

"Whoa. Wait, look at this." Betty points.

"A minecraft necklace?"

"Hey, it's cute, okay?" Betty looks over at her with pleading puppy eyes. "Pleasseee."

"Ack, okay weirdo. It's free anyways."

Walking over to the till, Betty peeks at the the expensive candy options.

"Just these, please." Erica says to the person working at the counter.

"Alright… 23.14, please." the bored, emo cashier says.

Erica hands over her plastic card, "And yes, I do have a phone number."

Betty looks over at the piles of pins and shoves her hands in it. It felt nice.

"Alright lets go." Erica says, with a Hot Topic bag in her hand. Betty takes her hands out of the pin pile and follows behind her.

They walk past the Gap and Gamestop, the two G's Betty remembers going to all the time with her grandma. She feels like such a dork.

"Could we grab something to eat?"

"Yeah, we can head by the food court." Erica shrugs.

They enter the modest food court, five chain restaurants meet them on each side.

"How about Pizza Hut?" Suggest Betty.

"Nah, I'm good." Erica says, still looking at her options. "I think I'll get taco bell."

"Oh, wait! Taco Bell also sounds good!" Betty mentally slaps herself. Pizza hut? What was she thinking? That was such a Benny thing to say. They wait in the short line together.

"So, what do you want? I'll pay." Erica asks.

"Aww, thanks. You don't have to."

"No, no. Don't worry about it," Erica bumps her, "If I can't get you some clothes I can at least get you something to eat."

Betty looks down at her frumpy shoes to hide her blush. I really should get a nicer pair.

"Hello, welcome to Taco Bell. How can I help you?" The employee asks.

"Yeah, I'll have a beefy burrito and…" Erica trails off and looks at Betty.

"…And a number 1 combo with… a Baha Blast, please." Betty adds.

"Anything else?"

Erica looks over to Betty again, who quickly shakes her head no.

"Nah. We're good."

"8.50."

Erica digs though her bag and pulls out a small black wallet with silver details.

She hands over a crisp 10 dollar bill.

"Keep the change."

They shuffle out of the line for the next customers and wait on the side for their order.

"Cheerleading really worked up your appetite, ay?" Erica grins.

"Ah, I guess so. Was it too much?"

"Nah, not at all," Erica nudges, "Nothing wrong with having an appetite."

"Ah, thanks." Betty responds. She looks down at herself. It feels so odd being in public like this. Even if its behind a wig and preppy clothes, she wasn't sure how she felt about being seen by so many people.

"Food's ready," Erica snaps her out of her thoughts, "I'll get it. Wanna seat?"

"Yeah, thanks." she replies, rubbing her cold arms nervously as she sat down. It feels weird not being in at least a T-shirt.

"Of course! Now eat up, I wanna hit up at least one more store before they close."

As Betty unwraps her first taco Erica snaps a pic with flash.

"Augh jeez what was that for?" Betty says flinching and wiping her eyes.

"Your new Instagram obviously."

"When did I sign up for that?"

"Now" Erica says with a toothy smile. "Pull out your phone."

"Can I just eat?" Betty says, with the uneaten taco in hand.

"Yeah yeah go ahead I got it." Erica says grabbing Betty's phone to go on the Istore.

After a minute or two of downloading Erica pipes up "What do you want your handle to be?"

"Like. Username?" Betty questions.

"Yea." Erica says pushing the register screen towards Betty.

"Hmm how about uh. Betty Cheer?" She shrugs.

"Lame, you sound like a bot." she says punching it in. "Taken."

"Uhhh, Betty Ultimate Cheer?"

Erica quickly taps in the new, even lamer, username. "Not taken, cool."

"Nice." Betty says in between bites.

"Alright well I'll let you customize your profile how u want but," She says giving back Betty's phone and quickly typing on her own phone. "I'm shouting you out rn."

"Mrmr, can I see what it is before you send it?"

"Of courseee." Erica finishes up and holds her phone in front of Betty's face.

A picture of a shocked Betty holding a taco in one hand with the caption:

Check out the newest cheerleader on the Whitechaple cheer team @Betty_Ultimate_Cheer!! #Cheer #Cheerleader #NewBestie #GalPals #MallPic #Friends

"Can I post this?" She pleads to Betty.

"Augh alright sure whatever," She takes a sip from her large soda, cleaning up her area. "Only cuz' you bought me food."

As the girls throw away their trash, they stumble upon a DVD store.

"Hey Betty, wanna look inside?"

"Oh, sure!" she replies, eyeing The Dark Night Rises poster excitedly, "Are there any movies you're excited for?"

"OMG, I don't know if you're a Dusker, but I cannot wait for the fourth movie to come out on DVD!!"

"Wasn't that a total bomb at the box office?" Betty jokes.

"Ugh yeah It was," Erica shakes her head, "But some people just don't have any taste."

Betty scoffs. The two carefully look up and down the rows of DVDs available to rent.

"Ohmygod, haha! Erica, look!" Betty pulls Erica to the side. "But I'm A Cheerleader, just like us!"

Erica quickly grows flustered, she tucks some hair behind her ear.

"…Really?" she smiles.

"Yeah! I mean, we're both cheerleaders, right?" she says, not really getting it.

"Have you not seen But I'm A Cheerleader before?" Erica asks.

"No?" Betty raises an eyebrow, "Should I?"

Erica plucks the DVD out of her hands and brings it straight to the counter.

"I'd like to rent this DVD please."

"How long?"

"Just the weekend would be great."

"Aw, thanks Erica," Betty twist her hair, "I can't wait to watch it."

"That's great! Would you wanna watch it at my place, then?"

Bettys eyes grow wide, shocked.

"Um. Uh, today?"

"I mean, if you want to," Erica smiles at Betty while she hands the clerk her credit card, "But we have all weekend."

"Ah, okay. Awesome."

"Does tomorrow sound better?"

The clerk rolls their eyes at the cheerleaders interactions, and hands Erica her receipt.

"Yes!" Betty sighs with relief, "I mean, I just got out of cheer and I'd like to change and shower first, haha. You get it."

"Of course you do." Erica grabs the DVD from the counter and yawns.

"Oh man, are you getting sleepy? Because I sure am, haha. Wanna head home?"

"Mine, or yours?" she smirks.

"Um, our own houses." she bites on her thumb.

"Alright, alright. I got you, I'll call a cab."

They quickly walk though a JCPenny, past the perfumes, bed displays and poorly made clothes and exit the mall.

Erica leans on the side of the store wall and audible dialing noises are heard.

"Thanks Erica." Betty peeps, twiddling with her thumbs, a bit to anxious to read the miss messages she has on her phone.

Betty is reminded of the minecraft merch she got, "Could I get my necklace?"

"Hi, I'm at the Whitechaple mall," Erica pulls her phone away from her ear, "Yeah here just take the bag."

"Sorry about that, we're just out of JCPenny's. Uh huh, yeah thank you." Erica stuffs her phone away in her jacket "It'll be a few minutes."

Erica catches Betty struggling to clip the small C clasp behind her neck.

"Here I got it." Erica offers.

"Oh, haha thanks." Betty hands over the creeper necklace.

Erica places the charm in front of betty and pulls back the metal chains around her neck, carefully pulling her hair to each side and clipping the clasp behind her.

"There you go." Erica smiles, putting Betty's hair back into place.

"Wow thank you," she beams, "How do I look?"

"Amazing."

A bright yellow taxicab pulls up next to the girls.

"Thank you Erica, for everything… This was really fun."

"It's no problem, softy. Just text me when you get home alright?"

"For sure," Betty says, scooting up to the cab driver. "So my house is at…"

Erica closes the door for her, and waves as the car drives off.

<hr>

Betty arrives home and quickly heads to the back door. Grandma should be asleep by this time but she didn't wanna take any chances. She tip toes though the kitchen and into the first story bathroom to change.

Back to plain old Benny.

Before he stuffs the wig in his bag, he takes out his neon green phone.

Missed Calls from: Grandma(4), Ethan(1)

Two New Messages from: Erica_Jonez, Xx_RORY_VMPR_xX

Woah woah woah, wait Rory?

Benny stops in his tracks and tries to read the previews.

Hey Betty! I cannot blive ur- Wanna meet u-

She hessitates to open them, instead clicking on Erica's.

Had a blast w/ you today, hope your not dead lol.

Betty shakily responds "I'm not dead but I feel like im about 2 be."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Aemond's reaction to us doing something badass I'm sorry I couldn't come up with what y/n will do but I'm in a morning class and I didn't wanna leave u hanging on the Ask's

A/n: I ran out of Brian juice like halfway through. So this ain’t my best work.

“Come on Aemond, a much needed walk through town isn’t so much to ask for, it probably beats being cooped up in the castle that’s for sure.”

There’s lots of fun things to do in the castle, you just so happen to find them boring.” Aemond replied, turning a page of his book and reading the next sequence of passages. “How is shovelling horse and dragon shit fun?” You spat, vividly remembering the first thing he had offhandedly suggested in curing your boredom. Aemond had to force a smirk back at that, now finding it difficult to get back into reading his book whilst you were unintentionally entertaining him behind his back like you were his personal jester. Even though he wouldn’t dare admit it aloud but he has to agree with you that being in the castle sometimes felt stiffening for him. Even his training sessions with Ser Criston Cole has became redundant and repetitive, it was beginning to seem as though the young prince was getting so good that he was finishing his training just as soon as it gotten started.

In fact the only reason he even had in summoning you to his chambers was in hope of killing the boredom that was eating him inside out. Instead it only seemed to have been passed onto you like a common cold. “You never know, it could be fun and maybe you’ll take away some important life lessons from it.” Aemond responded, still pretending to be reading when the words on the pages has long since became blurred nonsense to him. “Fuck you.” You said, having had enough as you hauled yourself from his bed and towards his chamber doors when he spoke up once more. “Where do you think your going?” He asked. You barely spared him a glance when you responded, “like I said earlier had you even bothered to listen, I’m going for a walk.” With that you were out the door and out of Aemond’s line of sight. You knew to not take his words so personally but sooner or later you grew tired of staring at the same four walls and were in a much needed change of scenery.

It wasn’t long after your departure did Aemond decided that he was going to go after you, seeing as the sky outside his window has already started preparing itself for the long night ahead and you had yet to have returned. He didn’t dare think of the worst at first but the longer he went about his day, the harder your absence became to ignore. It was going to be hard finding you manually as the town was large enough as it is to accommodate it’s overpopulated streets; nor could he just get onto Vhagar’s back and take to the skies, that would be too obvious. So in the end the prince chose to take to the streets on foot, though just as he was about to cross courtyard, Alicent just so happened to appear before from seemingly out of nowhere like a ghost.

“Where are you going at this time of night Aemond?” She asked. Aemond wasn’t in the mood to stop and have a quick chat with his mother and said briskly whisky sidestepping her, “y/n ventured off into town earlier today and haven’t come back since.” He debriefed his mother on the situation. “With it getting dark so soon I fear that the worst of humanity have already taken to the streets and possibly cornered them in some alleyway.” Alicent didn’t need further reason as she could tell her son was trying not crack his own facade by showing how vulnerable you made him. How easily you could bend him to your will without much effort. She knew this to be true when you weren’t so easily scared off of repulsed by the fact that he was missing an eye. Instead you had called it a blessing and a sign of his willpower after hearing the story of how he earned it. “Fetch them and get back before nightfall.” Was all Alicent said before she left for her chambers, knowing that you and Aemond would be back well before nightfall, she had that much faith in her son as she watched his figure from the window get smaller and smaller the deeper he delved into the city.

Aemond heard the sound of a body being pummelled and the scuffling of shoes as he closed in on the alleyway on which the sounds were coming from followed by a series of grunts and groans, neither of which belonged to you. Fearing that the worst has befell you, Aemond pulled out his sword and ventured into the alleyway. Just as he was getting closer and as the sounds of punches being thrown, whistling through the air as those punches then made contact with their intended target and the groans of pain getting louder. He cut across corners until he stopped at the dead end of the alleyway, just in time to see you knock the last of the men that has cornered you unconscious. “Y/n.” He said, looking down at the indistinguishably bruised and bloodied faces of the men, his pride growing with each glance at your handy work before looking back at you with a gleam in his singular eye.

“What? Had to get my anger out on something.” You retorted but soon twinged in pain as you tried to flex your equally bruised and battered knuckles. You inhaled sharply at the state of them as Aemond took a step closer for a better look. “Let’s get you patched up.” He says as he escorted you out of the alleyway, hand on the lower part of your back and his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

[garden-variety-jumo]

The Peculiar Case of Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington

In which Robin has a bad day and snaps at the king himself. Weirdly enough, this leads to their friendship.

_____

Robin was not having a good day. She'd told Dash Montague to fuck off just a little too loud during History so she'd ended up in detention. Tammy Thompson was starring in the school play that was running and she was going to volunteer for behind the scenes but that plan was ruined just because Dash couldn't mind his own business.

So here she was, in Miss Ryan's class. The only one there, despite how she knew at least half the class did worse things than her on a daily basis. That day alone she'd watched Tommy Hagan cheat his way through a language test they had, he was so obvious too, all his answers ona scrap of paper in his lap, it's a wonder he wasn't caught.

Walking in, she chose a desk at the front, one away from the wall on the far end of the classroom. Miss Ryan said she could use the time to do school work so she'd gotten her notepad and pen out to look like she was busy and killed time staring at the clock.

Fifteen minutes after detention starts, the door to the classroom swings open, jolting Robin out of her daydream and in saunters Steve Harrington: the king himself.

"Miss Ryan." He greets as he walks past her desk. Ugh. She could roll her eyes out of her skull, there's no reason he has to talk in detention, they're even encouraged not to. It's like he'll die if he doesn't have all eyes on him at all times.

"Steven." She responds, not even looking up from her paperwork. This makes her smile a bit, a tiny victory.

He continues on his way down the line of desks, before tossing his bag on the end of the row. Great. Right next to her desk. He doesn't even spare her a look as he does it and she watches in mild disgust as he roots around his bag for a couple minutes before giving up and tossing it under his desk.

God she hopes he doesn't fucking try to talk to her. She directs her attention to the page in front of her, to avoid gaining his attention,

"Do you have a pen?"

Jesus- She got too busy scowling at her page and praying that she didn't even notice him lean over.

Without saying a word, she rooted through her pencil case and bought out one of her generic pens, saved especially for assholes she knew would never return them.

"Thanks."

She doesn't respond. Maybe he'll take the hint and leave her alone. She tries to focus on her page, resolving to Actually do some work to aid ignoring him.

He starts tapping her pen on the desk, trying to make some kind of tune. He really can't last ten seconds without attention, can he.

He changes up his tune several different times, seemingly as soon as Robin tunes out his current one and god, she could strangle him right now. He seemingly gets bored and moves on, she watches in the corner of her eye as he slumps down in the chair and starts writing a message on the desk. She can only hear the pen scratching on wood right now.

"Would you mind being quiet?" She asks, silently regretting it when she sees she's gotten his attention. His hair is so stupid.

"You're one of those band geeks, right?"

Fantastic.

"-uhh," he continues, waving his hand as he tries to reach for her name. Typical. Of course he never bothered to learn it-

"Robin!! Robin Buckley! Are you serious right now?" She hisses, glancing at Miss Ryan after to make sure she wasn't being too loud. The teacher doesn't stir, engrossed in her own work.

He just gapes at her, as if he didn't expect one of his loyal subjects to talk back like that.

"We share a class! I literally got detention during it this morning! Mrs Click called me by name!!"

He still has that bewildered look on his face,

"...sorry"

"No!!" She snaps, "That's not cool, I can't imagine being so far up my ass that the only people who I notice are my popular little friends! I sit behind you, you've borrowed pens and pencils from me six times? Did you know that? And you've never given them back!!"

"Do you... want your pen back now?" He asks, awkwardly offering it to her.

"No!!"

At least he has it in him to look a little ashamed. She doesn't think he's ever done anything that classed as awkward or embarrassed. It's probably good for him.

He leaves her alone till the hour is up. She still doesn't get any work done.

_____

That Thursday, he comes in late, as usual, interrupting class, as usual, but when things settle down and Mrs Click gets back to the board, he turns around and chucks a newly bought pack of pens on her desk.

[mittensmorgul]

Do you have a tip for a newbie writer that's not mentioned everywhere all the time, but still very important? It seems to me that most people repeat the same 10 tips everywhere & I've started wondering more about the importance of mindset and life experience & less about phrasing, grammar etc.

Hello there!

I should start by repeating the best writing advice I ever got:

ignore like 90% of all writing advice

which 90% is entirely up to you, though. your 90% is probably different than my 90%. Like, I ignore everything about "stick to a schedule!" and "make time every single day to write or else you'll fail!" and pretty much anything that says "follow this one neat trick or you're bound to fail!"

No piece of writing advice works for everyone, and that's fine. Try stuff out, see what works for you. Even when it comes to grammar and phrasing stuff.

Like, obviously grammar and phrasing is important to understand as a baseline, but that doesn't help you have a unique voice. It'll really help you construct a cogent business letter, but if you are listening to everything grammarly tells you to do, you're gonna sound like a robot writing fiction.

There's some pretty solid writing advice, like "only use epithets sparingly, and only when it's for a specific reason like for a character who hasn't been introduced by name yet," and "please just use 'said' and not those ridiculous lists of words that are not actually synonyms for said."

And as for getting help from something like grammarly (or even that little red squiggle of doom that sometimes suggests bizarre alternatives to the actually correct word you typed-- this happens WAY more than I'm comfortable with lol), PLEASE double check that what it's telling you to correct your word/phrase to is ACTUALLY what you are trying to say. Because a lot of the time, it really isn't.

And yes, like anything else you learn to do, experience and practice works. The whole "make many bad pots instead of struggling to make one perfect pot" thing is really true. (It crossed my dash again the other day, and I didn't reblog it, but it was on page 17 of my "writing is hard" tag, where I stick writing advice if you're interested in reading a lot of it, after I suggested ignoring most of it... >.> anyway this post explains the shitty pots concept of creating anything really)

And read what you write, too. Like let it sit for a while (like weeks if necessary) and then go back and reread it. What would you change? Read it out loud. Do the character voices sound authentic? Is the exposition clonky or plodding? Does it race in spots and drag in others?

Would you write it differently if you sat down now and tried to write it again? How? Why? This is not just an exercise in editing, it's an exercise in finding your writing voice and understanding how YOU write. Not from an objective outsider perspective, or a judgmental "is this good or bad" perspective. But from a place of understanding your own writing.

And then write something else, and repeat the whole process, probably until you die lololol.

that is not intended to sound grim, it's intended to sound hilarious... I couldn't stop writing at this point if I tried.

my writing: i'm not stuck in here with you, you're stuck in here with me

Life experience does help sometimes. The older you are, the more you've experienced, the more... let's call it spice you have available to you to season your writing with. But more than that, just the practice of writing poorly, assessing your own work, writing something else a little better next time.

I think I got a good spice metaphor. Someone could've lived such a rich life assembling flavorings and spices and have NO IDEA WHATSOEVER how to mix them all palatably and cook them into a delicious meal. If you never bothered trying to cook until you had a full spice cupboard and don't even know the basics of like... how to fry an egg, can you imagine the atrocities such a person could produce?

meanwhile someone might only have a handful of different spices but out of necessity and laborious toil in making the most of what they have so far has learned to prepare AMAZING dishes and can crank out a dinner that would blow your mind with everything perfectly prepared and seasoned-- even if the seasoning is limited in flavor, they know how to make the most of it because they practiced until they succeeded.

So yeah, basically the only writing advice I ever listened to was practice, write a lot even if it's awful, reread all your old stuff once in a while both for the hilarity factor but also to see how far you've come, and to really think about how you'd write it differently now, and WHY. What changed? How has your understanding of your own writing evolved?

Yeah, I think that's all I got (in addition to the 40-something pages in my writing tag lololol)

[missymurphy1985]

The Writer (part 5)

Warning - angst

Request? Yep

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

Seeing him again after what he'd done did the opposite of what you thought it would. You expected to crumble. To cry yourself to sleep for another week, moping around your apartment feeling sorry for yourself. Quite the opposite. You'd discovered a renewed sense of self-worth. With Polly's help, who'd been your absolute rock since that chance encounter in the store.

You'd just got home from the office, hanging up your coat in the hallway when there was a knock on the door. Polly stood there with her hands on her hips.

"You're coming to ours tonight - girls night!!!"

"Pol I've just walked through the door!"

"So walk back through it again, in the direction of my house! Come on! Cars waiting!"

You rolled your eyes, it was no use arguing with her. Locking the door behind you, you climbed into the car.

Pulling up outside a beautiful cottage half an hour later, you were stunned. A far cry from the old house on Watery Lane!

You got settled on the sofa with Ada and Polly, glass of whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other.

"So I hear you've already caught up with Tommy?" Ada smiled. She'd been so little the last time you saw her and now here she was, a grown woman with a son. Widowed, sadly, just like you.

"Unfortunately, yes. But we all make mistakes, don't we," you smiled back. A genuine smile. You'd done a lot of soul searching lately and you'd decided not to let him bother you.

"He's a fool y/n, and you're better off without him."

"Agreed. Now subject change please - the thought of him makes me feel ill," you laughed. The evening was filled with the three of you laughing, drinking and man hating - utter perfection in your eyes!

Your evening was drawing to a close, when Polly suggested a sleepover - none of you were in any fit state to drive.

The following morning you woke early as always. Ada and Polly were still fast asleep. You were lucky that you never suffered with hangovers either. Sitting at the kitchen table, you sipped a coffee and picked up one of the books on Polly's shelf, losing yourself in the story while the girls slept.

You didn't hear the front door open and close you were so ingrained.

"Sorry y/n...." Tommy's voice startled you and he quickly turned on his heel in the doorway. You realised you were still actually in your nightdress - a small, dainty little thing you'd borrowed from Polly that just about covered you. You smiled internally, and carried on reading your book ignoring him.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked, still with his back to you.

"If you like." You eyes never left the pages.

"Why did you leave?"

"I won't stay where I'm not welcome, Thomas."

"Why on earth were you not welcome?"

You didn't answer, just snorted in laughter shaking your head.

"We had a good time, didn't we?"

"We did."

"Then why the disappearing act? Why did some random man come to finish the interview? Why haven't you returned my letter?"

"It didn't require a reply."

He turned around now, no longer caring you were half naked. He'd seen it all anyway. He sat at the table opposite you, you didn't even acknowledge him.

"So you're just going to ignore me?"

"Yep."

"You can't ignore me forever y/n."

"Challenge accepted."

"This is fucking ridiculous!"

"I know. Not my fault you're an injudicious, obtuse, cretinous imbecile."

"I'm a what?"

"Oh sorry, was the wording too advanced for you? Go find a dictionary and look it up."

"I understand the fucking words y/n, I just don't know why I'm deserving of any of them?"

"Are you actually that fucking dense? Or do you just think I am?"

"You couldn't be further from dense if you tried, what are you talking about?"

"Pretty intelligent for a fucking whore, aren't I?"

"What did you say?"

"I think the words you used were 'a two bob whore', yes I think that was what you said."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"The letter you left for me. Couldn't even give it to me yourself, had your maid deliver it. Pathetic."

"Y/n, I never left you a note - I never left the house that morning, I cleared my diary to spend it with you? I came back upstairs to find you'd gone, remembered the car I'd ordered for you the night before and assumed you'd got in it. I tried calling you but you weren't at work that day, so I wrote you a letter and had my maid post it..." His voice tailed off towards the end and you looked at him, not sure whether to believe him or not.

"The same maid?"

"The same maid."

"Are you fucking her?"

"No, I don't touch my maids - too close to home."

"Then why would she interfere?"

"That is a very good question."

[melody-of-lost-souls]

Helloooo,

So uhh, I just wanna rant a little bit... Pls answer if you have anything to add to whatever I'm gonna submit!! Thanks--

So when I was watching OG Naruto, the first thing I noticed was the looking down upon each other moment between Naruto and Sasuke. And BOY 😃 was I laughing while having second hand embarrassment when they kissed.. I didn't think much of it but it was hilarious. By the time I reached Chunin Exam I began to feel a sudden unusual dynamic between N and S. The affection they have for each other gave me a VERY "oh ok um.." Vibe. As always.. I ignored it.. Nah cuz I couldn't take them seriously 😂. I started to see the sudden change in S at the hospital when he suddenly wanted to fight N. From there, probably a little earlier I felt their dynamic kind of intensify a bit. VotE1, we don't talk about it. It was so emotional I'm pretty sure I cried. At the beginning of Shippuden.. The appearance of Sasuke was pretty intense (Sasuke's outfit was a big nono).. I then started to notice the change in Naruto (the character)... After then I started to get emotional, cuz my favorite characters started to fall.. You got Asuma's death, then Jiraiya's death.. No because when I saw Itachi's, I NEEDED a mental break.. So then I decided to surf the internet a little.. BIGGEST MISTAKE. I wanted to know more about characters and try to put myself in their shoes to see what actions I would take if it was me... And then I started peeking into ships.. That's where the trauma began. So I saw some analysis of ships to see which one makes the most sense.. The first one I saw was unironically SN/NS. Then the person who wrote the analysis pointed out things that I ignored. When I kept reading, I just continued getting surprised at the signs that I've noticed but decided to ignore. And I was like "Oh, ok... Interesting.." From there I basically had my suspicions cleared about their relationship (That's also when I found your blog, just a bit later)... The next one I saw was just.. 🤐🤐. SS was next.. Bro I'm not gonna lie.. When Sakura was introduced I already started disliking her. Right then and there.. No because as the series went on she was utterly useless.. Always whining and forcing her feelings on Sasuke who clearly did not like her back. Especially during the fake confession I just grinned my teeth so hard. I have a friend who watches Naruto, apparently she hates Sakura to the core as well. She said that she couldn't watch the fake confession episode and honestly, I get it 💀. She finished the series but still can't bring herself to watch the fake confession scene. Anyway back to SS... What I first saw were invalid points they made. Whatever crap they spewed out just made no sense because there was no evidence of whatever they were implying. Then they posted a page of Sasuke saving Sakura from hitting the ground after Gaara released her from his Chikaku grasp. Something that's normal for a teammate to do for the other teammate. But somehow it was romantic? So what I saw it as was that if I almost fell and my friend catches me, it means that he loves me? Because you know friends or teammates don't save each other on the regular basis apparently. As I kept reading I started getting frustrated. I didn't bother going to NH cuz.. HEH 💀💀💀. UM ANYWAY. It was a long process because I'm a bit slow. So, whenever I saw Sasuke and Sakura in the same scene, I felt frustration. My heartbeat started increasing because OMG. I JUST COULD NOT STOP CRINGING AT ALL THE TIMES SHE CRIED AND DESPERATELY WANTED SASUKE TO BE WITH HER. I was just like "Bro are you for serious? You got problems around you and you care about Sasuke?" I just subconsciously got mad whenever they were close. I took another break. And this time started looking at fan arts. It was really nice and relaxed me, until SS fan art appeared. I just got off Google and went to do something else. Then I go back later and then NH is what I see next, and I'm just like 😐😐. Then SNS fan art appears and I'm just like 😏😮😍😆. Back to the series. When Sasuke and Naruto are on the same scene I feel happy AND relaxed as they express how they felt about each other. My admiration for their bond was beyond

what I imagined. No because when Naruto said that he and Sasu would die together, and did I mention that it suspiciously sounded like a wedding vow? Anyway, whenever they'd share their feelings, I'd be watching and trying so hard not to scream. I just watched in excitement and was fan girling through the whole thing. And then I reached the War Arc. Then Neji died.. I was just like "😩😩 WHYYYY????" And Hinata started to act all bold, and I actually appreciated her in that moment when she brought N back to his senses. But then what came next just annoyed me. And I stopped watching. What kind of human would think about someone's hand when their cousin just died infront of them? ik it's a war, you're gonna need to suck it up but come on.... There was another reason as to why I didn't want to continue because, I accidentally came across a few spoilers.. Because I knew that after the war S and N would fight and then you got the monstrosity called Burrito that was upcoming.. After all of that.. I found myself just stalking SN/NS fan arts and stuff.. OH AND when Sakura started doing stuff when Sasuke showed up, it made me want to appear in the show and completely OBLITERATE HER SELFISH ASS. AND THEN SHE HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT SHE CAUGHT UP TO SASUKE AND NARUTO BECAUSE SHE CAN CREATE CRACKS ON THE GROUND??? DON'T GET ME STARTED WITH WHEN SHE GOT A STAB FROM MADARA, THINKING THAT SHE COULD BRING HIM DOWN BY PUNCHING HIM? AND STARTED WHINING LIKE A PUPPY IN HEAT BECAUSE SASUKE KUN DIDN'T GIVE 2 JACKS ABOUT HER???! AND HER ANNOYING, DELUSIONAL STANS SAY THAT SHE SURPASSED TSUNADE???? NEVER WILL SHE EVER, IDC WHAT UNIVERSE, BUT NEVER WILL SAKURA EVER SURPASS TSUNADE. THEY CAN YAP ALL THEY WANT BUT IT'S FACTS. DON'T COMPARE MISSY WHO WETS HER PANTIES AT THE SIGHT OF HER SASUKE KUN TO SOMEONE WHO, NOT ONLY LOST THOSE IMPORTANT TO HER, BUT THANKS TO THE LITTLE MOTIVATION SHE RECEIVED FROM NARUTO DESPERATELY TRYING TO FIGHT KABUTO, SHE GAINED THE STRENGTH TO GET OVER HER TRAUMA (even though it was all sudden, I really loved how she got over it). AND EVEN BEFORE AND AFTER TSUNADE MET DAN, SHE STILL HAD HER OWN MOTIVES TO BE A GREAT PERSON. TSUNADE ACTUALLY THINKS ABOUT PEOPLE AROUND HER OTHER THAN BOYS. HOW CAN THEY COMPARE SAKURA TO SOMEONE SO AMAZING??!!

And then you got SS stans saying that their relationship is "unique". I never heard an excuse as lame as that. Sasuke disliking being touched by Sakura, constantly avoiding her, and the indifferent attitude towards her whenever she's injured is considered unique? Idk about you but, It's a big red flag from my side if my husband doesn't seem concerned about me whenever I'm hurt. If anything, their relationship is whatever they want to call it.. But IT IS NOT UNIQUE, NOR CuTe, NOR LOVING. And a 'friend' of mine really said that Sakura deserved Sasuke 💀💀. Bro there are so many red flags that I just.. 😩😩😩. My parents marriage is looking a bit like SS.. First of all.. They don't like touching each other anymore.. In this, Sakura is the only one who wants to touch and be touched by Sasuke, but Sasuke's it's not the same. He doesn't want to be touched nor does he want to touch Sakura.. They both make little to no effort in the relationship, in SS case Sakura is the one making effort. Sasuke is just bleh. My dad works a lot but still wants to be home and, to be with us. Not just because of me but because he actually still wants to be home. In this case for SS.. How do I put this,, It's pretty self explanatory anyway... Uh, Sasuke does NOT come home but when he does it's usually because of Salad (the time they had dinner where Sasuke was just 😥).. Or to when he needs to reduce the boost if you know what I mean. AND HUNNY THAT ISN'T ROMANTIC, IT'S SAD 😃. I'm not saying he's using her, because I don't think he is but... Ahem... That's one of the very few times Sasuke touches Sakura.. And that's one of the very, very, VERY, few moments of SS 🤐. "But what do you meann!! They had sex, they love each other! It's real deal love!!" Where have you been? 😀 Since when does real deal love works like that in the real world? Because people have sex don't mean they love each other. It's called a one night stand for a reason. One night stands don't need no love. Whatever crumb the author throws at their desperate fandom, they take it and be like "SEE! IT'S REAL DEAL LOVE!!" 🤦. My little brother's attitude when my mom gives him an extra donut. They gotta learn the difference between actual love and guilt tripped love. Their very different things. Their pink mega mind, self absorbed, princess with down syndrome is not the one for Sasuke. And please, they need to stop editing panels to fit their sad ship. It's getting embarrassing.

Well you said everything jaja

What I can add, is that at the time I watched Naruto when i was 12, more than a decade ago...I always find it at least "weird" that you go to such extreme lengths and pain just for a "friend". It's not a question of culture or something, because some antis would say ñiñiñi is different in lalaland. I guess bonds and friendships can be handled the same in any part of the world, same with relationships with parents, siblings and lovers. It's not that in some countries idk you would fuck a friend but your relationship with a couple would be distant in comparison to a friend. So, there is no "friendly" or straight explanation for Naruto going that far for Sasuke. I have seen this dynamic on full metal alchemist, but they were brothers and their relationship was absolutely different than SNS beginning with no repressed feelings at all. And on shippuden those feelings get more intense and deep.

And what you said about Sakura and SS I agree.

Specially about the touching thing, some of the things that separate a friendship from a love relationship is touching. at least they are on a superior level of spirituality than they do not even need that, which is not SS case.

Sasuke doesnt like being touched at all, but he always started physical contact with Naruto and he is not disgusted to be physically close with naruto. on the other hand with sakura... Their relationship is not unique at all, in the positive way of the word... They lack of everything.

And that shit saying Sakura deserved Sasuke or viceversa is a total redflag because shows that you are treating a person like some prize. You dserve a prize if you did enough to win. What you do not deserve is a person. That shows how selfish they are as their cherry bloom princess, because technically LOVE is not about giving my feelings thinking if the other person will give me back what i deserve. Many times in the anime is showed that Sakura does and behaves in certain way in order to catch sasuke attention and get "his love." From there you see a scheme from her, because all of her actions are driven for a purpose of being close to sasuke which would lead to idk being his girlfriend. But is all about her and this again shows how she never loved him, as SS claims that she suffered that much poor girl.

It was always about her and her ego. She is such a narcissistic person and loving someone...is all about the contrary.

And this also is another win for SNS because Naruto love for Sasuke, and viceversa, never hid an scheme behind. Not a I will save you----> he will like me/he will do things for me. they always did and bring comfort to each other, because of real feelings and uninterested love.

SS and NH can never work having Naruto or Sasuke figure in between, you need to erase one of them to make those ships work and be "natural" and loving.

What i will always say for how SS and NH work in BORUTO is...Divorced-in-maybe-good-terms couple that just is still together for the sake of the children.

And SS and NH making mental gymnastics to justify why they are canon, is useless. THey are just canon to let the kids in boruto, have biological parents. thats it.

[colossal-fallout]

Coming right up ❤️

Fem!Reader X Eren

Warnings: 18+ NSFW smut / slight angst / cheating

Eren's brooding eyes snap towards his roomates bedroom door when he hears the muffled voices of you and your boyfriend. Your voices weren't quite yells - yet. But it was abundantly clear that there was almost certainly a storm brewing. Ignoring it, he returns his emerald greens onto the manga book he was reading, silently telling himself not to pry. This would be the fourth argument you two had this week - and it was only Wednesday. Over the course of the month...? He'd lost count.

He pushed away the irritation that began to claw under his skin. He'd always secretly had a thing for you and he seen that his douche bag of a roommate did not treat you as well as he should.

He leasuirely turns the page, his usual calm exterior hiding his frustration as sure enough, the volume of your voices begin to rise through the wood of the door.

He tries to ignore it, focusing on the magnificent art work that brought his pages to life. But he couldn't help but wonder in the back of his mind how much happier you'd be if you just left his ass and got together with himself.

When he hears your voice crack and an uncontrolled sob break through your lips, he leaps up with a sigh, scratching the back of his head and heading into his room. Hopefully by the time he has a shower and is dressed, the two of you would have hashed it out and made up.

Fat chance.

"You don't even have sex with me anymore..." He hears you cry tragically as he passes by the door to his room. "Do you think I'm ugly now...? I'm desperate here!"

His eyes widen and hands form into a fist, his entire body freezing at the sound of you sobbing those words.

Are you - no. Is he for real?! You're gorgeous. You're kind. Funny. Caring. Strong... What the fuck is wrong with him?!

He shakes his chestnut brown head and storms into his room, unintentionally slamming his door a lot louder than he'd meant to.

Eren takes his time in the shower - allowing the steam and hot water to relax him and refocus his mind. Really, it had nothing to do with him.

So why couldn't he shake you out of his mind?

He was relieved when he eventually got out, dried and dressed and he no longer heard the yelling. His eyes scanned the alarm clock next to his bed.

21:43

He'd been in the shower for a little over an hour. The warm water soaking into his skin and making it feel that extra bit soft. With a lazy yawn, he strolls to his door to pick up his book from the living room. He's surprised to see you sitting on the couch, alone reading his manga.

"Hey." He sounds, eyes wide as your beautiful form is melted onto the sofa.

"Oh, hey." You sit up nervously, placing his book down. "Sorry Eren, is this yours?"

"Where is he?" Eren asks, walking into the room.

"...I don't know." You mutter.

He could see that spark behind your eyes becoming extinguished due to that Jack ass and he wasn't going to just stand by and watch that happen.

He places his hands in this trouser pockets, leaning against the wall. His man bun a lot more loose than usual from his freshly washed hair; a couple of strands falling over his handsome face.

"You know... I think you're gorgeous." He admits without a care in the world.

You blink in surprise, not really knowing what to say. "I... Uh... Thank you, Eren. It means a lot."

"I know." He shrugs, slinking over to you and plonking himself down next to you, the weight of him making you sink slightly. "I couldn't help but hear you arguing. If you ask me..." He turns his head to look at you - his dark smouldering eyes peircing your very being. "He's an idiot."

Your cheeks begin to burn as you glance away shyly, your confidence well and truly in the back pocket of your boyfriend's jeans - wherever they may be or who's floor they're on right now.

He returns his gaze ahead, arms splaying over the back of the couch, his left arm over your shoulders but not touching you.

"I'm sorry you heard us arguing." You whisper.

"Doesn't bother me." He shrugs. "What bothers me is the burning question of why you're even still with him."

You don't answer. You don't have an answer. It's a question you'd asked yourself all too often.

Whatever shower gel Eren uses rolls off him into your nose. A mixture of spiced sandalwood with a hint of teatree maybe? Whatever it was, it combined with the warmth of his skin, blanketing you with such compassion you could almost feel his increased heart rate as his eyes slyly drink you in.

"I heard other things, too." He mutters, suddenly leaning his face close to yours with a smirk. "I can help you, if you want."

"H-help me?" You heart palpitates and butterflies flutter within you, his demeanor totally changing into something you'd never seen from him before.

"I can make you feel good." He explains with such simplicity, you were certain he couldn't possibly be taking about what you thought he was.

Your vacant expression forces him to spell it out for you.

With his large hand cupping your face , he brushes his lips against yours his eyes then scanning your orbs for any resistance. All he can see is how startled you are; wanting to kiss him but your conscience holding you back.

"Let me take care of you..." He reiterates, his hand now slowly moving up your thigh. "In more ways than one."

"E-eren..." You breathe, your logical thinking quickly being taken over by your now throbbing libido as this gorgeous man now gently slides his tongue into your mouth, catching your lips tenderly once he was fully inside.

He's beyond elated when you return his affections, your hands quickly finding their way to his hair; your breathing rate quickened yet heavy. His tongue caresses yours, swirling and entwining, his throat buzzing with a low, short moan.

It's a hurried kiss - your hands roaming each others face and hair with quick succession, your inhales and exhales pushing through your nostrils loudly, the both of you quickly becoming flustered.

Whether it were his alpha male DNA coming into play, or he got too fired up (maybe both) he ends up scooping you up with ease and carrying you, bridal style, into his bedroom. His lips never leave yours as he pushes the door closed with his foot behind hiny, reaching around and clicking the lock, before lowering you gently onto the bed.

He crawls over you, his breath heavy and eyes heavy lidded; his mouth finding its way to your neck and grazing it.

"Eren... I can't. It's not right..."

You hear yourself but it didn't feel like it was you saying those words, your body screaming at you to just shut the fuck up.

"I'm just showing you how you should be treated." He breathes, hand now roaming up your shirt. "You're not doing anything. It's all on me."

Your moan that escapes you as he pulls at your nipple pushes him on the verge of crazed lust, his lips returning to yours as he rolls your breast around in his large palm, squeezing and pulling. It had been so long since you'd been touched in this way, your body craved it so badly. You found yourself grinding against his thigh, your kisses now desperate as you tug at his hair.

Somewhere within enjoying his touches and kisses, he'd removed your pants. You weren't sure when, just one moment they were there, the next your legs were bare as his hand cups your crotch, your wetness soaking through the material of your panties.

"Eren..." You gasp, back arching at his warm skin - even through the material it felt so good.

His fingers hastily push them to the side with a groan, wanting nothing more than to have you fully. But he knew that wouldn't be possible. Not with the thought of him looming over you like a shadow.

You cry out a lot louder than expected when his long finger slides into you, followed by a second, his thumb circling your external magic spot as he continued to nuzzle into your neck; kissing, whispering and biting.

"Do my fingers feel good inside you?"

You nod, your grip on the sheets tightening, your legs tensing and releasing as he begins to wiggle his digits.

He'd spent many-a-night imagining you under him like this. His long cock was solid, and you could feel his yearning for you pressing tightly against your thigh.

Your body is on fire as he works you, picking up speed as your insides suck him in, caressing him and begging for more.

"You're so fucking gorgeous..." He hums, now looking down into your eyes. "Fuck... You've got me so hard."

You whine loudly at his words, back arching and nails digging deeper into his matress. Your face is burning, boardering on hysterical as your untouched sex is so lovingly caressed.

"yes, Eren... It's so good..." You sob, your mouth hanging open and your eyes clasping closed. "Ah~ Ah~~!"

"Fuck..." He marvels, watching you squirm at his charity.

"I'm going to... Already..." You warn, feeling suddenly full as the pleasure begins to get too intense.

"yes, cum baby..." He smiles softly yet devishly, his pace getting faster.

Your silent scream confirms your climax, your back springing and your insides clamping down, sprinkling his palm with your water as you swirl right down the drain and into the palm of Eren Yeager.

He watches you in sheer awe as you come undone, unweaving and unravelling at his mercy. Squirming and trembling, your body now under his control during those few seconds of unrestricted ecstasy.

You expected to be riddled with guilt when you'd come back to earth. But strangely you didn't. It felt... Right.

"Do you feel better?" He mutters, his mouth caressing your shoulder.

You nod, speachless.

He removes his fingers reluctantly; placing them on his flat tongue. "You taste good too." His tone has a bitter sting to it, you're perfect, just like he'd always thought.

"Be with me. Leave him." He states. "You deserve so much better. I want to be the one who takes care of you."

You think about it for a moment. It makes so much sense to do so. But well, y/n... Whether you take him up on his offer or not - it's up to you.