#it’s one of those little hotel jam jars

[shxxmisafreak]

okay so for us this has a bit of a story attached

so our current favorite is the heathen option (back right) but it USED to be the front right until one dark and stormy (quite nice out) day

my mother has a deeply engrained ritual with her tea drinking , every single day she drinks it the same time, every morning and every afternoon .

i , around this time , was going through every girls obligatory witch phase (which I think was just a channel for mild pyromania) and my closet was full of hung up lavender and crystals and what not .

SO . This day my mother was somewhat distracted , she was anxious or worried or maybe it was just so radiantly gorgeous and beautiful out that she was gazing out the kitchen window into the sun while putting the kettle on .

now, at the same time , I had been researching something called “black salt.” it was supposed to be deeply protective, and it was a mix of salt, ashes of protective herbs, and some other magical ass shit that I didn’t have in my closet . so I researched what the most protective ass herbs there were

what I came back with was some miscellaneous leaves and herbs, but what is most important is the red pepper flakes. (I think there might’ve been cayenne too ? but I’m not so sure abt that one)

so I take this little piece of paper, I draw my little home brewed protection sigil on there , I wrap my little spices up and I burn that shit right at the table next to the kitchen

so immediately, my asthmatic mother smells the fucked up shit happening and comes in like what in living hell are you doing . and I’m sitting there with my increasingly irritated eyes and I hack out like “it’s for protection ! :)” or some shit

and so obviously she is like BABE you CANNOT burn CHILI FLAKES you will Cough up a Lung . so im like awww :( and i take my little burning parcel of hell out on the porch and I stomp it out .

so we both come in and we like breath a sigh of relief right . like all the choking fumes are outside now, she opens a window to air out the room , everything’s fine .

until my mom smells something kinda weird . something that smells a bit like … burning plastic ?

so she turns around and looks at the front right (her favorite) part of the stove .

one important thing about our household is that our kettle is electric.

so my dearest mother put our plastic electric kettle on the STOVE , which was now MELTING and letting out fucking carcinogenic fumes or whatever the hell plastic does when it burns on your favorite goddamn stove top .

so we are like HOLY SHIT and we have to LEAVE our HOUSE while we wait for the fucking FUMES to dissipate so we don’t PASS OUT or something !!!!!

after we deem it safe to come in , the damage is pretty rough . we bought a new kettle because ours was obviously totaled, and now the burner had a thick layer of melted plastic stuck to it . we picked off most of it , even having a cleaning person come to try , but even to this very day , we still can’t use that burner because of the thin layer of plastic still permanently stuck there .

and that is the story of the day my mother is convinced we invoked some kind of vengeful fire spirit .

Ok look. I’m an Elder Millennial and I know we have our quirks but I honestly want to know something.

[jungle-angel]

GASP! Maybe 26, 36 and 37 with the Miller family? OMG baby Benny trying to "help" with all the chores that need to be done?

GASP!!!!! ABSOLUTELY!!!! Just the thought of this alone is ramping the feels up to eleven!!! (lol).

It was one of those idyllic August days with summer beginning to wind down and fall beginning to set in, though it was only the beginning of the month. Soon, the whole of the state of Montana would be encapsulated in that cutting winter, something you often experienced in Lake Tahoe when the seasons changed.

You were just months away from yours and Miles's second child being born, the two of you counting down the days and Benny excited as ever to be a big brother. You hung the freshly washed laundry on the clothesline while Miles worked away at cutting the excess huckleberries off the bushes and dropping them into the little basket for later. You trusted him enough to put them in the kitchen for later, but when you made fresh huckleberry jam for breakfast? God help you. Your husband would be sure to split a whole jar between himself and Benny.

You fumbled with one of Miles's shirts before it dropped to the ground. Bending over to grab it wasn't easy considering that your bump was always in the way, but the sound of little feet waddling through the grass caught your attention before you could fall.

"No Momma, you no bend over," Benny chirped. "Daddy say no bend over!"

You laughed a little as you stood yourself up again and let Benny hand you the shirt to hang up. "I wan' help," Benny told you.

Benny picked up each of the shirts, jeans and some of your dresses to hang on the clothesline between the two big maple trees in the yard. When at last the socks had all been hung up, you shooed Benny away to have him go help his father.

"C'mon Benny bear," Miles said, taking his son by the hand. "We're gonna go feed the chickens."

Benny eagerly went with Miles to the little area where the chicken coop and yard were. The crotchety old Rooster sat high atop his little perch, his brightly colored feathers on proud display for everyone to see.

"Alright bud, let's go feed'em," Miles said.

Miles scooped a little bit of the chicken feed from the sack by the door and filled a little metal pail for Benny. As soon as he let him into the chicken yard, Benny's little hands reached into the bucket and tossed the feed into the grass for the hens, the rooster and their chicks. The chickens all came at once, pecking at the ground while the chicks and the rooster followed Benny around to try and eat from the bucket.

When the feed pail had been emptied, Benny returned to help Miles collect the eggs from the coop. Inside the shed it was hot, a little too hot and smelled of chicken feed and hay, but Miles would have taken that over a musty, dingy hotel any day of the week. Carefully he looked at the eggs to make sure none of them had developed embryos and if the hens were sitting on them, he left them in the beds.

"We gon' eat eggies?" Benny asked as Miles carefully placed them in the bucket.

"Yep, we're gonna eat eggies for breakfast Benny," Miles chuckled.

Benny jumped with excitement as he helped Miles finish collecting the eggs. Back to the cottage they went, sticking the eggs on the bench below the windowsill before Miles set to work picking the vegetables and herbs out of the garden.

Benny yanked up a few fat carrots out of the ground and put them in the wicker basket while Miles set to work on the onions. He still couldn't believe how much the garden had exploded in the last few months, brimming over with celery, onions, tomatoes, at least twelve different kinds of peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, squash, peas, beans, lettuces, cabbages, potatoes, beets, radishes, eggplant, okra, rosemary, basil, thyme and a whole host of other herbs and vegetables that would last through the winter and even be sold at the farmers' market in town.

Miles laughed a little bit as Benny tried to lift the basket, but his little arms just wouldn't let him. "I've gotcha bud," Miles said, picking the basket up with ease and bringing it to the shed for storage.

As soon as the chores were done, Miles hoisted Benny onto his hip and carried him back to the house but found that the eggs had been taken in already. "Sweetheart?" Miles called.

"Yes dear?" you asked, leaning halfway out the kitchen window.

"Any idea where the eggs might have gone?"

"Well," you answered. "A few of them may or may not have gone in the German chocolate cake I made for here and for the market, along with the bottle of milk you brought in."

Miles and Benny both gave each other wide-eyed looks. "You hear that Benny?" he teased. "Momma made Daddy's favorite."

You laughed a little as the two of them hurried into the house, following the trail of the chocolate scents that wafted out of the kitchen. You felt the baby rolling over in your belly as your husband and son kicked off their boots, the chores finally done for the day and the whole rest of the afternoon ahead to do as you pleased.

[izukusspirit]

IN RESPONSE OF WAKING UP IM INSTANTLY LIKE----DIBS FATHER ON FUCKING SHOOK CRACK LIKE ???? SON WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN LESS THEN 30 SECONDS TODAY??-

OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO HIM DID I ACCIDENTLY MAKE HIM A HUMAN ALIEN TO MESS WITH HIM MENTALY ABOUT EGG TOAST

NOOOOOOOOOOO I THOUGHT I GAVE HIM BLACK ADO CHAN MLG GLASSES BECAUSE I WENT TO 2014 BECAUSE OF A FUCKING OLIVE IN A JAR BEING SENT TO BE AS A GRAPE THINKING I GOT RAPED FUCK DEAD SERIIOUS ABOUT O.B.S BEING THE TWINSISTER GHOSTS HERE

AM I BACK IN 8TH GRADE AGAIN FUCK FUCK FUCK?? WHERES THE SHCOOL THEN IM LIKE AT HOME LIKE AREN’T I SUPPOSED TO CATCH THE BUSS FOR SCHOOL WHERE IS MY FUCKING MOTHER’S JEEP FUCK MY ANTI-VILLAN SUPERVILLAN ASS TRIED TO BOOK A HOTEL TRIVAGO WIGOUT TICKET TO TEHRAN BECAUSE OF MY AMERICAN DOUBLESPERM COUNTERPART HOO MY GOD HE’S TALKING ABOUT OBS BECAUSE HE THOUGHT GHOSTMONUMENT TOLD HIM TO FUCK OFF BECAUSE OF HIM CHANGING HIS BACKGROUND TO A MELTING CANDEL BUT JUST IN GENNERAL CHANGING HIS LAPTOP BACKGROUND ON THE FUCKING PHONE.LENOVO.AND HP EVNY :(. LINGO-JAM SMALL TEXT CRYING HHH GHOSTMONUMENT IS A SWEETHEART I PAINTED THEM SO BAD RECENTLY ;;;;;

https://obsproject.com/ https://www.deviantart.com/ghostmonument ngl they have core and honestly i’ve always loved the way they draw!!! i love their cat dragon character with those long evildregon horns but she/he fucking hates me i stalk because i find intrest in telling you i fucking looove you but you HAATE ME SO YOU’RE LIKE KIMIKO RAIUMONDO TO MEEE LIKE THE MONKEY EYE GLAREE FUCKK :(-

LIGHT IN DARKNESS FAIRY ANIMALJAM GROUND PENSIVE EMOJI IN RESPONSE TO ME SENDING THE LETTER H OR A KAT TELLING ME TO BASICALLY FUCK OFF WITH A SHEMJI KAT OF ERIC BUT ZIM IN THE SUMMER SERVER THAT I COULD ACCIDENTALLY SEE BECAUSE I SIMPLY GHOST LOOKED AT THE LINK IN DEATH LIKE HOOO MY GOD I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE A FUCKING SERVER DM LINK NOO THE FUCKING DSI ITSELF COULD SHADOWBOX ME INTO INFORMATION AND I CANT EVEN GO HOOOME ORIGINAL SOURCE OF GHOSTMONUMENT AND KATS UPSET :(

AND THE FINAL DEATH BLOW WAS THAT I KILLED LOKI ON PONY.TOWN IN A TRUTH OR DARE WITH FAYE THAT I COULDN’T GET OUT OF BECAUSE I HAD SO MUCH FUN THAT I FELT BAD AFTER!!! MERRY BAD END HAHAHAHA!

ORI AND THE BLIND FOREST CROSSWORD PUZZLE WOLF NUZZLE BOTTLE FROM TARGET PINKBLUE

THE PEPPERMENT CATTOFRICC WITH LOKIS ENDGAME DEATH WRITTEN ALL OVER IT LIKE FUCK GO BACK GIVE HIM MY LITTLE PONY VIBES IN HIS NEW SHOW SO HIS DANIKA CROWLEY ACTOR DOESN’T FEEL REALLY BAD ABOUT THE FACT THAT I GAVE HIM LONG SPIDERMAN HAIR TO MAKE HIM FEEL LIKE A SEX SYMBOL BUT A WORLD DESTROYER AT THE SAME TIME-AND I’M LIKE CRYING IN MY FUCKING HEAD LIKE I FUCKING HEAR LOKI SAY “FATHER WHY HAVE YOU BETRAYED ME” IN RESPONSE TO THE LONELY OK? KEEP PLAYING FROM ANIMALJAM BECAUSE I NAMED AN ACCOUNT FOR MY MOTHER BISQUITLOBSTER AND HE THOUGHT THAT THE QUIT WAS KILL YOURSELF SO HE DID THE USEEWA AS THE ACTUAL ACTOR IRL AND THATS WHY IDRIS ELBA HAD TO KILL HIM ON-SET BECAUSE HE ALREADY DIED HE SCREAMED HE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO ACTUALLY CHOKE HIM OUT LIKE MY NEW MOVIE JEWLS HOO MY GOODD

LOOK AT HOW MUCH FUN HE’S HAVING WHAT HAVE I DONE TO HIM?? HE TRIED TO TYPE THROUGH ME LIKE “DON’T DO THAT TO ME??” AND I’M LIKE WYDM “DUDE WE’RE THE SAME PERSON THIS IS PHILLIP LESSEN MADE TO LOOK LIKE MYSTERIO STOOPP” AND I’M LIKE DOES LOKI CANNONLY HAVE A FACE OR IS IT THE FUCKING DISNEY CHANNEL DISNEY XP ULTIMATE SPIDERMAN ONE I CONSTANTLY SEE AS LINEART INSTEAD OF ANYTHING ELSE” YES IT FUCKING IS LAMENTS PHILLIP BUT NOT UPSET “AND IM LIKE FUCK I SWITCHED TO THE FUCKING QUOTE INSTEAD NOOOOOOO LOKI PRINCE OF DARKNESS PHILLIPP JACKSPICER PRINCE OF DARKNESS SHAOLIN SHOWDOWN”

[coffee-at-annies]

Sid comes to him in the off-season. That’s not how they do things. They spend the season dancing around each other, him and Sid and Geno, playing at being more, at being greater than the sum of their parts, and then they scatter in the off-season to rediscover who they are on their own and to build themselves into something that has a chance of greatness. Or at least that’s how Kris spends his off season - sweating it out in the gym, building his body into something ready to skate 30 minutes a night and not break down. Geno spends his time home, first it was Russia with his parents, and now it’s soaking up the sun in Miami with Anna. Sid spends his off-season with people. There’s always someone clamoring for Sid’s attention and he uses the time without hockey to give generously what he can’t during the season. After his concussion, after being trapped inside his house by himself for a year, Sid doesn’t like being alone. Without teammates and hockey to occupy most of his time he fills it with people - family and friends and training partners and children. That’s why it’s strange that Sid is on his doorstep in Montreal, crooked smile on his face, unmarked baseball cap on his head - a new one this year, black, not yet sweat stained - nobody else in sight, at 7am in the morning when he’s about to leave for his morning run.

“Hey bud,” Sidney says, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that shows his happiness. What he has to be happy about this early in the morning and looking at Kris, sleep rough, wearing yesterday’s stubble, and dressed in clothes designed for him to sweat through, he has no idea. “You gonna let me in?”

At the question, Tanger’s eyes finally move off of Sid’s face to the little carryon suitcase at his side. Usually when Sid has media obligations in Montreal they set him up in a hotel near the studio. Sid hates that though. He’s got enough friends in the city with a guest room that he prefers to crash there. Says hotels remind him too much of hockey when he’s not playing. Kris is pretty sure it’s just an excuse for free food and the opportunity to drag whomever he’s staying with into hanging out. Sid’s never been good at verbally asking for time unless it’s bullying teammates into staying late after practice, but he makes his requests known anyway. It’s one of the things Kris found annoying those first couple years, Sid’s need to insert himself in something because he didn’t know how to ask for an invitation. Nowadays Kris just finds it endearing. Only Sid.

Kris steps back inside with a small “oui,” clearing the doorway for Sid to step through. His brain isn’t processing the sudden switch English when he’s mostly spoken French since the season ended. Sid seems to understand this as he keeps most of his words to himself.

Sid follows him inside as he leads him to his kitchen on autopilot and starts making a cup of coffee for his guest. His mamman would be proud at his manners but would tut at the state of his kitchen. It looks bare with only the coffee machine and what he set out for his breakfast protein shake. He doesn’t ask Sid his preferences, they’ve been together long enough for Kris to have memorized his three different coffee orders. He puts the milk back in his fridge and skims his hand over the little jar of jam in the doorway, a fixture in every fridge he owns even though Geno has never visited him outside of Pittsburgh.

Sid settles himself on top of one of the barstools at Kris’s breakfast bar, his thick thighs sticking out, his skinny ankles hooked on one of the rungs to stabilize himself. He looks much more awake than Kris feels but he takes the coffee with a happy hum anyway. He doesn’t say anything, content for Kris to say the first word. Kris wonders if Geno gets this, Sid quietly content in his kitchen and the morning too early for English. Kris knows that if he indicated he wanted it, Sid would fill the air with chatter without needing a word from him in response.

His heart swells a little at the familiarity of it all. Sid will make himself breakfast during the season but he much prefers to follow someone home for lunch after practice. If he can get away with someone else feeding him he will.

Kris is in the process of putting his thoughts into English when his watch alarm beeps at him reminding of the run he was supposed to be on right now. He swears softly, poking at his watch to get it to shut up. When he looks back up at Sid, it’s to him gesturing for Kris to go. The look on his face says whatever reason he’s here can wait until after Kris’s run. Kris grimaces, but routine beckons, and so with an apologetic wave he heads back out the door.

Sid has migrated to the couch by the time Kris returns from his run, a little more awake and a lot more sweaty. He’s got some sort of cooking show making noise in the living room but when Kris peaks his head in on the way upstairs he’s curled up with a book, not watching. Sid looks up just long enough to acknowledge that he knows Kris is home and then goes back to his book. Kris continues upstairs to shower and change out of his running gear.

Sid’s still reading by the time he gets back downstairs so he makes himself a protein shake before going to join Sid in the living room. Sid still doesn’t say what brought him to town and Kris is content enough to let him be. If he’s got somewhere he needs to be, he’ll let Kris know.

They spend the rest of the morning that way until Kris’s alarm goes off reminding him that he has to get ready for the gym. Its nice. He probably would have spent the morning working out in his home gym. Instead he spent it playing on his phone on his couch, Sid a presence, solid and comfortable, for all that they were on separate couches.

Kris gets up and stretches, his back protesting from his position on the couch. Sid looks at him inquiringly.

“Time for training. Are you coming with or…” he lets himself trail off. Sid doesn’t join him in offseason training but he also doesn’t visit him in Montreal. In fact he can’t think of the last time Sid was in Montreal to see him…

He freezes a little as the memory comes back to him. The last time Sid was in Montreal for him was the funeral. All of the team, all of his friends were there, even Flower, but he knew that it was Sid’s doing with Geno’s silent support. He was so cold, ringing in the New Year by himself while the team played in Boston and he took a last minute flight home. The cold lasted so long he thought he’d never be warm again until he was shocked back into feeling seeing everyone at the funeral. The warmth of everyone showing up, of Sid being there for him to lean on while he said goodbye for the last time, meant more to him than he can say, even now, months and a disappointing end of the season later.

He feels his face do something weird as the memory comes back to him. Thankfully Sid isn’t looking at him, busy heaving himself to his feet. Kris tries to school his face into something less strange by the time Sid is finished standing up. He thinks he’s succeeded with his face, but his body language must still be all over the place cause Sid looks at him with concern. Kris waves it away before he can say anything, shaking himself to get back into the right headspace. He loves going to the gym, but he has to make sure he’s in the right headspace to work. He can’t let himself be distracted. The last thing he needs is to hurt himself in the off-season. He needs to be better next year. Neither of them is getting younger - youth and exuberance won’t get them through 82 games but the right strength and conditioning might.

They both head upstairs to get changed and Kris graciously lends Sid a gym bag to bring with him. Kris feels back to normal by the time they make it to his car. He doesn’t see a rental from Sid so he must have caught a cab. Kris has just enough presence of mind to text Jon to let him know that Sid will be joining them before they head out. Sid spends the ride over chattering, telling Kris about everything he’s done so far this off-season while carefully not mentioning hockey or the way the season ended. Kris would be okay if he did. With Sid it never feels like an accusation. He was there just as much as Kris was, more even, doing everything he could to put the team on his back and it wasn’t enough. Sid understands how it feels to come so close and not be enough.

The gym is the same as it always is. Kris thrills to be there, working his body hard, pushing his conditioning as far as he can. Sid takes it easier than him, running through the exercises at less weight but no less determined. Both of them know from experience where Sid can keep up with Kris and where he has to concede that Kris’s superior conditioning means he will win every time. That doesn’t stop the spark of competition is Sid’s eyes and it’s with a challenging smile that they both happily sweat their way through their workout.

Normally Kris would head off for an on-ice workout but with Sid by his side he instead stops for lunch and heads back home.

[note: Sid is in town for a small media thing but mostly to see Kris. Idk how he tells Kris. Idk what happens after lunch. Kris and Sid spend a couple calm days together, Sid giving him something to do that isn’t train for hockey and see family]

~~later~~

[on a video call with geno]

“Legend” Geno rumbles. The nickname causes Kris’s eyes to snap to the screen in front of him from where he’d been staring down at his hands. Geno’s accent is in off-season form too, his English heavy and blunted with the sound of a mouth never designed to speak it. Kris’s French had felt that way for a bit but then Sidney had showed up, bogging him down in their shared language - the less said about Sid’s French and his even worse attempts at Russian the better - and forcing him to clean himself up and communicate. “Life not just hockey. It’s okay to take time”

[note: Soft Sidtanger and then Tanger leaves on his run and then Sidney joins him in the gym and then stays in Montreal and doesn’t leave and eventually it comes out that Sid is worried that between grief and the stroke he’s training himself into the ground trying to be ready for next season. Maybe geno gets involved.

The goal is something that is soft, contrasting Sid just sorta being there and quietly calmly taking up space and Kris’s nonstop work ethic. Sid never stops him, never asks him to slow down, but he gives him something to do that isn’t working out.

I can’t figure out if Kath exists, if they’re divorced or what, but without the kids I don’t know how Kris fills his off-season. Polyamory is an option but idk Kris’s life rn is just nebulously empty. Divorce feels not-wrong but he’s not making plans to visit the kids or pick them up from Kath or anything like that which is what I’d assume from amicably divorced and there’s not the angst of a messy divorce even one that is years old.]

For the softer world prompts - 9 Sid/Tanger?

He looks up at the sky sometimes. Bright blue one day, white-grey with clouds the next, dark and rainy the day after. When he closes his eyes, he hears the sound of a clock ticking down, echoing in the back of his head. He can hear it ticking ever closer to a buzzer. The end of a period, end of a game, end of a season, of hockey itself. Kris tries to stay ahead of the buzzers. Skate harder, faster, longer, anything to outrun the sound of clock and the fear of the buzzer. Some days it’s okay, looking out across the ice after a win and knowing they did everything they could to get here. Some days it’s hard, staying out there to make sure everyone makes it safely to the locker room where they can lick their wounds and try again and again and again. Kris hears the clock everywhere he goes but it’s quietest and loudest when he locks eyes with Sid. Joy that he gets to be here. Anxiety that it’s not forever. That one day Sid may vanish like the fans in the stands - leaving after the final buzzer. Kris doesn’t know who he’ll be without the ticking, without hockey, without Sid. He uses it, letting the ticking drive him further. He won’t stop, not until his body gives out on him for real this time.

(Thank you so much for this. I wasn’t expecting to get so inspired but I’ve been pecking away at a couple different fills all day. This was actually the second idea, it’s just the shorter, complete one so I’m posting it first. I’m at a stopping point with the other one so I think I’m gonna yeet both of them to tumblr for the sake of getting both of them out.)

[t-o-m-hollands]

HAPPY PLACE

Summary: Tom and you are filming a movie together and the lines between the character’s love for each other and your own are blurred. 

Themes: Pure fluff.

Pairing: Tom x actor!reader

Warnings: None really, kissing maybe? 

Word count: 2,3 k

A/N: This is a rewrite of a story I posted almost two years ago. Also let’s all pretend like Tom wouldn't immediately know that his happy place is a golf course. Also copy edited by @plantlungs​ who is an angel.

Picture this, you’re in a large and cold studio. You are tangled up in white sheets, sprawled out on a colossal bed, on a set designed to look like a hotel room. All around you blinding lights are shining and cameras are pointed at you and the man next to you in bed. A stylist has spent nearly two hours artfully crafting your hair and painting your face. The costume designer has searched high and low for weeks upon weeks for the perfect little silk negligée for you to wear. You feel beautiful but weak in the knees and dizzy from nerves.

Picture this, you’re in bed in a cold studio and a beautiful man is lying next to you. All around you, people are adjusting lights, rearranging camera angles, and testing sound recorders. The director is screaming in the distance at someone and a loud argument has just broken out between two set designers regarding the layout of the room. It is mayhem, it is chaos, it is pandemonium - and all of it falls on deaf ears to the ‘lovers’ in bed. For all they care, they are the only people in the room.

Picture this, you have been cast to play the lead role in a movie about two young lovers on the run from their families; who have nothing but some stolen money and their undying, death-defying love for one another to their name. It is a completely and utterly unoriginal script and the only reason you’ve said yes to the role is because of the male lead.

You have spent all morning kissing each other, touching each other, looking and yearning for each other. Only while playing your characters, of course.  

However, here’s the thing, it is nearing the end of shooting and you have spent months together at this point, and the yearning and touching on screen has made its way in between takes. For example, right now the cameras aren’t rolling and yet Tom’s hand is in your hair, stroking your cheek, and he’s smiling at you, one of those easy smiles that seems to come so effortlessly when you’re around that he isn’t even aware he’s smiling. And you are looking at him and you are smiling too.

“What is your happy place?” you ask, voice tinged with curiosity.  

“My what?” he replies, voice sleepy and eyes full of stars, his mouth still formed in a smile.

“You know,” you blink up at him “The place you go to in your mind when you need to escape. Your safe space, where no one can touch you and where you can always return when things go bad.”

He keeps stroking your cheek with his thumb, almost compulsory and as if he isn’t aware of doing it. Like it’s simply a necessity to touch you. He considers it for a moment, a small frown on his face, before answering, “I don’t think I have one.”

Your eyes go wide and you burst out, “oh, but then we must make you one!”

His smile grows larger “alright” he says, voice filled with tenderness. “But a happy place like? What is your happy place?” he asks.  

Somewhere in the background the sound of smashing glass, yet neither of you seems to notice.

“It’s a cottage,” you smile, “a cottage somewhere far out in the countryside in a small village. Close to both the forest and the sea with hardly any modernities except for clean water in the taps and electricity. Where I’ll bake endless amounts of cherry pies with cherries that I’ve picked from my own cherry tree and I’ll make countless jars of strawberry jam with strawberries I’ve picked myself from my own strawberry bushes. And I’ll make elderberry wine too. And I’ll have geese and ducks and chickens, and rabbits and bunnies and a dog and a cat.” And then, as in afterthought, “and maybe a cow, and a goat too. And wild mice in the garden that I’ll sing to every morning.”

His smile is even wider now, the skin around his eyes wrinkling and the dimples in his cheek showing. He’s so close, your foreheads almost touching, and you could spend the rest of your day seeing the constellations of the stars mimicked in the freckles spread out across his nose. 

You continue your story,

“And the hallways shall be painted in mint green and the kitchen will be cobalt blue and white. And all my porcelain will be in sunshine yellow, faded from years of washed dinners, and I’ll only have linen tablecloths. And all my pots and things shall be copper, bought at auctions and second-hand stores.” You can’t help but smile at it all and you know it has more to do with the fact that Tom’s face seems radiant with happiness and his eyes almost seem to shine as they look at you than it has to do with you describing your happy place out loud for the first time.  

“And what will your bedroom be like?” he asks, voice low and raspy, his thumb stroking your cheek again. Around you, people are still arguing and preparing to shoot the movie. 

“Pink, of course,” you respond instantly, “Handwoven powder pink wallpaper, with a pattern of wild birds on it. And a bed, even bigger and softer than this one! On which I’ll have sweet dreams each night. And I’ll have a dressing table and a massive wardrobe, all in cherry wood. And the bed will be a four-poster one, with heavy canary yellow coloured drapery. And everywhere you turn in my cottage there shall be fresh flowers from my gardens in pretty little vases that I’ve picked up on village markets.” You playfully tap his nose with your finger, for no other particular reason than that it makes you both laugh. “Oh, and they have to be wildflowers,” you add, in a faux stern voice.

“And why is that?” he inquires. 

You scrunch up your nose in mock disgust and this time he taps your nose. You ignore him and continue, “I hate genetically modified flowers, made to look perfect and to smell of nothing. I want them wild, and messy. Growing in all their wild glory.”

“Can I come and visit your cottage?” he asks in a wistful voice, hardly louder than a whisper.  

“Of course,” you say, “I mean, you must come and see my library after all.”

“Oh, there’s a library there too now? How big is this cottage exactly?” He sounds teasing, but he sounds fond too.  

“Well, it’s all about priorities and I prioritize a library, duh,” you laugh. “All the bookshelves will be in oak and floor to ceiling, overpacked with books in no particular order. Books about everything, fiction and nonfiction all jumbled up in an unholy mess, because not even in my happy place do I take an organized path in life.”

He’s laughing too now, so you continue. “My garden will be a magnificent one, with all sorts of trees and bushes and plants I haven’t even heard of yet. And roses too, lots and lots of roses. And a pond for the ducks and the geese. And do you know what the geese shall be named? This is the most important thing,” you ask but he just shakes his head, looking at you as if mesmerized. “Abigail and Amelia. You know, like the geese in Aristocats.”

And then he bursts into full on laughter.

“Alright, guys! let’s try this one more time,” roars the visibly angry director and you and Tom are snapped out of your shared daydream and brought back to the cold studio. 

“Ready? Action!” he yells.

And then Tom is kissing you and it’s tender and sweet and slow; like he’s trying to make the moment last as long as possible. Your hands are in his hair, moving over his back, caressing his cheek. He is moving above you, arms placed on either side of your head, trapping you in the most beautiful way you can imagine. His scent is all around you, lemon and pine, mixing with the fragrance of the freshly washed sheets. The bed feels soft under you, and his body hard above you. He sighs into the kiss and you wonder if acting or if he can’t help himself like you can’t when you almost involuntarily move your hips up against his.

“CUT,” bellows the director and you move away from one other, both of you panting for breath. “Take five, and then we’ll move on to another angle!”

Later you are huddled up in a corner of a pub. After having seen him bare-chested in bed all day it feels almost odd to see him casually dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks so cosy and sweet and his hair is all over the place and all you want to do is cuddle up beside him, place your head on his shoulder and hold his hand. Feel the heat of his body and the smooth fabric of his clothes. But instead, you dig into your broccoli burger and you ask him, “so, have you thought about your happy place?”

He chews his food, brow furrowed, thinking. “I’m not sure where it could be.” He says this so evasively that you wonder if he’s lying. 

“Of course, you don’t have to tell me, you know,” you say. “Like, if you figured one out and it’s private then that’s fine,” and honestly, it is. He doesn’t have to tell you anything if it makes him uncomfortable  

“No, it’s just,” he begins, and maybe it’s a trick of the dim light in the pub, but you can almost swear that he’s blushing. He avoids your gaze, dips a sweet potato fry in his dip. Around you, the other pub guests are enjoying their meals, chatting and laughing, as a singer performs Ed Sheeran covers on the small stage. Then it is as if he changes his mind and he says, “oh, I don’t know, can you help me make one? I really don’t know what mine would be. And you were so good at making me imagine yours.”  

“Well,” you laugh, “you need to help me a little.”  

“Sure,” he says and nods.  

“Should it be in town or in the countryside?”

He thinks for a long time, chewing his food absentmindedly. “In the city,” he finally decides.  

“London?” you ask, smiling. During the shoot, you’d had long conversations about London and your shared love for the city. He smiles as well. 

“Sure,” he says, all soft voice and tender eyes. 

“Alright, well what if your happy place is a perfect day in London? Where would you stay?”

This time he doesn’t need to think for long before answering, “South West”.

“Well,” you say and smile, “obviously you’re going to start this perfect day in a hotel room with some girl you fancy and champagne breakfast?”

“Obviously,” he answers and smiles around yet another fry.

You carry on like this for a long time, planning his day in meticulous detail, from champagne breakfast in bed to walks all around London. Looking at art and going to the Camden market and listening to live music and then a pub quiz in the evening, and so on and so on and so on. You talk all the way through dinner and while walking back to the hotel you’re both staying at while shooting the movie. And without thinking or really reflecting too much on it you’ve both made it to your hotel room and you’ve thrown yourselves on his bed, both laying on your backs and looking up at the ceiling, talking and laughing and planning his perfect day still. 

He turns to you, head resting on his elbow, looking down on you, eyes full of devotion. “So,” he begins, and you think you can pick up a hint of nervousness in his tone. “The girl I’m sharing this day with, any suggestions for who she could be?” 

Your heart starts to beat faster in your chest. Is he insinuating something, or is he just playing with you? “Pamela Anderson?” you suggest, sheepishly.

He bursts out in laughter, “What? Is that the first person that came to mind for you? Why?”  

And you’re laughing too, for what must be the millionth time that day. “Honestly, I have no idea. Why not Pamela Anderson? She’s fit.”

You have no idea how it’s happened if it is him or you that’s moved closer, but suddenly you’re so close to each other that you can feel the heat radiate off of his body, see the all the different shades of brown in his eyes; hear his even breath and feel them against your cheek.  

“No,” he says smiling, “I’m not imagining my perfect day with Pamela Anderson”.

“She does seem like fun though,” and you want to smack yourself for being so awkward but you don’t know what to do with yourself when he’s this close.  

He smiles again, and he looks so fondly at you that you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. And then he’s even closer and you stop breathing. And this is crazy because you have literally been kissing him all day and so how can you possibly be this nervous? But that has been while playing other people, pretending to be two love-struck and desperate-for-each-other adolescents. This is real life. This is not Tom in character, this was just Tom. And you want him. And you have always wanted him. And you want him to want you; not the person you’re playing.

“I was thinking of you, actually,” he says shyly, his confession quiet in the otherwise silent hotel room. “I was thinking about you the whole time we were making up my happy place and my perfect day, although,” and now his mouth is just millimetres from yours, “I really wouldn’t have minded spending time in your cottage either. Making jams and cherry pies with you, feeding the ducks and the geese.”  

He kisses you, before you can say anything else awkward or silly, and so instead of saying anything at all you kiss him back. 

And so picture this: You’re on a bed with the man you love and he’s kissing you and you are kissing him back, and maybe, just maybe, he loves you as well.

[jeff-stillcoolasazombie]

The Waiter and the Hotel Heiress -- Chapter 7

Rating: K+

Length: 1460 words

Also read on AO3

A/N: I simultaneously loved and loathed writing this chapter. The plot was easy, because it had been completely laid out for me based on the film, but the shift in POV was super jarring for me, especially since I started working on this almost immediately after such an adorably fluffy chapter. All the chapters until now have either been from Kristoff or Eloise's perspective, and this one. . . well, you'll get it. I got to play the scathing villain for once.

Also, Merry Christmas, you filthy animals!

Chapter 7: If Only There Was Someone Out There Who Loved You

The next time Hans came across that six-year-old brat, he would make sure she was never heard from again.

Earlier that morning he’d booked an appointment at the Plaza barber shop for a shave, to treat himself and prep for the big event the next day. And while it was apparent that the little girl was not a fan of his, it did not bother him in the least when she strolled in for a haircut so abruptly. Whatever; purely coincidence, and he had been there first.

But then she mentioned the Harvard Christmas party to take place at the hotel that evening. Anna had mentioned that many prestigious universities and organizations held their holiday parties at the Plaza; it seemed unlikely that Harvard, which was based in Boston and not New York, would book the hotel for an event this time of year. Right?

Still, Hans had a reputation to uphold, one that would not be tarnished by Anna or her father or even Eloise prompting him to introduce his “college chums” at a party that night. So he slyly excused himself from the hotel, away on an urgent business call, for the rest of the day. Just in case. He quickly left a message for Anna about the last-minute work emergency; she would be fine. What could his fiancée possibly get up to alone on the eve of their wedding?

Yet when Hans arrived back to the hotel around eleven that night, something seemed off. He went to the front desk and asked Mr. Salamone, the hotel manager, if the Harvard party was still going on.

“I beg your pardon?” was Salamone’s response.

Instantly knowing he’d been fooled, Hans shrugged it off. “Never mind. My mistake,” he said before heading up to his suite.

Hans spent the next few hours seething, thinking through the events of the last few days, specifically any interactions with Eloise. She really hated him. How much could that conniving girl know? Who would ever believe anything bad she said about him though? But what if someone did believe her? Clearly she was close to much of the staff, especially that lovesick waiter. Did he trust the girl? If Eloise confided in him her suspicions about Hans, would he pass on those concerns to Anna?

That little girl was becoming a problem. She had to go.

The next morning, Christmas Eve, he went down to Anna’s room so the two could have a pre-wedding brunch together. Although, she tried to hide it, Hans could tell she was distraught that her requested room service waiter had left for vacation early that morning. Three guesses who that was.

“Anna, darling,” he said to comfort her as they enjoyed their Eggs Benedict and strawberry jam toast. He actually hated strawberry jam—he was more partial to grape—but he pretended to like it because it was Anna’s favorite. “You have to remember that it’s Christmas Eve. The employees—from waitstaff to housekeeping—all deserve to go on vacation for the holidays. They don’t have the privilege of traveling whenever they want, like you do.” Hans took a swig of his coffee with cream as he watched Anna’s face go from disappointment to resignation.

“You’re right,” she said finally. She rested her head on one hand as she stirred her English Breakfast tea with the other.

At that moment, one of the housekeepers started clearing away their empty plates. “Excuse me,” Hans replied, “did I look finished with that?”

The housekeeper reddened, her hands frozen in place as she gripped his plate on the table. “My apologies, Mr. Westergaard. I noticed you hadn’t touched it in a while and assumed you were done. I was only trying to help, since you and Miss Anna have a busy day ahead of you.”

“Well, it wasn’t helpful, it was presumptuous” he responded with a slightly agitated tone. “If I want to take my time eating breakfast today, I can and I will.”

The housekeeper let go of his plate and looked between him and Anna nervously.

“It’s alright, Gerda,” Anna said softly. “You can take my plate, I can’t eat anymore. I’ll be off soon anyway.” She handed the housekeeper her plate with a kind smile. Gerda nodded and silently shuffled off.

Hans glared at her for a moment before steering back to the conversation. “Anyway, if your favorite waiter wants to spend his Christmas in mountainous wilderness, that’s his prerogative,” Hans said with a chuckle. “Besides, he hasn’t been your waiter for many years now.”

Anna stopped stirring her tea cup and glanced up at her fiancée. “Yes, he won’t always be my waiter. But he will always be my friend.”

After a brunch that was more tense and melancholy than Hans had wished for, Anna was whisked away to the bridal parlor and salon for the rest of the morning to get ready for the ceremony, leaving him to get dressed alone in the suite.

About ninety minutes before the nuptials were due to begin, Hans heard a banging at the front door.

“ANNA!” a voice on the other side of the door cried out. Hans’ luck was too perfect.

“It’s me, Eloise!” she continued furiously beating on the door. “You can’t do this! You can’t marry Hans! Please! There’s things about him you don’t know!”

Hans then casually opened the suite door, where a breathless Eloise stood, wearing a Santa hat and red velvet version of her usual jumper dress. She quieted and backed away at the sight of him as he leaned on the door frame without care.

“What sort of things?” he asked with a smarmy tone.

The young girl stood in front of him, still and silent.

He leaned down to her level. “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?” And before Eloise could turn to run away, Hans scooped her up and held her in his arms like a wounded dog. Best way to restrain her while he found a place to hide her.

As he made his way down to the boiler room, Hans did his best to keep the girl from creating a scene. Firstly, he used the stairwells instead of taking the elevator; much less conspicuous that way, although the far-reaching ceilings in the corridor only amplified Eloise’s screaming. Hans changed her position several times in an attempt to dull her, still she continued to yell and beat her arms against his body and thrash her limbs violently. He tried covering her mouth for a few minutes, but she kept biting his hand in an effort of release. When he rounded the corner between the second and first floors, he finally removed his muzzle from her face, his hand now covered in saliva and tiny yet deep teeth marks.

“LET ME GO!” she screamed, her first intelligible words, as they reached the boiler room. Hans had thrown her across one shoulder now, holding the small of her back with the other hand while she continuously kicked his forearms.

“I’ll let you go,” he said as he glanced around the room looking for some sort of containment for the girl. “Just as soon as we tie the knot and it’s all legal.”

Out of breath, he finally spotted and settled on a locker, perhaps there to store furnace and air conditioning tools and equipment. He threw her down inside and quickly struggled for the locker door.

“Anna will never marry you!” Eloise spat at him. Her cheeks were red from kicking and screaming, although her voice didn’t sound the least bit hoarse.

He gave a smirk. “Who’s gonna stop her?” And he slammed the metal doors shut on her face.

Despite the girl’s screams being faintly audible from inside the locker, Hans was confident that the sounds of machinery around them would further muffle her voice. Hans locked and pulled the doors, to make sure there was no way she’d be able to push her way out. Then he looked around, double checking that no one had followed him, before heading back upstairs.

Problem solved.

Once back in Anna’s suite, Hans finished getting ready. He fixed his mussed hair, which had become slightly slick with sweat from the ordeal, but nothing some product couldn’t handle. He freshened up with some cologne and put on his tuxedo jacket. He took a calming breath and looked at himself in the mirror. In less than an hour he would be marrying the love of his life: a pretty, kindhearted heiress to a massive fortune and the most famous hotel in America. As soon as their marriage was final, he could pay back all his debtors, using Anna’s money, and then live in luxury for the rest of his days.

Nothing could stop him now.

[xxcxcs-blog]

Everything You Need to Stock an at-Home Bar

So you finally found the bar cart of your dreams, and you’ve loaded it up with your favorite liquor. While those are two very important steps to curating an at-home bar, to really make your setup recall that of your favorite watering hole, you’re going to want to add some barware and cocktail equipment. But that can be an intimidating task, especially if you’ve had more experience drinking cocktails than making them. The good news is that you don’t have to spend a lot of money. “Most people in their home bar really don’t need that many tools,” advises Joaquín Simó, a partner at New York City’s Pouring Ribbons who was named Tales of the Cocktail’s American Bartender of the Year in 2012. “I say you start with the absolute basics and concentrate on the things that you like to use.”

If you’re in a pinch, Martin Hudak, a bartender at Maybe Sammy, says you can always use bartender tools you may already have on hand: “For your shaken cocktails, you can use empty jam jars or a thermos flask. For measuring, spoons and cups, and for stirring, any spoon or back of a wooden ladle.” But Stacey Swenson, the head bartender at Dante (which currently holds the No. 1 spot on the World’s 50 Best Bars list), notes that if you’re going to put stuff on display, you might want gear that’s both practical and stylish. “You want something that’s functional and also something that’s pretty,” she says. “If you’re putting it on your bar cart, you kind of put on a show for your guests.” With the help of Simó, Hudak, Swenson, and 28 other experts, we’ve put together the below list of essential gear for any cocktail-lover’s home bar.

Editor’s note: If you want to support service industry workers who have been impacted by the coronavirus closures, you can donate to the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation, which has set up a COVID-19 Crisis Relief Fund, or One Fair Wage, which has set up an Emergency Coronavirus Tipped and Service Worker Support Fund. We’ve also linked to any initiatives the businesses mentioned in this story have set up to support themselves amid the coronavirus pandemic.

According to Simó, all shakers “technically do the same thing, and there are very cheap and very nice versions,” so there’s really no superior option when it comes to function. That said, many professional bartenders use Boston-style shakers, which are basically two cups that fit into each other and form a tight seal to keep liquid from splashing all over you. “If you want to look like a bartender at Death & Co. or PDT, and you want the same kit, then you’re probably going to go metal-on-metal,” or “tin-on-tin,” Simó notes. Six of our experts recommend these weighted tin-on-tin shakers — which come in a range of finishes, including copper and silver — from Cocktail Kingdom, a brand that nearly every bartender we spoke to praised for its durable, well-designed barware. Grand Army’s beverage director, Brendan Biggins, and head bartender, Robby Dow, call this “the gold standard” of shaking tins. “Behind the bar, there’s almost nothing worse than shaker tins that don’t seal well or don’t separate easily,” explains Krissy Harris, the beverage director and owner of Jungle Bird in Chelsea. “The Koriko Weighted Shaking tins seal perfectly every time and easily release,” she says. And because they’re weighted, they’re less likely to fall over and spill.

For some people, a two-piece setup like the above shakers might be tricky to use comfortably. “Say you’re a petite female — if you have very small hands, then maybe using a Boston-style shaker may be a little harder,” explains Simó. In that case, a cobbler shaker may be the better choice, because it’s smaller than a Boston-style shaker and thus easier to hold. The other convenient part of a cobbler-style shaker is that the strainer is already built into the lid, so you don’t necessarily have to spring for an additional wine tools. Karen Lin, a certified sommelier, sake expert, and the executive general manager of Tsukimi, suggests this shaker from Japanese barware brand Yukiwa. “The steel is very sturdy, and the shape fits perfectly in my hands,” she says. “It is also designed well so you can take it apart easily to clean.”

You know how James Bond always ordered his martinis shaken, not stirred? Well, if you were to ignore Mr. Bond’s order and make a stirred martini — or any other stirred cocktail, like a Negroni or a Manhattan — you’d set aside the shaker to use a mixing beaker instead. A mixing beaker is essentially a large vessel in which you dump your liquors and mix your drink. And though you can purchase handsome crystal ones for hundreds of dollars, both Simó and Swenson agree that they’re kind of superfluous for a basic bar kit. “I don’t think you should spend any more than $25 on a mixing glass,” says Swenson. Harris agrees, saying that since they are the most broken item behind the bar, you should stick to a well-priced option like this mixing glass from Hiware that “doesn’t have a seam, so it’s stronger and very attractive.”

One of Simó’s hacks to getting a glass mixing beaker for not that much money is to use the glass piece from a French press, which is something else you might already own. If you want a dedicated one for your bar cart (that could serve as a backup for your French press), he says you can buy a replacement glass like this one, which has a capacity that is particularly useful if you’re making drinks for a lot of people. “I generally will take one or two of the big guys with me when I’m doing events, because then I can stir up five drinks in one, and it’s really convenient,” Simó explains.

According to Paul McGee, a co-owner of Lost Lake in Chicago, “finding vintage martini pitchers is very easy, and they are perfect for making large batches of cocktails.” Plus, they’ll look more visually striking on your bar cart. This one is even pretty enough to use as a vase when it’s not filled with punch. The photo shows the pitcher next to a strainer, but you’re only getting the pitcher for the price shown.

If you’re making a stirred drink, a mixing or bar set spoon is also necessary. “Three basic styles exist: the American bar spoon has a twisted handle and, usually, a plastic cap on the end, the European bar spoon has a flat muddler/crusher, and the Japanese bar spoon is heavier, with a weighted teardrop shape opposite the bowl,” explains Joe Palminteri, the director of food and beverage at Hamilton Hotel’s Via Sophia and Society. None of our experts recommended specific American-style bar spoons, but Simó told us that one of his favorite Japanese-style spoons is this one made by bartender Tony Abou-Ganim’s Modern Mixologist brand. “It’s got a really nice, deep bowl to it, which means you’re able to measure a nice, level teaspoon” without searching through your drawers, according to him. Simó continues, “The little top part of it has a nice little weight to it, but it’s not too bulky. So it gives you a really nice balance as you’re moving the mixing spoon around,” making your job a little easier.

Should your at-home bartending require a lot of muddling, Swenson recommends getting a European-style spoon like this, which he says will still allow you to stir while eliminating the need to buy a dedicated muddler. “You can actually use the top of the spoon to crush a sugar cube if you wanted to for your old-fashioned. I have one of those, so I don’t have to have two tools; I’ve got both of them right there.”

You don’t necessarily need a strainer if you’re using a cobbler shaker, since it’s already got a strainer built into the lid. But if you’re using a Boston-style shaker, you should get what’s called a Hawthorne strainer to make sure the ice you used to chill your drink doesn’t end up in your glass and dilute the cocktail. Three experts recommend this one, including Lynnette Marrero, the beverage director of Llama Inn and Llama-San and the co-founder of Speed Rack, who says it’s her absolute favorite because “it is light and easy to clutch and close correctly.” If you choose to buy this Hawthorne strainer, Simó also recommends getting “the replacement springs that Cocktail Kingdom sells,” telling us they’re a good way to give a worn-out strainer a face-lift. “They’re really, really nice and tight, and you can generally slip them into any Hawthorne strainer that you have.”A jigger is what you use to measure the liquor into the shaker or mixing glass. A hyperfunctional, albeit nontraditional-looking, option is the mini measuring wine decante from OXO. “I know some bartenders, including the ones at Drink in Boston, one of the best bars in the country, swear by those graduated OXO ones because they love the ability to read them from both the sides and the top,” explains Simó. “You can measure in tablespoons or ounces or milliliters, and it’s all on the same jigger.” Part-time bartender Jillian Norwick and Ward both love it too and keep the stainless steel version on hand (which looks a little nicer when left out). Noriwck adds that she’s in good company: “The peeps at Bon Appétit love it.”This fancy-looking jigger combines the functional appeal of the OXO measuring wine glass (it’s basically a cup that grows wider to accommodate different amounts of liquid) with the aesthetic appeal of a classic bar tool. It also makes measuring a snap: “This handy measuring bar table and stools is super-easy to use and enables the imbiber to essentially build all the ingredients of a drink in one go,” says Confrey.If you’re going for a more classic look but still want something practical, Simó recommends this double-sided metal jigger that has a one-ounce cup on one side and a two-ounce cup on the other. The one-ounce side on this strainer also has a half- and three-quarter-ounce lines etched into it to make it even more precise. “That gives you a lot of wiggle room” and will allow you to measure for most basic cocktails, Simó says. “From there, you really just have to learn what a quarter-ounce looks like in there, and you’re pretty much good to go.”

Biggens, Dowe, and Swenson prefer a Leopold jigger, which has a unique bell shape (with one bell holding an ounce, and the other two ounces) as well as lines etched on the inside marking both quarter- and half-ounces. “They’re really easy to hold and they have some weight to them,” Swenson adds. “Somebody who’s not really experienced using a jigger is going to be fine with something with a little bit more weight to it. And they look cool.”

Though it’s easy to want to get a different type of glass for every type of drink you make, that’s really unnecessary when you’re first starting out. According to Simó, “You can make 90 percent of drinks into a good, all-purpose cocktail glass like a rocks or a collins glass.” (While this section contains our bartenders’ favorite glasses, if you want to shop around, you can find most of these styles at various price points in our list of the best drinking glasses.) A collins — or highball — glass is the one that looks like a chimney, and generally you’re looking for something that’s about 12 ounces, like these collins glasses from bartender-favorite brand Cocktail Kingdom. “You don’t want a 16-ounce Collins glass because you’re going to be hammered after your second Tom Collins,” advises Simó.

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 3

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: You come across a device that throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. The inhabitants of Hell are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Language, unwanted flirtation, manipulation, asexual elements 

Your head felt heavy as you started to regain consciousness. Waking from a deep sleep, you felt fully rested, as if you had been asleep for days. It was a nice reprieve considering the stress that had consumed your body and mind merely hours before. 

Groaning softly, you lifted your arms and stretched your limbs, releasing a sigh of relief before your eyes began to flutter open. 

Oh. 

It wasn’t a dream. You were still very much in your own animated Hell. Great. 

“Welcome back, my dear!”

Your heart almost leapt out of your chest at the unexpected voice next to you. There, in your bed, was Alastor, casually laying beside you on top of the blankets with his hands folded behind his head, seemingly relaxed and completely at ease. 

Within a split second, you jumped out of the bed, your entire body trembling with panic. “A-Alastor?”

“Good to see you, too!” he winked, the corners of his grin rising at your response.

“Y-you… your face…” You couldn’t get the words out. His horrifying and distorted face was the last thing that you remembered seeing before you blacked out. It would forever be etched in your memory as one of the most terrifying things that you had ever seen and will probably ever see. It was now very apparent why Vaggie had warned you to stay away from him. 

“I regret if my appearance was jarring. I hope it wasn’t too much for you.” The juxtaposition between his apologetic words and his menacing smile only fueled your nervousness and did nothing to put you at ease.

Noticing your uncertainty, he chuckled and rolled off of the bed, dusting off his jacket before giving it a slight tug to straighten out the kinks in the fabric. He then summoned his staff out of thin air, setting it down with a loud thunk. “Darling, I’ve already told you. If I had any ill-will towards you, I would have already acted on it. No, no, no, you have nothing to fear. I’m simply curious about you! You are one of a kind!”

Ignoring his compliments, you could feel the frustration welling up inside of you, threatening to boil over. Between the agitation and the adrenaline that was now coursing through your veins, you snapped. “What the hell did you do to me?!”

“Why, I took it upon myself to see what’s inside your mind! Quite fascinating, indeed. I’ve never seen anything like it! Extraordinary!” 

“What do you mean?” you pressed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You… what, read my mind?” 

“Not quite,” he countered, clearly enjoying your continued baffled reaction. Sadistic bastard.

Taking a few strides towards you, he attempted to close the gap between the two of you before he spoke again. It was apparent that this guy had little-to-no personal space. “I merely caught a glimpse of your world through your eyes. It’s no wonder you were overwhelmed with hysteria! Your mortal world is quite appealing.”

“Ugh,” you scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. “That’s so… violating! What makes you think that you have the right to sift through my head!”

His smile widened as he stepped even closer, now only a few feet away. “If you recall, sweetheart, you offered me your hand. I simply obtained information I thought was pertinent to your cause. No harm, no foul.” “‘No foul’ my ass! I offered you my hand as a gesture of good will! Not as an invitation for you to magically sedate me and rummage through my mind! It’s pointless anyway! Aren’t you a Sinner like the rest of everyone here? You’re from Earth! You know exactly where I come from!” His chin dipped as his gaze pierced right through you, taking a moment for himself as if he was thinking of how to avoid the question while simultaneously answering as vaguely as possible. “Indeed,” he began, leaning on his staff in a much-too-casual position. It irked you that he could be so calm while you were on the brink of insanity. “I am from Earth, but not from your Earth. My life in the world above was similar to this one in terms of appearance. It was also, as you have put it, ‘two-dimensional’. Your world, though similar, is also vastly different. It was quite a treat to see through your eyes.” 

Well, shit. That just confused you even more. Still seething and trying to calm yourself, you asked, “Okay, well… did you at least find anything helpful?”

He hummed sinisterly, creeping you out even more. “I believe that you and I can benefit from one another. I’d like to offer you my services and assist in your escape from this world to return back to your realm. What do you think?”

“I think you’re shady as fuck,” you quipped, unable to stop yourself. Much to your relief, he simply chuckled, amused by your comment. Sighing, releasing some of the tension you had been holding onto, you added, “If you really want to help me get back to my world, I guess… I’d be grateful for the help.” 

Twirling his staff in his hands, he urged, “So, it’s a deal, then?”

As he extended his hand, a gust of wind swirled around the room, nearly knocking you off of your feet. A green glow seemed to emulate from the demon, indicating his ominous, dark intentions. 

Slowly beginning to gather more courage, you shook your head and waved your hands to signal your refusal. He retracted his hand, still smiling at you. Once the green haze and the wind died down, you asked, “How exactly do you think that I can help you in return? I’m not really in the position to be helping anyone right now.” 

“No need to bore ourselves with the details! Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” There was something about the way he was blatantly avoiding the subject that made you feel uneasy-even more so than you already did. 

“No, Alastor,” you refused, surprised at your own assertiveness. “If I’m being honest, the thought of being indebted to you gives me the heebie jeebies. I want to know exactly what I’m getting myself into if I decide to accept your help. What do you want from me?” 

“What a clever girl,” he purred, sending yet another a shiver down your spine. “Very well then, my dear. In exchange for my assistance in returning you to your world, I would be much obliged if I could tag along for the ride.” 

Quirking your brow, you couldn’t understand what he was getting at. He cackled at your obvious confusion and clarified further. “Darling girl, I want to accompany you to your mortal realm! It seems to be quite a remarkable place, just oozing with potential! I would be remiss if I didn’t get a taste for myself, don’t you think?” 

Oh shit. He wanted to hitch a ride back to your world. To stay. And wreak havoc. And god knows what else. Could a cartoon even do that? Memories of watching Roger Rabbit and Space Jam crept into your mind, making you wince at the thought. 

“Get out,” you demanded.

Caught off guard, the demon tilted his head, all the while maintaining that damned smile. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” you seethed, still shocked by your boldness. “I’ve seen your real face. I’m aware of your reputation. You really think that I would willingly subject the people in my world to whatever evil plot you have in store just to get me home? No way. Not happening.”

Your response was almost childish. You couldn’t help but cringe at your own words like ‘ evil plot’, but you supposed that it was fitting considering your wacky environment.

The demon stepped closer to you, now less than a foot away from you as he towered over you, his height even more intimidating when he was this close to you, but you held your ground, refusing to appear weak. 

He sneered, closing his mouth for a moment to smirk before once again showing off his pointed teeth in another smile before speaking again. “I’m sure that we can come to an agreement. I can make your stay far more comfortable for you… if you wish.” 

The change was instantaneous His whole demeanor shifted into something else entirely within a fraction of a second. What was once a dark, looming presence was now replaced with what you could only describe as enticement. His voice, previously crackling with static that made your skin crawl was now dripping with alluring sin, making you want to agree with whatever it was that he said. How the fuck did he do that?

Luckily, your sense of reasoning was on high alert, preventing you from falling victim to his game. “What exactly are you getting at?” 

He hummed thoughtfully, eyes raking over your body before extending a finger to twirl a loose strand of hair near the side of your face. “It looks to me like you could loosen up a bit, sweetheart. Let me help you with that.” 

“Wh-what are you doing?” you huffed, side-stepping him and turning around to warn him with a glare. “Are you seriously trying seduction techniques to lure me into cooperating with you? You cannot be serious.”

A part of you wondered if that was even possible. Was that something that cartoons were capable of? You made a mental note to check your own body later to see if your anatomy remained the same, or if you had been recreated without those parts of you, forcing you into celibacy. 

Oh god, your childhood innocence was shattering. Granted, this universe didn’t appear to be a family-friendly animation. You were, after all, in Hell, so it was fitting that everyone here would be fueled by sex, but the thought of it was still nearly unfathomable. 

On top of that, could you even be attracted to an animated being? A cartoon? Was that a thing? Especially one as terrifying as him? He was a charmer, that much was evident, but there were way too many unknown variables here to be making assumptions. 

“Oh dear,” he began, with a wry smile. “How very presumptuous. No, no, no, no, I’m afraid you’ve misinterpreted my intentions. I have no interest in that sort of thing. I only wish to tend to you, sweet girl.” Manipulative asshole. Of course he wouldn’t be upfront about what it was he wanted and would dance around his response.

Cringing, your eyes darted to his groin region. He obviously noticed your lack of subtlety and stood proudly, never altering his proper posture. Swallowing thickly, you murmured, “Please tell me that you’re not expecting anything… like that in return.” 

“Ha!” he cackled, picking up on your innuendos. “Not at all. I’ve never been one to indulge in receiving physical stimulation, but it’s a gracious offer,” he jested, winking at you. 

“I wasn’t offering!” you barked back at him, fuming while your cheeks flushed out of embarrassment. 

“My mistake,” he snickered. “Allow me to elaborate. I am not enthralled by the idea of receiving sensual touch.” He edged closer to you then, his face so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “However… that doesn’t mean that I do not delight in providing it to others.” 

Red alert! Holy shit. This couldn’t actually be happening. A cartoon demon was insinuating that he would basically help get your rocks off in exchange for his help. Did you fall into a pornographic cartoon?! What the actual fuck!

Rage was bubbling up inside of you, threatening to boil over as you bellowed, “Are you fucking kidding me?! What do I look like to you?! A hooker?!”

“You called?”

Turning your attention to the doorway, you saw a tall, rose-colored spider-like demon, grinning salaciously at you and Alastor. “I was on my way out, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Al, baby, was that an open invitation? ‘Cuz, uh, I’ll happily take you up on that,” he finished with a wink. 

Brushing past you, Alastor casually addressed the spider. “Angel Dust, my good fellow! Good of you to drop by! I was just exchanging pleasantries with our new guest.”

Raising an eyebrow, Angel replied, “Hm. Kinky.” 

“If you say so,” Alastor surmised coolly. “My dear, I think this conversation is better left for another time. I do hope that you’ll consider my offer. It wouldn’t hurt to have me as a friend.” 

Crossing your arms defiantly, you refused to acknowledge his comment as he paused, gauging your reaction for a moment before gliding out of the room, his cheery disposition never faltering. 

“He’s a peach, ain’t he?” Angel jeered, flashing his teeth at you, showing off a prominent golden tooth. “His positive attitude is exhausting. I dunno how he keeps that up being sober.” Mortified of what he must think of you, you stammered, “I-it’s not what it sounded like! I’m not… I wasn’t going to-” “Sheesh, get over yourself. Want some free advice, babe? If an Overlord offers to rock your world, you fuckin’ accept. No questions asked.” 

Desperate for a change of subject, you inquired, “So, um, you’re a guest at the Happy Hotel?” 

“Toots, I’m the guest here,” he countered, running a hand through his fluffy hairdo. “And, just ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous, I’ll give you another free lesson. Don’t underestimate the most powerful demon in this place. Got it?” 

With that, the spider flipped his hair casually before strolling out of the room, leaving you in a daze.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 

[builder051]

Whumptober 2020 day 9: run

Nat on Fire

All the usual TWs apply, but today especially gun violence and prostitution.

_____________

Nat rarely gets in over her head.  Occasionally, though, her missions begin to go very wrong.  

The target she’s stalking fails to pick her up at the hotel bar.  He goes for the Latina instead, with the soft black curls falling around her shoulders and a glistening gold dress that barely falls past her full, round buttocks.  Nat huffs as she watches them retreat up to his room, then orders herself a shot of vodka.

She’d been planning to use the silk ties in his suitcase to lash him to the bed frame, then interrogate him with her gun under his chin, but now the idea’s a bust.  All Nat really needs is the memory stick inside his briefcase, though it would be nice to collect the extra intel while he pleads for mercy.  And maybe to leave a bullet in his head, depending on what he tells.

Nat gets up from the bar, ignoring the businessman who tries to grab her arm, and slips out onto the veranda.  It’s chilly, so on one’s taking cocktails outside tonight.  Nat touches the gun tucked away in her thigh holster, then takes a breath, and moves on with her new plan.

She leaves her heels behind a potted palm tree, then stands on the veranda’s railing, the strap of her handbag clasped between her teeth.  Nat bends her knees and jumps, easily taking hold of the bottom bar of the balcony above and swinging herself up, letting go briefly and reestablishing her grip on the top bar instead.  Lithe as a a gymnast, she rolls forward and lands catlike on the balcony proper.  

Nat repeats the maneuver six times, five up and one over, till she reaches her destination.  The target and his choice from the bar have closed the curtains over their balcony door, but they’ve failed to completely shut the glass over the screen.  Once Nat’s close enough, she can hear the quiet moans that must mean their transaction is in progress.

After wrapping the strap of her bag around her wrist and pulling out and cocking her weapon, Nat silently slips two fingers in the gap of the balcony door.  She shoves, praying to no one that it’ll move silently.  It doesn’t, but the room is a suite, and the couple seems too distracted to notice the errant noise.

Once inside, Nat glances around.  The area she’s entered is something of a living room, with a bathroom off to one side, and the occupied bedroom off to the other.  If she had any luck, the briefcase would be left out for her to collect, unseen, then slip back out and leave the way she came.  That would be a decent outcome.  Not ideal by any means, but a success nonetheless.

It turns out that luck is not on Nat’s side, though.  The briefcase is nowhere to be seen.  It must be in the bedroom, still in the target’s line of sight, even as he’s getting fucked.  Nat has to give him a little credit where credit is due.  Not all her targets are complete idiots.

Nat takes a breath, then moves toward the bedroom door.  It’s halfway open, for those inside can’t possibly be expecting visitors.  Nat gives herself no time to hesitate.  She silently pushes the door the rest of the way open, keeping her weapon pointed straight out in front of her.  

The couple in the bed is entwined face-to-face, so they both look up in shock when Nat steps out of the shadows.  

“Hand it over, or you’re dead,” she says tonelessly.  There’s no need to elaborate.  He knows what she’s talking about.  He’s HYDRA.  He has to.

“Mm.”  The man grunts as the woman shifts beside him, effectively unsheathing him beneath the blankets.  “No.”

Nat doesn’t care much who he’s addressing.  “Ok.”  She lines up the sight on her weapon with the center of his forehead.  Then she addresses the woman.  “Don’t scream.” And releases the shot.

The target falls back against the pillows, eyes blank and open.  The woman jars beside him, looks at Nat, then opens her mouth.  “Fire!” she yells.  “Fire!”

So Nat does.

The woman’s hair falls across the pillow, now sticky with a spray of blood.  Nat would have let her go, just to keep the collateral damage off her mission report.  But what’s done is done, and now Nat has to wash her hands of it.

She rifles through the briefcase until she finds the memory stick, then stows it in her purse.  Nat heads to the bathroom, where she leaves a deposit of vodka and bile in the toilet, then examines her reflection in the mirror for any evidence of blood spatter.  There is none, though Nat’s pale and sallow-looking, so she borrows the deep mauve lipstick the woman must’ve left on the countertop and refreshes her face.

Then Nat holsters her weapon, jams her feet into the woman’s slightly too small shoes, and leaves the room through the front door.  It may be throwing caution to the wind, but tonight it’s what she needs.  Tonight it’s what she deserves.  Tonight she’ll take the walk of shame.  And once she gets outside, she’ll run.

[audreycritter]

May I respectfully request some al gholsen content during this long and hard winter

You absolutely may, anon.Here is part one, with @tajmah ‘s wonderful art. Here is part two: 

A Slow and Steady Dance

chapter 2

jimmy olsen/talia al ghul

tw: blood, OC assassin deaths, violence

***

“James? You said your name was James?”

The exclamation came out with a shower of cheese puff dust.

“My name is James! I panicked, okay?” Jimmy defended helplessly. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oh my god.” Jon Kent flopped back on the bean bag chair and slapped a hand over his eyes. “James.”

“Listen, pick up that controller and fight me,” Jimmy said, pointing at the abandoned console controller by Jon’s feet. The brawling game was paused.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said, laughing and coughing. Jimmy nudged the tub of cheese puffs away from Jon’s reach. “I think I know why you’re single.”

“Hey!” Jimmy said, kicking at Jon’s socked feet that were floating in the air. “Listen, you twerp, when did you get so mean? Where’s the sweet Jonno who thought I could do no wrong?”

“Middle school,” Jon’s giggle turned into a grumble and an exaggerated sigh. “It makes ya grow up too fast.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimmy said, raising his can of Zesti. He took a long swig and muttered, “I have to get better drinking buddies than ten year old.”

“I’m eleven!” Jon crowed. His feet settled on the carpet again and he licked his fingers off and dried them on his jeans before picking up the controller. “So. Are you gonna go?”

“Go where?” Jimmy asked, mashing a series of buttons.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said flatly. “I saw the paper in your bag when you told me to get the pop and candy.”

“You’re a little spy,” Jimmy said. He paused the game to tap the back of Jon’s head with his elbow. “You’re as bad as your mom and dad.”

Jon ducked from the teasing blow, laughing.

Jimmy sighed. “It depends on a couple things, like if your mom gets back in time. And even if she does I’m not sure, because you’re practically still in diapers and don’t need to know.”

“So yes, but I gotta pretend I’m dumb if anyone asks,” Jon said. He unpaused the game. His onscreen character flipped Jimmy’s off a floating platform in a blur of blue and orange.

“No,” Jimmy said, with a chuckle. “It means you don’t know. Remember when I used to win sometimes?”

“You mean when I used to take it easy on you?” Jon looked sideways with a sharkish grin.

They played a few more rounds that Jimmy soundly lost, even if he would have argued it was because his head was someplace else. They were in the middle of a match Jimmy was winning because Jon’s fingers kept slipping on the controller when the sound of a key in the lock jerked both their spines upright.

“Your mom,” Jimmy hissed. “Bed like you’ve been there for an hour, go, go, go.”

A whoosh of air sent the cheese puff tub wildly spinning and Jimmy slapped a hand on it to get it to stop just as Lois tossed her stuff on the entry table and rounded the corner. Jon was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a school night, Jimmy.” Lois sounded unamused.

“He’s in bed,” Jimmy said, keeping his attention pointedly on the screen while he jumped around. The other character, unmanned, merely bounced in place under a flurry of kicks.

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “You’re just playing two player all alone.”

Jimmy paused and rapidly quit the game, rising to his feet. “No, it’s a CPU, I think the system’s just buggy? It’s been acting weird all night.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate you watching him last minute,” Lois said. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked her shoes off at the edge of the room. “I do. Appreciate it, I mean. You’re a lifesaver. Clark’s got some thing in…”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “No problemo. See you at work tomorrow?”

“What’s up with you?” Lois leaned her head back out of the kitchen to fix him with a piercing gaze. “You usually try to stay and talk my ear off for an hour.”

“Nothing!” Jimmy said, grabbing his messenger bag. “I just, I’ve got plans, maybe. Maybe a date.”

“Jimmy. It’s midnight,” Lois said, an eyebrow raised. She disappeared fully into the kitchen, her voice disembodied as she called across the space. “I didn’t make you late, did I?”

“Nah, I’m not late yet,” Jimmy said. He tipped the Zesti Cola back to finish it off and somehow managed to miss his mouth— half of it sloshed onto his button up shirt. He stared glumly at it. “Aw, cheese and crackers.”

“There’s a stain stick in the laundry room,” Lois said.

“How did you…”Jimmy tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “You can’t even see me. Are you sure Clark isn’t rubbing off on you?”

Whatever Lois mumbled under her breath from the kitchen was something he thought he probably didn’t want to hear, especially since it was followed by a snort of laughter.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“Sorry. I’ve been up too long,” Lois said, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she came around the corner. She raised a wine glass to him. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. The shirt he could work around. He had time. He smiled. “Tell Clark I said hi.”

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jimmy assured her. “He’s a great kid.”

“Jimmy,” Lois said. “Take the stain stick.”

***

Fifty-seven minutes later, Jimmy Olsen knocked on the door to Room 638 on the sixth floor of the Metropolis 3rd Street Hilton. The door was propped open by the flipped security latch. He pushed it, tentatively. It opened on an empty standard double room.

“Hiya?” he called, stepping in.

His sense of danger had perhaps been dulled by years of working with Superman a yell away, because he felt no alarm stepping into the room that very well could have been a trap.

The room was definitely empty. He knocked on the bathroom door, and then pushed it open to a dark interior. Also empty.

Jimmy stood in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his neck, and let the bottle of wine he’d brought dangle in his grip. He sighed.

“Aw, beans,” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

It had been a joke, certainly. Getting someone to prop open the door was the easy work of twenty bucks or so. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his bowtie and crisp collar of the clean shirt he’d put on, then fell back onto the smooth duvet.

“You, Jimmy Olsen,” he said to the ceiling, “are a chump.”

The bedside phone rang. It rang again, and again.

Jimmy propped himself on one elbow and stared at it. It rang a fourth time and he snatched it off the receiver and held it to his ear, the coiled cord that still survived in hotel rooms stretching out across the floor.

“Hilton, room 638,” he said.

“Mr. Olsen,” the accented voice said calmly over the line. “You came.”

Jimmy sat straight up, his back rigid. He swallowed, hard, with a cough of nervous laughter. “Yep. On time, even. Are you, um, running late?”

If the wall had been close enough to bang his head against, he might have considered doing just that. He wished he could sound smart for a whole two minutes while talking to a gorgeous woman.

“No,” she said, unruffled. “Come upstairs. Room 4201.”

The line went dead. Jimmy held the phone until the disconnected tone jarred him into motion– he set it down with a plastic click, and stood, feeling dazed.

The ride up on the elevator was a long, silent minute where he smiled at the other occupants, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a red gown with a fur shawl. The man glared at him in return, but the woman looked disinterested and avoided eye contact. They stepped off a floor before his.

“Have a good night!” he called after them. They ignored him and he shrugged, jamming the button for the 42nd floor again for good measure.

The elevator doors opened on a hallway with geometric-patterned carpet in stark black and white. The doors were further from each other than on the lower floors, but he didn’t have to walk far to the left to find 4201.

He took a deep breath, raised a hand to knock, and froze.

There was a crash from within the room, the crack of breaking furniture, and shattering glass, a scream. His worry about a date fled, and he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hello? Are you okay? Talia?”

There was a muffled snap and then the knob turned. Jimmy stepped back, unsure of who or what was opening the door. The gap that appeared was only a few inches, and Talia’s face was visible, but her head was ducked down.

“Mr. Olsen,” she said, still calm as a lake in fair weather. “It’s a bad time, after all. Perhaps another evening?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, bracing a hand on the door before she could shut it. “Who was screaming? Are you alright?”

“I’m–” Talia began, her head still bent.

“You’re bleeding,” Jimmy said, staring at the dark bead of blood on her cheek. “Who hurt you? I have a friend who can help, just tell me who did this. Is he still in there?”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Olsen,” Talia said. Rather than icy, she sounded amused. “I doubt there is anything you could do that I haven’t already taken care of alone.”

There was an unspoken implication there, about Jimmy’s ability to hold his own in a fight. He heard it and ignored it– it was a familiar dismissal, one he’d lived with most of his life.

“At least let me make sure you’re okay,” Jimmy said.

“You’re worried. You needn’t be. The threat has been dealt with.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said, fingers tightening on the neck of the wine bottle anyway. “You’re still bleeding. I can get some ice, find a first aid kit.”

“You are persistent,” Talia observed. The door had never opened more than those few inches, but she raised her chin and studied him. There was a cut by her eye, already swelling.

“Tell me to buzz off, and I’ll get lost,” Jimmy said, hoping she wouldn’t. Whoever had been in the room had done a number on her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “But I’d feel like a heel not staying to help, if you need anything. Gee, that looks bad. Gimme your ice bucket. I’ll run to the machine and bring it back. I don’t even have to come in. Want me to call the police?”

“No,” Talia said. “Wait.”

The door closed, and Jimmy waited, frowning at the glossy silver numbers on the polished wood. There was the clink of a sliding chain and then the door swung all the way open.

“There’s ice in the fridge,” she said, with a dip of her head in that direction. She was walking ahead of him, her back to him, and still in the green dress from earlier. “I’m going to change.”

The hotel suite was large. Plush carpet ran the full length of a long living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side. The view overlooked the glittering, neon city– the Daily Planet with its spinning globe lit by bright white, the glowing blue strips up the corners of the LexCorp building, the dark reflective glass of the First Federal Bank tower lit up like a laser show.

Jimmy stood staring at Metropolis, taking it in, before starting and turning to find the kitchenette. Some of the sleek living room furniture was tipped over, a coffee table broken into a thousand shards in the carpet. A couch was slashed, cotton batting sticking through.

“Holy moly,” he breathed, picking his way around the mess.

The kitchen wasn’t a kitchenette– it was a full kitchen, with a stove and oven and refrigerator. There was a marble-top island, a few drawers pulled out and one broken off it’s tracks.

One of the open drawers held a little box of plastic baggies. He set the wine on the counter and plucked a baggie out from the roll, and went around the island to open the fridge.

There was a body on the floor, a knife sticking out from its throat. A mask obscured the face, and any horrified or pained expression he might have been making.

“Talia?” Jimmy called, feeling sick.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”

“It’s Jimmy, actually, you should just call me…Jimmy,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, the pooling blood, the stained handle. “There’s a body in here.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s nothing to worry about. They’re dead.”

“I…okay. Dead. Dead isn’t the worst.” Jimmy tore his gaze away and pressed the bag against the ice dispenser in the fridge. He sealed it, mechanically, and stepped over the body, trying very hard not to think.

He wandered toward the door Talia had disappeared behind. It wasn’t closed, but he rapped gently with his knuckles anyway.

“Ice delivery,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was a sniff and he leaned forward, quickly, just to see Talia wipe the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, the first joint of her first finger. She took in a sharp breath and turned fully to face him, with a placid expression. Her makeup was a little smudged.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the ice.

“Are you…are you okay?” Jimmy stammered. “It’s just, there’s a body in the kitchen, and uh…did he attack you?”

“Just the one?” Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. She paused by him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re upset. You aren’t used to blood?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “I’ve, well, I’ve been Lois Lane’s photographer for a while. It’s not the blood so much as what comes with the blood.”

“What is that?” Talia asked, brow creasing.

“Suffering,” Jimmy said bluntly. If she hadn’t touched him, maybe he wouldn’t have dared, but he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin near the cut on her face. “Blood usually means suffering.”

Talia smiled, thin and uncertain, and raised the ice pack to the swelling cut. She slipped past him into the messy living room. Jimmy turned, to watch her, and didn’t notice the feet twitching behind the second low couch until she stopped behind it, standing over someone.

She hissed something low, crouched down out of sight. A rough voice, thick and gurgling, murmured something in return and then there was a wet snick. Talia rose, with blood splatter on her face.

“We have to go,” she said.

Jimmy turned and threw up in a decorative vase.

When he righted, she was looking at him.

“You should go,” she amended.

“No, I’m okay,” Jimmy said. “Just needed a second, is all. Gee whiz, did you just kill that guy?”

“He knew the price for failure,” Talia said evenly. “It was a death with honor.”

“Failure to do what?” Jimmy gaped at her. He stumbled a step sideways, tracking her movement across the room, and reached for a camera that wasn’t there. He just wanted to hold the familiar straps in his hands.

“To kill me,” Talia said, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

“Who’s trying time kill you?” Jimmy demanded. “Why?”

“It was a test. I thought my father trusted me enough that we were beyond such tests, but that was foolish on my part. The lesson has been learned.”

“Your father,” Jimmy exhaled, sitting down on the torn couch. “Your father sent…assassins…to kill you…”

“Yes,” Talia said. “And now I must leave. If you would like to avoid trouble, I advise you do the same.”

“Won’t the police…aren’t there prints? Everywhere?” Jimmy asked, looking around. Talia was standing in front of a mirror in the living room, wiping blood off her face.

“No,” Talia said. “My father’s people will be watching the ones he sent. They will come to clean everything, and if we’re still here, one might try again in hopes of securing his favor.”

“I don’t know what kind of father you’ve got,” Jimmy said. “Mine didn’t like me that much, but he didn’t want me dead.”

“Mr. Olsen,” Talia said, with a pitying smirk. “It isn’t because he wants me dead. It’s because he wants me to be the best. I am, or I’m not. It’s that simple. If I can’t handle a few assassins, then I don’t honor him by being alive. These men would not have thanked me for sparing them– Reznyek pled for an honorable death, and nothing more.”

Jimmy thought she sounded like she fully believed this, but it also sounded recited, like some sort of long-rehearsed creed. He decided not to bring it up in conversation at the moment.

“Did you give him one?” Jimmy asked, his stomach rolling again, hearing the snick once more in memory. He convinced it to calm down.

“Yes,” she said softly, not looking at him. “He failed, and he didn’t deserve it. But I gave it to him anyway.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked. He didn’t know why he was asking, anymore than he knew why picking up a camera filled him with joy, or why following Lois around while she dug answers out of stories was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

“My father may not be right about all things,” Talia said. She flicked the cloth she’d been using onto the remains of the coffee table.

Jimmy got to his feet, and squared his shoulders.

“Well. Have you eaten since the gala? Can I buy you dinner?”

“You want to buy me dinner,” Talia said, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy got the impression she was looking at him with real interest for the first time. “I will not be having sex with you, Mr. Olsen.”

“It’s Jimmy,” Jimmy said, blushing. “And I’m not asking for…that. Just some burgers, or whatever you want. You’ve had a rough night.”

“You don’t want to run screaming?” she asked, with a teasing glint. He trailed her into the kitchen, where she found a first aid kit. She rummaged through it while he spoke.

“My life is pretty weird,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give it a few more hours.”

“I will accept dinner, on one condition,” Talia said, spreading cream on the cut near her eye.

“Sure, name it,” Jimmy said quickly, taking a bandaid and ripping it open. He handed it to her.

Talia pressed it into place and then looked him full in the face. “When you regret this in the morning, you tell no one.”

“Easy,” Jimmy said, while he was screaming inside and as certain as the sky was blue. “I won’t regret it.”

[blackjacketmuses]

@multiimuse

Ever since his enlightening and helpful talk with Ranpo, Fyodor’s been feeling better. Not entirely, he’s certainly not at his best (and honestly his best is still not okay by normal standards, just functional), but he’s...coping. He feels like he can manage in this new reality, feels like he can live. And more importantly, he now knows what he both wants and needs to do. To help them stop the demon with his face. 

Meanwhile, though, he’s...pretty much trapped in Chuuya’s apartment. Not that that’s a bad thing, it’s a nice apartment and he knows he’s safe. But it’s still a prison, and a bit lonelier than the one he’s used to. He knows now that it’s in part because Dazai doesn’t share it with him, and because the mafia is colder than it was in his home reality, but...it’s a little sad all the same. But it’s not too bad, and that’s good. That said, the man hasn’t been by almost at all since he’d brought him here, only a few times to briefly check in, and while it’s concerning, he at least gets that it’s probably because he’s busy with what’s been going on with the demon and whatever his plans are to get the Book. Still, a bit worrying.

And...boring, now that he’s conscious of that enough to be bothered by it. Being alone with his laptop is only entertaining for so long, even if he gets dragged into watching videos online or playing puzzle games for hours at a time, and he can’t monopolize Ranpo’s time. He’s alone, and that was almost never the case before, not with Vanya and Kolya. So...he has to find ways to entertain himself, and on a whim (after binge-watching several YouTube channels worth of Korean and Japanese baking videos) he texts Chuuya (glad he had been given his number) to request some cooking ingredients. The redhead has some stuff already here, which is good, but he still needs a couple things and he’s never actually done this before, so...why not now? A new start, a new thing to learn how to do since his Vanya --- who always used to cook --- is gone. Besides, it’s something to occupy his time, since he doesn’t have much yarn left stuffed into his things to do that. 

(He also requests a couple boxes of his preferred brand of tea and jars of honey and the brand of raspberry jam he likes to put in it; he’d had some of both left, but the hotel had thrown all of their food products away when the realities shifted, and he really needs those back, thank you. He hopes that he can get away with the rest by asking for some more specific things he clearly does need.)

A skinny young subordinate drops off the things he’d asked for --- and Fyodor has to try not to smile, because that he sent one of his younger men to do the job means that this Chuuya still has some of the same compassion for his people --- and he sets to work after taking a shower and dressing properly for the first time in days. It’s a small kitchen, but workable, and he puts his headphones in to listen to something while he works, setting his laptop with the recipe video on the counter, tying his hair back, and busying himself with baking. 

It’s a bit weird to be doing this, but it’s a distraction and it’s helping him, and it’s kind of fun. He’d picked something that he liked anyway, something that went well with tea, and it isn’t that hard. It’s messy, though, and he knows he’s got streaks of raspberry puree and smudges of flower all over his hands and face (good thing he rolled up his sleeves), but it’s nice. He misses and will always miss the sight and sound of Vanya in the hotel kitchenette, humming classical music to himself as he makes dinner for them or sweets when he’d had a night terror, tapping the melody on the counter with long, thin fingers as he tucks pale hair behind an ear and turns to smile at him, and...ah, he has to wipe tears off his face, streaking more flour across his nose as he does so. He’s going to miss them forever, he thinks. But...for their sake he’ll try to keep living. They had tried so hard to put him back together after the prison; they...would want him to stay together now.

He’s distracted by his own music and the finer points of what he’s making, so he doesn’t notice when Chuuya actually comes into the suite, and he really isn’t sure how long he’s been there by the time he looks up from checking the kettle he’d put on to actually make tea and finishing fussing with filling the last of the macarons, pausing with a ganache-stained finger halfway to his mouth. He blinks, a little awkwardly, and lowers his hand --- stopping it halfway to wave in embarrassment --- before pulling an earbud out and shutting his music off (thought not before a few seconds worth of faint symphonic metal is audible), smiling faintly. “...sorry, I borrowed your kitchen without asking,” he says finally. “I hope you don’t mind too much...I just needed something to keep me occupied. And, well...you got something out of it?” He nudges the plate of slightly lumpy but still decent-looking macarons awkwardly. “They’re probably...not the best, but I’ve never actually done this before. I was never the one to cook, haha...” 

Well, at least he isn’t curled up in a ball of misery on the couch anymore?

[thefeministherald]

Your Ultimate Women-Write-The-Best-of-Everything 2019 Reading List

The Voyeurs (Graphic Novel)

"The Voyeurs is the work of a mature writer, if not one of the most sincere voices of her literary generation. It's a fun, honest read that spans continents, relationships and life decisions. I loved it."—Chris Ware, Acme Novelty Library

"As she watches other people living life, and watches herself watching them, Bell's pen becomes a kind of laser, first illuminating the surface distractions of the world, then scorching them away to reveal a deeper reality that is almost too painful and too beautiful to bear."— Alison Bechdel, Fun Home

"A master of the exquisite detail, Bell provides a welcome peephole into our lives."—Françoise Mouly, The New Yorker

The Voyeurs, was named one of the best books of the year by Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Reviews, and the Atlantic.

Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity

In this brilliant, breathtaking book by Pulitzer Prize winner Katherine Boo, a bewildering age of global change and inequality is made human through the dramatic story of families striving toward a better life in Annawadi, a makeshift settlement in the shadow of luxury hotels near the Mumbai airport. As India starts to prosper, the residents of Annawadi are electric with hope. Abdul, an enterprising teenager, sees “a fortune beyond counting” in the recyclable garbage that richer people throw away. Meanwhile Asha, a woman of formidable ambition, has identified a shadier route to the middle class. With a little luck, her beautiful daughter, Annawadi’s “most-everything girl,” might become its first female college graduate.

Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me: A Graphic Memoir

Cartoonist Ellen Forney explores the relationship between “crazy” and “creative” in this graphic memoir of her bipolar disorder, woven with stories of famous bipolar artists and writers.

Shortly before her thirtieth birthday, Forney was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Flagrantly manic and terrified that medications would cause her to lose creativity, she began a years-long struggle to find mental stability while retaining her passions and creativity.

Searching to make sense of the popular concept of the crazy artist, she finds inspiration from the lives and work of other artists and writers who suffered from mood disorders, including Vincent van Gogh, Georgia O’Keeffe, William Styron, and Sylvia Plath. She also researches the clinical aspects of bipolar disorder, including the strengths and limitations of various treatments and medications, and what studies tell us about the conundrum of attempting to “cure” an otherwise brilliant mind.

Darkly funny and intensely personal, Forney’s memoir provides a visceral glimpse into the effects of a mood disorder on an artist’s work, as she shares her own story through bold black-and-white images and evocative prose.

The Woman in Cabin 10

From New York Times bestselling author of the “twisty-mystery” (Vulture) novel In a Dark, Dark Wood, comes The Woman in Cabin 10, an equally suspenseful and haunting novel from Ruth Ware—this time, set at sea. In this tightly wound, enthralling story reminiscent of Agatha Christie’s works, Lo Blacklock, a journalist who writes for a travel magazine, has just been given the assignment of a lifetime: a week on a luxury cruise with only a handful of cabins. The sky is clear, the waters calm, and the veneered, select guests jovial as the exclusive cruise ship, the Aurora, begins her voyage in the picturesque North Sea. At first, Lo’s stay is nothing but pleasant: the cabins are plush, the dinner parties are sparkling, and the guests are elegant. But as the week wears on, frigid winds whip the deck, gray skies fall, and Lo witnesses what she can only describe as a dark and terrifying nightmare: a woman being thrown overboard. The problem? All passengers remain accounted for—and so, the ship sails on as if nothing has happened, despite Lo’s desperate attempts to convey that something (or someone) has gone terribly, terribly wrong…

1222

Nominated for the Edgar Award for Best Novel, from Norway’s #1 bestselling female crime writer—a “beguiling” (The Washington Post) “good old-fashioned murder mystery” (The New York Times Book Review) set in an isolated hotel where guests stranded during a monumental snowstorm begin turning up dead. A train on its way to the northern reaches of Norway derails during a massive blizzard, 1,222 meters above sea level. The passengers head for a nearby hotel, centuries old and practically empty. With plenty of food and shelter from the storm, the evacuees think they are safe, until one of them turns up dead. With no sign of rescue and the storm raging, retired police inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen is asked to investigate. Paralyzed by a bullet lodged in her spine, Hanne has no desire to get involved. But when another body turns up, panic takes over. Complicating things is the presence of a mysterious guest, a passenger who traveled in a private rail car and now stays secluded on the top floor of the hotel. No one knows who the guest is, or why armed guards are needed. Hanne has her suspicions. Trapped in her wheelchair, trapped by the storm, and now trapped with a killer, Hanne knows she must act before the killer strikes again.

Robot Dreams

A Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year A PW Best Book of the Year An ALSC Notable Children’s Book A YALSA Great Graphic Novel

This moving, charming graphic novel about a dog and a robot shows us in poignant detail how powerful and fragile relationships are.

Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza

Rooted in Gloria Anzaldúa's experience as a Chicana, a lesbian, an activist, and a writer, the essays and poems in this volume profoundly challenged, and continue to challenge, how we think about identity. Borderlands / La Frontera remaps our understanding of what a "border" is, presenting it not as a simple divide between here and there, us and them, but as a psychic, social, and cultural terrain that we inhabit, and that inhabits all of us.

Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened

Every time Allie Brosh posts something new on her hugely popular blog Hyperbole and a Half the internet rejoices. This full-color, beautifully illustrated edition features more than fifty percent new content, with ten never-before-seen essays and one wholly revised and expanded piece as well as classics from the website like, “The God of Cake,” “Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving,” and her astonishing, “Adventures in Depression,” and “Depression Part Two,” which have been hailed as some of the most insightful meditations on the disease ever written.

Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking

Now a Netflix series! New York Times Bestseller and Winner of the 2018 James Beard Award for Best General Cookbook and multiple ICAP Cookbook Awards Named one of the Best Books of 2017 by: NPR, BuzzFeed, The Atlantic, The Washington Post, Chicago Tribune, Rachel Ray Every Day, San Francisco Chronicle, Vice Munchies, Elle.com, Glamour, Eater, Newsday, Minneapolis Star Tribune, The Seattle Times, Tampa Bay Times, Tasting Table, Modern Farmer, Publishers Weekly, and more. A visionary new master class in cooking that distills decades of professional experience into just four simple elements, from the woman declared “America’s next great cooking teacher” by Alice Waters.

Monstress Volume 1: Awakening

Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900's Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers. About the Creators: New York Times bestselling and award-winning writer Marjorie Liu is best known for her fiction and comic books. She teaches comic book writing at MIT, and leads a class on Popular Fiction at the Voices of Our Nation (VONA) workshop.

Persepolis

Marjane Satrapi's best-selling, internationally acclaimed graphic memoir. Persepolis is the story of Satrapi's unforgettable childhood and coming of age within a large and loving family in Tehran during the Islamic Revolution; of the contradictions between private life and public life in a country plagued by political upheaval.

Nobody Nowhere: The Remarkable Autobiography of an Autistic Girl

Donna Williams was a child with more labels than a jam-jar: deaf, wild disturbed, stupid insane... She lived within herself, her own world her foreground, ours a background she only visited. Isolated from her self and from the outside world, Donna was, in her words, a Nobody Nowhere. She swung violently between these two worlds, battling to join our world and, simultaneously, to keep it out. Abandoned from all connection to the self within her, she lived as a ghost with a body, a patchwork of the images which bombarded her. Intact but detached from the seemingly incomprehensible world around her, she lived in what she called 'a world under glass`.

After twenty-five years of being misunderstood, and unable to understand herself, Donna stumbled upon the word 'autism': a label, but one which held up a mirror and made sense of her life and struggles, and gave her a chance to finally forgive both herself and those around her.

The Ice Princess

The psychological thriller debut of No.1 bestselling Swedish crime sensation Camilla Lackberg.

A small town can hide many secrets

Returning to her hometown after the funeral of her parents, writer Erica Falck finds a community on the brink of tragedy. The death of her childhood friend, Alex, is just the beginning. Her wrists slashed, her body frozen in an ice-cold bath, it seems like she’s taken her own life.

Meanwhile, local detective Patrik Hedström is following his own suspicions about the case. It’s only when they start working together that the truth begins to emerge about a small town with a deeply disturbing past…

The Vampire Chronicles: Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and The Queen of the Damned

In 1976, nearly 80 years after Bram Stoker published Dracula, Anne Rice's bestselling first novel, Interview with the Vampire, breathed new life into the vampire myth. Now, in one chilling volume, here are the first three classic novels of The Vampire Chronicles; Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and Queen of the Damned.

Adulthood is a Myth: A Sarah's Scribbles Collection

Do you love networking to advance your career? Is adulthood an exciting new challenge for which you feel fully prepared? Ugh. Please go away. 2016 GOODREADS CHOICE AWARD WINNER FOR GRAPHIC NOVELS AND COMICS! These casually drawn, perfectly on-point comics by the hugely popular young Brooklyn-based artist Sarah Andersen are for the rest of us. They document the wasting of entire beautiful weekends on the internet, the unbearable agony of holding hands on the street with a gorgeous guy, and dreaming all day of getting home and back into pajamas. In other words, the horrors and awkwardnesses of young modern life. Oh and they are totally not autobiographical. At all.

Nimona

Indies Choice Book of the Year * National Book Award Finalist * New York Times Bestseller * New York Times Notable Book * Kirkus Best Book * School Library Journal Best Book * Publishers Weekly Best Book * NPR Best Book * New York Public Library Best Book * Chicago Public Library Best Book

The New York Times bestselling graphic novel sensation from Noelle Stevenson, based on her beloved and critically acclaimed web comic. Kirkus says, “If you’re going to read one graphic novel this year, make it this one.”

Nemeses! Dragons! Science! Symbolism! All these and more await in this brilliantly subversive, sharply irreverent epic from Noelle Stevenson. Featuring an exclusive epilogue not seen in the web comic, along with bonus conceptual sketches and revised pages throughout, this gorgeous full-color graphic novel has been hailed by critics and fans alike as the arrival of a “superstar” talent (NPR.org).

Cultural Anthropology  Barbara Miller

Cultural Anthropology presents a balanced introduction to the world’s cultures, focusing on how they interact and change. Author Barbara Miller provides many points where readers can interact with the material, and encourages students to think critically about other cultures as well as their own. Featuring the latest research and statistics throughout, the eighth edition has been updated with contemporary examples of anthropology in action, addressing recent newsworthy events such as the Ebola epidemic.

Captain Marvel Volume 1: Higher, Further, Faster, More

Kelly Sue Deconnick

Hero! Pilot! Avenger! Captain Marvel, Earth's Mightiest Hero with an attitude to match, is back and launching headfirst into an all-new ongoing adventure! As Captain Marvel, a.k.a. Carol Danvers, comes to a crossroads with a new life and new romance, she makes a dramatic decision that will alter the course of her life - and the entire Marvel Universe - in the months to come. But as Carol takes on a mission to return an alien girl to her homeworld, she lands in the middle of an uprising against the Galactic Alliance! Investigating the forced resettlement of Rocket Girl's people, Carol discovers that she has a history with the man behind the plot. But when the bad guy tries to blackmail Carol and turn the Avengers against her, it's payback time! Guest-starring the Guardians of the Galaxy!

[dearest-alexander]

You Are The Reason Chapter III (Tom Holland x Reader fanfiction)

Summary: "I could be anything in the world, yet I wanted to be yours. But you don’t love me yet…or do you?“ The whole world thought you’re together but something’s stopping you, something’s stopping him.

Summary Chapter:  Volunteering for a good cause had never been this rewarding and humbling yet.. 

YOUR POV

I’ve been friends with Gabrielle ever since I could remember. My early childhood pictures were not complete without her in it . She was also with me during the funeral of my grandfather. I remember how her small chubby  hands tightly meshed with mine as they lower down his coffin. Even at such a young age, she was intuitive, benevolent and selfless. Whenever I fell down and scratched my knee, she will rub my back to soothe me until our moms came hand in hand with the first aid kit.  Those were the very reasons I knew why she’s gonna be a brilliant doctor. We remained in contact even after I migrated to London with my parents..

WhenI got my big break for a movie project, we celebrated together all night, just the two of us, drinking red wine straight from the bottle on her rented spacious one-bedroom studio. When I mentioned to her that I’ll be coming in the States from time to time to fulfill a handful of job offers, she was over the moon, and so am I. She drove me on my US auditions, lingered in the waiting room until I was finished for day . That’s where she met Harrison and Tom who I’ve been friends with already.

Living alone in an almost foreign soil, even just for a few months, made me miss my England even more. Hotel rooms weren’t envisaging homeliness. Back then, Gabby’s still living an hour away from me, a moderate distance from where she’s finishing her studies. After 6 months however, she was designated here in the city for her residency. I begged her to stay with me since we’re practically in each other’s presence whenever none of us were occupied. She happily settled on the spare ample space beneath my bedroom and was in charge when I’ll be flying back home to St. James’

When I earned enough money for a semi-permanent place here in LA, we roamed the city by ourselves. The need to prove myself  that I could do one adult thing in my life simmered intently on my bones. I good-heartedly declined offers, no special treatments from anyone on my team which they respected . She, who without doubt, the more “grown up” one between the two of us, would take a step in front of me whenever she felt like agents, realtors and sellers were being greedy and pushy.. I was gullible to such sly advancements, therefore on the third day, Gabby insisted that I should just let her negotiate since she knew how Americans think nowadays and I’m basically an alien.  Therefore, under the blistering Californian sun, Gabby and I wandered and ended up on an empty yet maintained and recently sold loft in this part of the city.  

The apartment’s high ceiling drew the illusion of expansiveness. Her mom being an owner of an Interior Design firm in San Diego, arranged the place to complement our boho chic and industrial design preference. The kitchen, with its wooden paneled cabinets and marble countertop  contrasted with the interior’s  black hardwood floors. The 360view of the city windows allowed natural light to seep through the crack in the grey curtains and when the night time comes, we could properly see the vibrant spectacles of the city.  The formerly study area was converted as Gabby’s room and the loft bedroom with black-framed floor to ceiling glass walls remained as my room. The stark white and soundproof walls proved to be more useful especially to the foul noises coming from the living room.

“Die, Die! Die! You bastard!” I stood up, shouted aggressively as I pressed my fingers harder on the console with obvious determination.

“Ohh! Such profanity! You kiss your mum with that mouth?” Tom retorted back below me, his ambidextrous fingers made hurried clicking noises with his as well. He’s leaning his elbows on his denim-covered knees, both of us transfixed on the television and the joysticks in between our resolute hands.

“Oh, piss off!” I responded pointedly, resuming my seat beside him.

It’s not unusual for Tom and Harrison  to be here early in the morning. Our days wasted away like this every single time we’re not working. They’ll  show up a minute after 8 am and sometimes with a sprightly Tessa. On a number of circumstances, when either men are too exhausted and drowsy to drive  we just let them crash in the couch. Tom at least. Below him would be Tessa on the extra dog bed I purchased just for her. Most times, my dog betrayed me and joined them downstairs, not wanting to part with his playmates.

Therefore, on this  humid Sunday morning, two weeks since the awards night, we’re indulging in  a video game he just bought, a game we’ve both been dying to get. I lost track of the time after Tom’s second win. I don’t usually mind losing, but with him, it’s  a whole different story.

Unbeknownst to the unlocking sound of the entrance door, we sat on the edge of our seats occasionally throwing in congenial insults to each other, someone entered the premise. An ineffable thing you learn when you live with someone, you can actually tell when they arrived by the sound of their footsteps or by the sound of their sighs when they breathe. A set of keys jangled into the plate that says “Keys” on the foyer table. Both our dogs, who were resting underneath the coffee table at the center of the room, rushed to the door. Four greeting barks.

Gabby entered with both her hands bearing two brown grocery bags and lightly slammed the door with her foot. I couldn’t see her but that’s what I was imagining her doing.  

“Hey guys!” we could hear her shout breathily  from the kitchen. “Hey doggos! You want cookies?”

Tom and I answered with an absentminded “Hey!” Our laser focused attention not wavering off from the game.

“There’s a minor collision five streets away, that’s why we took a little longer than usual.” I heard her opened  the jar of cookies for the dogs then cans and bags of chips hit the marbled countertop of our kitchen.

“Uh-huh.” I said lazily, biting my lip as I try to come up with a strategy to my game.

“Where’s Harrison?” Tom slightly turned his body towards her voice, his eyes remained in front.  Her response drifted off as I saw Tom’s team finally found my troop’s headquarters, guns and bombs on hand.

“Why do you  make it so easy? Might as well give me that 50 right now.” I could hear the complacence in his voice. He slanted his body as he stirred his avatar’s car to the left and get out of it.

“You wish, Holland.”

“.... Speaking of which, you guys better be rea........ oh cmon!” Gabby continued. I heard the soft patters of her socked feet against the unblemished hardwood floors to where Tom and I were currently and comfortably lounging. A bowl of half-finished dry cheerios and four empty cans of juice on the wooden coffee table. The dogs had resumed their last position all the while staring at Gabby, waiting for another set of cookies.

“Really? For four hours now?” she breathed incredulously. Her arms folded impatiently on her chest.  I could feel the deathly glares on the back of our heads, I can’t risk confirming it by looking back. Tom’s avatar was circling back around the curb, right where I want him. I pressed a few buttons as I choose my killing weapon.

“You even haven’t taken a bath yet!!!” Her remark barely passing my ears as I quickly press the buttons of the joystick. She rounded from our backs to get a good look at our impaled positions on the sofa... or for us to take her disapproving annoyance.

“ I already did! Leave me alone!” Tom sounded like a teenager scolded by his mom for not cleaning his room. He was dressed effortlessly in his plain black shirt, jeans and his dark sneakers by the door, the curls on his head untamed.

“I’m not talking to you, idiot.” I could feel the penetrating and accusatory daggers she’s sending my way..

“C’mon guys, the program is in--- she glanced down at her watch—two hours. We have to drive there for an hour. Who knows if it’s gonna be totally jammed right now.” She demanded and stood by the accent chairs on our right side. Gabby doesn’t like being late.

As a favour to Harrison, Tom and I had agreed to join both of them in Gabby’s  hospitals’ feeding program, where she is currently a third year resident. Although her hospital’s a few blocks from here, the program will take place on the outskirts of the city, right where impoverished  US citizens are deprived. They needed extra pairs of volunteering hands as it was said to be a big annual event. Harrison popped the question while we’re all having dinner, because, even through the years of our friendship, he and Gabby were reluctant to take advantage of their status with that being close friends with Tom and I. They never asked us for help with anything hence, Tom and I were absolutely delighted to oblige.

“5 minutes, Gabs.” I promised half- heartedly, getting excited to rub  my brewing win to Tom’s smug face. “Besides I could get ready in like... ten minutes.” I  confidently reasoned back, still not looking her way. She exhaled and strode in front of us, blocking our view from the television mounted on the wall, her diminutive hands on her hips. Tom and I moved our heads synchronously on either side of her to watch the penultimate team battle with which we’re both engaged in.

“Look, thank you so much for doing this thing with me, and I love you both even more for it, but you’ve been playing since this morning.” She’s eyeing me heavily. Gabby did sound reasonable. As always. I hate it sometimes.

Tom’s persistent hands on his console receded, letting Gabby’s words sink in. His  attention affected from Gabby’s reason. With a gruff, “Tell me again, why am I going.” We stretched our necks, trying to find a better angle from Gabby’s impeding and unwavering authoritative stance in front.

“....Because you’re a good human being and you’re eternally grateful for Gabby’s existence and her relationship with your best mate that ended all those gay rumours a few years ago?” I stated in monotonous voice.

“On point.” Without taking our eyes off of the screen and for a second of truce, he raised his right hand to give me a high five, I struck it with my left.

We heard another commotion by the door and the dogs, once again, addressed the newcomer.

“Don’t tell me you idiots are still playing, we have to leave in 15 minutes! And it’s been two hours since we left!” Harrison reprimanded softly  and stopped at the back of the couch.. He then leaned  his elbows on the cushion behind and in between Tom and I. He too, tries to get a decent view of the LCD.

“So..who’s winning?” he excitedly added. If Gabby is the austere mom, Harrison is the fun dad, whereas Tom and I are the juvenile delinquents. I smiled despite myself, inching my way to the right end of the sofa, Tom doing the same thing on his left.

“Harrison!” Gabby all but shrieked at Harrison who chuckled.

“Right, right. Sorry babe.” He cleared his throat and I saw Gabby nod before Harrison walked out of the room.  Or so I thought.

“I’m coming for you Holla---hey! Hey! What are you doing!”

In a flush of movements, Harrison’s tall stature was in front of me, his forearms going under my leggings as he hauled me over his right shoulder like a sack of flour. Earning an adamant and incredulous protest from me.I saw  Tom’s right hand halted on his controller, his hands splayed out for a second of discombobulation as to why his opponent’s avatar suddenly stopped firing in the middle of the game, and then he noticed the hilarity of my position on his bestfriend’s shoulder. Instantly, he grabbed his phone on the carpeted floor of the living room, joystick laid on the table.

“Hey! Put me down jerk!! Harrison! Put me down this instant!” I ejaculated, pouncing on his broad back in futile attempts. He walked over and gave a peck to a smiling and proud Gabby. ‘Thanks babe.”

I groaned. “Tom! Help me!” Harrison gripped my shins together to stop me from squirming.  I cried out from my mortifying situation to Tom who completely abandoned the game I was wining. He positioned himself into a more comfortable way on the sofa, one of his foot under thigh and in both of his hands, his camera phone shook with laughter. My dog stood, confused and followed  Harrison’s shoulder. He placed his two front paws on Harrison’s back, making sure I wasn’t in trouble of any kind then back down on all fours again. Gabby stepped behind him, giving my dog a loving pat on the head.

The phone on Tom’s hand followed our movements as Harrison started to move away to literally drag my ass up to, I presume, Gabby and mine’s shared bathroom across to the kitchen.

“Sorry mate, he’s a.. um... a bit tall!” his hand tried to hold his phone while he continues to howl and shake in laughter. I slumped and pressed down my reddening face on Harrison’s back, defeated.

“This is absurd, you’re dead Harrison! You all are! I’m gonna kick you once I’m down from here. “ I looked up from Harrison’s Latissimus Dorsi  to threaten Tom and Gabby who were now practically skipping very much alike Snow White’s seven dwarves.

“Oh, wow, you really can be feisty. A few more minutes into that game and you’ll be saying the F word. “ I felt Harrison’s amused laugh from behind his nape which I’m currently glaring at.

“Told yah!” Tom interjected, chuckling before putting down his phone and barging in the kitchen.

Harrison dropped me with ease outside the bathroom door. He gave me an apologizing yet humorous smirk. I scowled at him.

“Hey! I’m just doing what she told me to!” He argued, his palms in mock surrender.

“Nah, you’re just a sap when it comes to my bestfriend. “ I replied with a chuckle as He took two steps into the open kitchen to resume helping Gabby who was already unpacking the rest of the items on our countertop, her back to us.

“And proud to be......not very unlike yourself. “He jokingly winked back at me, the last part barely a whisper. His head turned back to where Tom was pand my eyes took a cautious glimpse as he lingered by the opened fridge, humming to himself while he looked for a lunch snack, too concentrated on the task at hand to hear us. Our dogs, on their tails behind him. Harrison’s smile couldn’t get any nastier when he followed my eyes.. He reached out and ruffled my hair like an annoying big brother would.  I swatted his hand away. Gabby turned around at the sound of my groan, oblivious to me and her boyfriend’s silent exchange.

“What are you still standing there for? “ she asked rhetorically. With this, Tom looked at our direction and regarded us with a suspicious look, two greek yogurts on his hands.

“Your robe’s already inside. 10 minutes.” Gabby pointed to the bathroom subsequently unloading the last items inside the brown bag and stacking them into the customized Pantry cabinet under the staircase.

“Urgh. Yes Mum.” With a roll my eyes, I dragged my feet and closed the door behind an amused Harrison and bossy Gabby, and hungry Tom.

I put my hand under the running shower, testing the temperature first before going under. Not long did the rapid stream of lukewarm water drowned out the voices from the other side of the room and I was made aware of my solitude.

The past weeks regressed  to our normal mundane routine. Everyone has work for a few more weeks, til we fly back home to England with the exception of Gabby. Tom, Harrison and I hang out during the day, if we’re all unoccupied, doing chores or anything to keep ourselves amused.  Gabby will join us later in the afternoon or early in the evening, depending on her shift.

My mind drifted back to the brunet on the other side of the wall. He must be halfway through his-my- greek yogurt by now.

I caught the upward motion of my lips as I recall the ease that re-settled over us after the revel weeks ago.

I nervously threaded my fingers through my hair as Gabby and I sauntered to where Tom was animatedly chatting with Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield backstage. His team including Harrison was already there. Gabby gave me a sideway smirk. “What?”

Tobey and Andrew gave Tom one-armed hug as they said their goodbyes. When both gentlemen were out of sight, Gabby pulled Tom’s head under and between her armpits and messed his hair. “How dare you make me cry Holland!” Instinctively, Harrison caught the carved bronze sculpture that Tom is giving him. Gabby’s headlock never loosened . He could easily remove himself from the situation yet chosen not to.

When she let him go, Tom stretched his suit. “Crybaby.” He sneered at Gabby who poked out her tongue on him. Tom stepped into my open arms as I engulfed him in another congratulatory hug again.

“Was I ok?” he whispered against my naked shoulder, the contact made tiny tsunamis on my stomach.

Still within his embrace, “You were more than that.” I breathed to his ear. Then in a nescient and brazen move, I pressed a long kiss to the chiseled cheek I could reach.

I switched off the shower’s knob and coiled my hair in the towel I used for drying myself. I put my robe on and wiped the fog that clouded the mirror. I stared at my mouth as I recite the following words:

Tom and I are good friends. Just that. I don’t need to overthink it.  Stop overthinking it, alright?!” My reflection nodded and smiled.

Albeit, in the deepest and unexplored corner of my mind, a prisoner impatiently and furiously banged on the metal bars holding her captive.

The jazz music loomed over the ubiquitous speakers of the entire flat. The boys were in the kitchen, leaning on the countertop, heels crossed with each other. Their reflex turned to the opening creaks of the bathroom door; Harrison’s spoon and Tom’s doughnut halfway to their mouths. Tom immediately turned his back the other way while Harrison, nonchalantly looked down and continued to eat his food. Head bobbing in tune with the music. Tom elbowed him and he protested a “Bruv?” yogurt still on his tongue.

The dogs chased me as I ran up to my room, thinking I was in a gaming mood. I dressed myself in a button down long sleeves and tucked it in my best fitted jeans. I grabbed the small backpack on the floor before barging down the stairs. I’m anew and ready to go.

“I kept my word, 10 minutes!” Two men looked up from their phones for a minute and muttered a small and deadpanned “Yey!” I jogged down the stairs with two dogs right behind me. Gabby was nowhere in sight. I plopped down on the three-seater-couch beside Tom who was reading something on his phone. His dog nudged her head on his knees and took a seat beside his feet. She lie down on her back as his human started rubbing his socked feet on her warm belly. Though his face remained in a determined concentration, he clasped his free hand on my ankle when I pulled it up over his thighs naturally.

My flatmate must have cleaned the table while I was in the bath. Everything was in orderly fashion again like some page from an Interior Design magazine. The decorative vignettes that I removed on the table while I was playing with Tom was reinstated. Which made me look for the video game console strewn  under the 64 inches television.

“Oi! Where did our game go?” I exhorted at the two men beside me.

“Gabby confiscated them and locked it in her room. Apparently, she can’t trust me and Tom with it.” Harrison supplied, dropping his phone on the coffee table. “Which reminds me... I need a favour from you. Both of you.”  He uttered in an undertone.  

With this, Me and Tom edged our bodies closer to where Harrison was sitting but Tom still holding on to both my feet.

“I don’t wanna kick you out of your own house mate, but um.. Can me and Gabby have this place for tonight? She doesn’t know but I planned something for her.” He confessed in a timid voice that I can’t help but smile.

“What? What did you plan to do?” Tom queried, excitement in his tone.

“Git! Don’t ask that! Don’t tell us!” I lightly smacked Tom’s head and frowned at him.

“Why do you always assume that I’m gonna do something promiscuous?” Glaring at Tom’s sheepish grin.

“Well, aren’t you gonna? “ we both raised our eyebrows at him.

“No! Well, yeah maybe....I got her a necklace, that’s all. And I planned to cook for her tonight. “ Harrison explained bashfully.

“What’s wrong with our place?” Tom chided, sounding butt-hurt

“Well, do we have a perfectly functioning oven?” Harrison accused

“Um.. no..” Tom grumbled.

“Do we have, I don’t know romantic high ceilings?” Harrison gestured dramatically over the modern drop lights above our 4-seater dining table.

“Well, no.”

“Is our flat clean?”

“Absolutely not.” Tom jested, Harrison’s facts dawning on him.

“Harrison, I got you. Let me grab an overnight bag.” I winked at him, stood up and shuffled his blonde hair.

“Thank you!!! You can sleep in my room.”  He smiled up at me.

I was rounding the dining table when I heard Tom complained,

“Uh no way man, We don’t know what kinds of shit are in your room. She’ll sleep in mine and I’ll sleep in yours.” Tom disclosed, laying his entire body on the spot I just vacated.  Harrison threw a nearby pillow on his face.

I packed lightly, just a two sets of clothes for later when I shower and for tomorrow. Gabby reemerged for her room, wearing a plain white deep v-neck shirt, jeans and ankle boots.

“What are you doing with an overnight bag?” She asked, noticing the duffle bag on my shoulder. Before I could lie,

“We’ll continue our game at me and Harrison’s place tonight.” Tom shuffled from the hall, wiping his hands with the dish towel and I could see the dogs bent over two food bowls in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you do it here?”

“Because, you’re gonna be here. We can’t concentrate if you’re just gonna peek out and shout from  your room every now and then. And you have work tomorrow.” Tom shrugged.

“Good point.” Gabby frowned in agreement.

“Oh and I’m gonna bring my baby too. The vet said that I should keep an eye on him." That part was wholly true. I stretched an elbow on Tom’s shoulders and stared back at Gabby, acting natural as possible. Which is funny, considering Tom and I were such professional liars.

“Ok fine.  Guys, Listen up. This is the plan.” She clapped her hands, the action reminded me of a soccer coach about to give his students a pep talk before a big game.

“It’s 12:14, we have be at the tents by 2pm. We’re gonna load those boxes on the car, Harrison would drive. We’re gonna drop the dogs to your apartment, 10 blocks away, maybe it'll take just 10 minutes tops and off we go. Capisce?” she said in one breath.

“Maam, yes, maam!”

[lucifer-lacroix]

Strawberry Chapter 5 (edited)

It's 1898 and Arthur decides to leave the gang for a bit to go on a hunting trip. He stops by the village of Strawberry and meets a caravan of wealthy ladies. The famed Rosalyn Bush is in town, and he starts planning a heist on his own but discovers Isabella Morningstar. His former girlfriend and famed bounty hunter "The Devil in Red." is protecting them.

It didn't feel like morning, with the wind howling outside as rain pounded against the glass. There was little light in the room as the fire had gone out and the lamp on bedside table had run out of oil. Arthur Morgan found himself face down in a mass of soft pillows and sheets which tangled his naked body up. The cotton sheets soft against his skin at the smell of lavender perfume filled his nose. He reached around the bed hoping to grab hold of the woman he went to bed with, but no one was there. That was when the pound of a headache forced him awake, and he groaned lost for a moment in pain. Arthur peeled his face off the sweet-scented pillow and spotted a glass of water. He reached for it after sliding himself across the bed and untangling himself from the comforter. He sat on the edge of the while he chugged down the water. "How much did I drink last night?" He asked himself as he pursed his lips. His mouth tasted like an ashtray, and the water did little to wash away the dryness in his throat. He was replaying the previous night in his head needing a minute to remember how he ended up in this room.

"Poker game, cigarettes outside, Rosalyn's room... Strawberry jam."  No one was inside the room but him, the bed was empty, and his clothes gone. Through the arrangements of techniflavoured jams on the counter were still there except the jar of Strawberry which was split on the ground next to the bed with handprints across the base of the bed. "I remember now," Scanning empty room he searched for where he had left his clothes and was sure he dropped his pants at the foot of the bed, but they were nowhere in sight. His gun was still on the stool where he left it, but his shirt, pants, vest and undergarments were gone. "Izzy." He said with a snarl as he put his boots on and grabbed his gun belt. He looked around the room and spotted a black silk housecoat with purple trim. It didn't look like any regular house coat since it had orange dragon embroidered in it and long cuffed sleeves. It must have been some Asian garb, but it was the only thing in the room that would fit his shoulders.  With a long heavy sigh, he put it on and covered up before leaving the room. Storming down the hallway in search of the devil who stole his clothes. As he crossed the hall to the stairs he passed so many people, the storm had locked everyone in, and now he had to walk across the hotel dressed as a woman to an audience. Gasps followed snickers and giggles as not everyone found his display amusing but rather audacious. Holding the opening of the housecoat closed he kept his hand on the grip of his gun as he headed to the yellow lounge. Once he passed through the curtains, he noticed the tables filled with the same gaggle of ladies from the night before but this time had company. They all stopped and stared at him, some in snickers some full belly laughing, but he did not care. His eyes immediately feel on The Devil. "Izzy," Arthur scowled angrily as everyone's eyes quickly darting to the back of the room where Isabella sat to breakfast with Rosalyn who had her back turned. Isabella had a big old smirk on her face as she watched Arthur come into the room. Sat next to her on the table was a well-folded stack of clothes inside a potato sack. Izzy stared at Arthur with a victorious grin on her face as Rosalyn turned to see what she was smirking about to spit out her coffee immediately. The blonde gasping for breath once she looked at him. "Why are you wearing my Kimono Mr Callaghan?" Rosalyn asked shocked and one of the only people not amused by the situation. "Izzy... my things." Arthur cleared his throat and spoke darkly not amused in the slightest. "I don't know what you're talking about I've been on guard all right. I did find this outside are they yours?" Isabella said and opened the bag revealing his clothes folded and neatly for him. Arthur's eyes narrowed as Rosalyn got up and walked over to him grabbing the stack of clothes and shoving them into Arthur's hands. "Do you know how expensive that is, take it off immediately." She said bitterly to Arthur in a hushed tone to not embarrass him further before turning back to give Izzy an icy glare.   "You happy now?" Arthur asked Izzy as the pair of them scolded her with their eyes. "Delighted... you know you have something in your hair right?" Izzy said pointing to a glob of Strawberry jam caked on the side of his head. "Oh, you tried my jams? Which one was your favourite?" Rosalyn asked as her tone flipped and Arthur just marched away with no response. Arthur stormed back to his room where he fished the key out of his pants, crossing the same crowds of people who wanted to comment but he responded this time. 

"Take a damn picture it will last longer. Now get outta my way!" He spoke loud and bitterly, instilling fear with his march despite his outrageous attire and the crowds stepped out of his way. Once he slammed the door behind him to his room, he wanted to rip the Kimono off but spotted himself in the full-length mirror seeing his reflection. He looked himself up and down and just started laughing. He looked ridiculous, but he had worn outfits worst then this. Arthur's muscular frame filled out the Kimono rather nicely as it draped over his skin delicately. He could tell how expensive it was as he brushed his fingers over the sleeves touching the silk fibres and the small beads sewn into the dragons shaping its scales.  For a tiny moment, Arthur wanted to keep it. 

"No, I will never live it down if Hosea or Dutch saw me in this." He chuckled to himself and delicately took it off. Rosalyn was the only one who sympathised with him, and as she said before, it was best not to force bad luck on those who do nice things. He folded it up to bring it back to her checking to make sure he didn't get anything on it. He got dressed in his clothes and put on his last clean shirt which was a red and brown checkered casual button up. He also scrubbed the jam from his hair using the grooming station water bowl and towel, finally packing his things to leave once he pulled himself back together. "Time to get outta here." He said and searched through his satchel to grab something to eat. Instead, he noticed something else was missing, and he feverishly searched the bag unable to find it.  

Since Arthur had left to change Rosalyn returned to the table where Isabella sat rather proud with herself. The glaring blonde down at the smug red-head with arms crossed and furrowed brows. "What?" Izzy asked. "What are you doing to that man? First, you sleep with him then embarrass him in front of the whole town on top of making it look like he slept with me? Hence embarrassing me at the same time and you have a smirk on your face?" Rosalyn asked. "Hey, that's not what I was." Izzy started, but Rosalyn put her finger up to silence her, and she did. "That's what you did. Your intentions don't matter; it's your actions that speak. You think poking bears in fun?" Rosalyn in front of everyone started to scold her. "Rosie come on." "Don't Rosie me! I'm not going to sit here and let you act like a careless bitter loser who resorts to childish antics instead of acting like an adult. Do you want to come with me to the frontier? Then you will apologise to Mr Callaghan and return everything you took from him. " "Apologize! To him! He should apologise to me! Also, I gave back everything I took." Izzy stood up and threw her chair back "Oh really? Where is his room key?" She asked "In the left pocket where I found them." "So you went looking for them?" "N-No." "What did you do with his keys?" She asked. "Uh..." Izzy went quiet knowing if she kept talking Rosalyn would catch her in a lie. "Give it to me," Rosalyn ordered holding out her hand. When Isabella didn't move, she stomped her foot and shouted. "Now!" "Okay fine!" Izzy said and took out a leatherback journal from her bag and handed it to her. "His diary? that's low." "His journal, whatever. I just wanted to check something." "Sure, Now go find your dog and hunt something for dinner." "It's pouring rain out!" "Take a poncho then," Rosalyn ordered and walked off with the journal headed towards Arthur's room. "Fine! I'll go, I was gonna go anyways." Izzy said and groaned storming out with her bag.

Rosalyn got a few steps out of the room and slowed down a bit, tapping the binding of the journal in hand. Looking around she whistled innocently to herself and checked to see who was around while stepping into an empty lounge. Once Rosalyn was alone opened the book to a random page. Glancing over it she saw a drawing of a racoon sitting on a stump roughly sketched like it was in the middle of grooming. Another sketch was on the page as well of a small songbird and a deer lying in the grass. She scanned each drawing carefully before flipping the page. This sketch was of a giant bison in the snowy hills that took up two pages in the book. "Whoa." She whispered turning the book to get a better view of the well-drawn picture. She flipped it again this time more towards the latest entries skipping the text until she saw the sketch of the gate to Strawberry. "This is what you find worthy of a page?" She asked wondering why he would sketch such mundane items — flipping the page again where she saw the portrait of herself in the book. Rosalyn rested her hand on her heart and was taken back by how accurately he captured her likeness in such a rough sketch. Though next to it was a better-drawn picture of Izzy, and she scowled a little bit. "Lady Rosalyn?" A voice called to her, and she folded up the journal and tucked it under her arm in panic. "I'm in here." SHe responded and stood up to turn and see Arthur of all people headed her way. Fully dressed this time with all his belongings in tow. "Mr Callaghan!" She said caught red-handed. "Have you seen Izzy? I believe she still has something of mine." He said as he handed back the folded Kimono to her. "Oh? What on earth did she take." Rosalyn asked as she clutched the journal behind her back. "Something I can't leave without, can you point me in her direction please?" Arthur asked skipping details. Rosalyn finding herself in a precarious position. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave it back, Arthur would surely brave the storm and leave after everything that happened. "I told her to go hunting," Rosalyn said briefly. "Shit, I better get to her before she leaves," Arthur said and spun on his heels and took off without hesitation towards the stable. "Wait!" Rosalyn said quietly after him and stood dumbfounded he just took off in the middle of a conversation. Once she regained her senses, she ran after him, but he was already out the door. "Oh, That rude son of a! Ugh I shouldn't have done that. No, it's fine they will just run into each other at the stable. He'll come back" Rosalyn said Arthur stopping on the patio watching him walk.  He calmly headed for the stable as Rosalyn looked to the kimono in her hands. "I should put this away." Rosalyn ran upstairs and into her room and quickly drop off the Kimono and get dressed in something cute. "He likes cowgirls fine. I got pants here." She pursed her lips and shuffled through the mess of clothes on the floor. Rosalyn emerged from the mess wearing dark riding pants, a dark blue blouse and Chocolate brown leather jacket. Her riding gloves in hand and rifle strung over her shoulder. "See I'm tough! I'll go after them. I know how to scavenge berries and ride a horse." She talked herself up in the mirror and grabbed her riding bag and stuffed the Journal into it as well as the stable chip for Princess. "I rode her yesterday." Rosalyn triumphantly walked down the stairs and headed out in the rain. "Ms Bush! Where are you going? It's going to thunder again; you should stay inside." William ran up to her wearing his casual shirt wet all over from cleaning the floor. "Oh, I know! I need to go pick up from berries for my pies. I'll be back in an hour or two. Honey will take care of things while I am gone and I'll be back so we can get cooking as I promised." She said in one breath and pinched his cheek and took off out the door before he could stop her.  Down the muddy road towards the stable as she saw Arthur riding away on Duke. "Fuck!" She cursed and ran towards the stable. As she reached the stable Arthur was out of sight, and she stomped her feet. "Dammit! Quick Give me the horse!" She yelled and shoved the chip onto the stableman's hands who was at the gate about to close it. "Ms Bush! I'm sorry Ms Morningstar already came and took Aristotle out hunting." "Not the Mustang the Arabian!" "Oh! The white one! I dunno miss she's been rather panicked this morning, the storm is scaring her something fierce I would wait till Ms Morningstar comes back with Aristotle." "I can't wait! I need to go now! Just saddle her up I can handle her!" Rosalyn said exasperatedly. "As you say, miss." The stableman took her chip and went off to prepare Princess for her, and she stood there tapping her foot stubbornly. Her thoughts were spinning revolving around Arthur and Izzy in the forest alone. "Whoa! Okay, calm down Rose. It's just a book. He's going to go out there, she's not going to have it, and again I'm going to get her laid. Ugh. He's not even that good looking, and this whole thing is stupid, I'm wet. I'm tired. My room is disgusting, and she's going to pay for it, and now my Kimono from Toyko smells like sex. It wasn't even with me" She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest. Alone in the rain now able to let out her frustrations. "Stupid Arthur and his stupid leather sketchbook. See. It's just childish doodles." She ripped it out of the bag and started angrily flipping through it. "Just a bunch of cute little animals what kind of man doodles..." As she was flipping through the pages, she stopped at a ledger marked with a string. She turned it open to the page and glanced it over. There was a list of numerical entries of various dollar amounts in a column, next to it a sketch of a city layout and an x circled by a red dot. A treasure map next to a ledger recording all the savings held by a gang in Blackwater. Dutch Van Der Linde's name among the list. "Uh oh." She said nervously closing the book slowly as the colour from her face disappeared leaving her white as a ghost. "Miss. The horse is ready for you now." The stableman called out to her as she waved to him nervously as he leads the horse to her. Princess who was dragging her hooves in the dirt complained loudly as the two strangers handled her. Rosalyn made a squeak like sound while staring at the horse who seemed a lot bigger than the last time she rode her.  With a deep breath, she shoved the journal into her bag and took the reigns he handed to her. "Alright girl calm down! We have to go!" Rosalyn said holding onto her dominant voice picturing the red-heads face in the eyes of the horse. "You are going to listen to me okay! We gotta get out there fast and come back in once piece alright!" Attempting to bargain with the horse who looked her over and calmed a little bit. "Hey, it worked." She said when Princess shoved her back with her nose and tried to bite the lead and rip it out of her grip. "No!!" Rosalyn shouted holding the reigns tightly and tangled it around her wrist so the horse couldn't pull it from her grip. "Okay! No more Ms nice lady." Rosalyn huffed and yanked the reign down making princess's head bow down. Rosalyn then grabbed the horn of the saddle and climbed up onto Princess despite her jaunting as the stableman assisted in keeping her still. "Are you sure about this!?" He asked when the horse reared a bit. "Okay. Off we go." Rosalyn tapped Princess's sides with her heels and clicked her tongue as the horse immediately set into a fast trot instead of a walk and took off down the road going the wrong way. "Whoa! Whoa, Princess!! Slow down!" Rosalyn panicked horse stomped through the puddles, and she held on desperately. The horse was leading her as people watched he ride in circles, hoping to see her thrown.  Once Princess got her burst of energy out Rosalyn took control and turned her around to go down the road after Arthur. "I got this!" She cheered to herself as they flew down the trail out of control.

Arthur and the Duke were trotting at a quick pace following a trail in the mud left behind by a heavy horse. The rain had cleared the path of all the other travellers, and the single set of hoof prints lead him deeper into the forest headed into a groove. They rode slowly as The Duke manoeuvred around the tightly packed trees with ease. "Well Duke, if she went hunting this would be a good spot to go. " Arthur said out loud stopping the mule as the tracks merged with a second. He dismounted from his Mule to get a better look at the prints. "You think she took it on purpose to lead me out here Duke?" He asked the creature after he fed him common bulrush plant which he lazily chewed. "Yeah sounds rather stupid, why would she embarrass me like that if she just wanted to shoot me? Does she want to steal her money back from us you think?" He asked Duke out loud who kept munching nonchalantly.   "Yeah, she should have just taken the map, not the whole journal, of course, I would notice it gone." He knelt next to a set of paw prints next to the hoof prints. "This must be her... big dog," he said and put his hand next to the paw print which was filling up with water and the size of his palm. He stood back up and grabbed the lead of his mule and walked alongside them to follow the path keeping quiet as they travelled into the forest. "I'm going to need your help to get the jump on her." He rubbed Duke's neck as they climbed over the roots of a large oak tree.

Deep within the trees, the rain was light since the leaves above sheltered the forest floor. On such a stormy day many creatures stayed within their shelters but not everyone. A wild boar was roaming about looking for truffles, his loud snorts pinpointing his location. The beast had stumbled upon a groove of mushrooms and was feasting on his own until a loud crack of a rifle echoed in the trees. The birds flew away, and a deer went scampering off, but the wild boar fell dead on the ground with a mouthful of half-eaten fungi. Izzy who was laid out under a shelter of leaves and brush cocked her rifle which smoked from the last shot she fired. A perfect bullseye on the hog's skull. "Piece of cake." She smirked happily. "She can't be mad at me now. Everyone loves bacon. Why is she so fucking mad at me anyway." She asked her rifle before reloading it. As the bullet punched into the chamber, she noticed in the distance a Mule break through the brush on its own. He was saddled and headed straight for the groove of mushrooms where she had just shot the boar. "Who's a fucking mule is that?" She asked herself and put her scope up to her eye to get a closer look. The creature slid down the muddy slope into the grove and happily started eating the patch of half-eaten mushrooms the boar had found. Izzy looked around to see if the owner was close. "Some bastard trying to steal my kill?" She said out loud hesitant about whoever was its rider was. Fifteen minutes went by as Izzy remained still in her hiding place, the Mule just grazing the entire time. The mule had fed over to where the dead hog laid and started to climb on top of it stomping his feet on the pig which was blocking a patch of mushrooms. "Oh shit!" Izzy said and jumped out of her hiding spot and headed down to scare the Mule away before it ruined her kill. "Hey shoo!" She yelled and ran up to the beast before she heard a gun cock to her left. She slid to a stop and cursed under her breath. "Stupid. Okay, you got me." She shook her head and turned to see Arthur Morgan of all people standing on a fallen tree with a Carbine Repeater pointed at her. "I thought you had a sense of humour Arthur." She shouted and raised her hands her rifle still in one of them. "Hilarious as that morning prank was, taking my things is not. I guess that's on me for trusting you." He said and started to approach her. "Haha yeah, that's why I gave em back. I'm not interested in robbing you. That's your thing." Izzy said and lowered her arms but kept her rifle pointed away from Arthur, but did point it at the Mule. She whistled twice and readied her gun at the Duke. "Hm, you think I wouldn't have noticed you pinch my journal." He asked quickly glancing around him wondering where the dog was since it was not with her. "Yeah I thought you would, so I gave it to Rosalyn to give back to you," Izzy said also looking around for her dog as well but raised her gun to the Mule to stop Arthur from approaching her further. "Don't shoot my Mule, and don't lie. Give it back, and we can go our separate ways" Arthur said with narrow eyes. "Excuse me? I think I deserve the right to take away one of your beloved pets. Besides I'm not lying, go talk to Rosalyn she has your Journal." Izzy said before whistling again a little more desperately, this time hearing a twig snap in the distance. "I did, she told me you were out here," Arthur said and fired a warning shot at her which hit the rocks at her feet and made Duke sprint off. Izzy was going to shoot when Arthur cracked a second shot closer to her feet making her jump. "Hand it over!" He ordered when a dog barked to his right. Before he could change targets, a colossal dog leapt out of the bushes and tackled him. Knocking the Repeater from his hands and taking him to the ground. He was expecting to get mauled, but instead, the giant dog started licking him. She had a squished face with floppy ears and a brown and beige coat of fur. The dog was massive and weighed at least 200 lbs currently centred on his chest. "Hey, Bijou, who's a good girl. Arthur this is Bijou." Izzy said and readied her gun at him as Arthur drew his pistol from his belt and was ready to shoot the dog. "Are you sure it's a dog and not a bear?" He asked with his finger on the trigger, but since it wasn't biting him yet lovingly licking him, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger as she slobbered all over his face. "Bijou, Bijou get off I got it," Izzy said her rifle now pointed at Arthur on the ground.  Arthur grabbed the dog's neck and pointed his pistol at her head. "Fuck off Arthur! Don't you fucking dare!" She said bitterly. "Give me back my journal!" Arthur yelled as the dog started to growl against his grip. "Bijou No calm! I don't have it. Arthur let her go don't scare her!" Izzy tried to stay calm but in the distance, and ear piercing scream broke through the trees. They both stopped recognising the tone of the voice as a female. Bijou was ready to bite Arthur, but at the sound of the scream, he let go and let the dog jump off him. "Rosalyn told you she didn't have it?" Izzy asked her gun still training on him. "She said you went hunting. I... stormed out after that." Arthur said as a second scream was heard this time an English accented voice calling for help. "She didn't come with you did she?"Izzy asked with wide eyes. They both stared at each other for a second. "Shit." They said, and unison as Arthur got up from the ground. Izzy was holstering her rifle on her back heading back for her horse. "How the hell did she get out this far? I have the only riding horse." "I think she took Princess," Arthur said as he whistled for the Duke. "You mean my Arabian?" Izzy said and ran up the hill to a black Mustang horse hitched out of sight from the groove. The muscled horse had a majestic long raven mane and stood proud saddled with a gator skinned set up lined with gator fangs. A turkey already tied off in the saddle off his left flank. "First off, That is a nice horse. Secondly, I thought you didn't want my horse?" Arthur said and saddled up on his Mule waiting for her. "Who would, she's a skittish coward. I went to take her out this morning, and she wouldn't come near me. How could Rosalyn get on her? She's afraid of horses." Izzy climbed up on Aristotle and turned him around towards where they heard shouting. "She didn't mention that yesterday when she was riding her, the road is back that way lets head up by cutting through the trees to see if we can get in front of them before they get lost," Arthur said and scanned the trees. "You know, I wish I never met you," Izzy said sourly ignoring his suggestion and taking off back the way she came. "For Pete's sake, Hold on just one minute. I thought we were getting along just fine last night, what the fuck happened?" He asked. "Now? You want to talk about it now?" Izzy asked. "Yes actually! What the hell is the matter with you? I thought we had sorted things out?" Arthur asked abandoning his plan and following Izzy and Aristotle. The Duke was having a hard time keeping up with the stallion forcing Arthur to shout.

"Becuase we slept together while you were drunk!? HA! Nothing has changed Arthur. You're still an outlaw, a degenerate and a thief!" Izzy shouted back as they dodged around the trees, Aristotle having to go around the obstacles the Duke could squeeze through. "Then why go along? Why lead me on like that? For revenge? To give me a taste of my own medicine?" Arthur demanded, catching up to her. Izzy went quiet as they broke out of the trees and onto the main road. She scanned the ground and noticed a sporadic set of prints charged through not long ago. "Well!?" Arthur finally caught up as the Duke let out a wail having been pushed so hard to follow. "I'm thinking hold on!" Izzy yelled and checked which way the prints headed. Another scream was echoing ahead. "This way!" She called and took off. "Izzy!" Arthur yelled after her and looked to the Duke. "I'm sorry boy. Yaw!" He gave him a hard kick, and the Mule jolted off behind the Mustang. Unable to keep up with Izzy who had launched her stallion into a full gallop after Rosalyn and the runaway Arabian.

[hari-writes]

Break It In Two And Keep The Pieces For Yourself - Chapter 2

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairings: Marinette/Nathaniel, Adrien/Marinette, Chloe/Nathaniel

Summary: When Marinette and Nathaniel start dating, everyone is happy for them. Except for Adrien and Chloe. Chloe has a crush on Nathaniel and Adrien finally realises his feelings for Marinette. They decide to work together to split the happy couple up, but it’s not as simple as it seems.

Chapter 1

Read on A03

Sunlight streaming through open blinds alerted Marinette to the fact it was morning. She squinted at how bright it was, her hangover making the light seem even more intense. Lifting her throbbing head from a naked chest, she took in her surroundings; the events of last night slowly dawning on her.

Nathaniel was asleep under her, their legs still entwined. His shoulder-length red hair lay tousled on his pillow, framing his face like a lion. One arm was wrapped around Marinette, the other rested on his toned stomach.

Damn, where did those abs come from?!

She looked across the tiny apartment and saw the trail of abandoned clothing leading from the door to the bed and smiled to herself. It wasn’t exactly how she imagined her night was going to go when she left home yesterday, but she was happy that it did. Nathaniel was kind and easy to talk to. They had plenty in common, having known each other since école primaire and sharing a love of art and design. She put her head back on his chest and snuggled in. Nathaniel’s hand moved to stroke her hair.

“You’re awake,” She said.

“I don’t think so,” His voice was deep and comforting, “You’re in my bed so I’m sure I’m still dreaming.”

She laughed and poked her finger in his ribs.

“Ouch!”

“Just checking. You’re definitely awake. I’m really here,” Marinette grinned.

He rolled onto his side to face her, ran his fingers across her bare shoulders, then cupped her cheek in his palm.

“You really are here, aren’t you? Look, I need you to know, if this was just a one-night deal for you, I promise things won’t get awkward. If you want something more, though…” He trailed off. Without wine boosting his courage, the words were harder to say than he thought.

“It wasn’t just a one-night deal for me, Nath,” She assured him, looking him in the eyes so he could see she was serious. “I like you.”

He kissed her, unable to keep the grin off his face. She giggled and realised how happy she felt.

Their phones chimed almost simultaneously and they reflexively reached out to check them.

“Chloé’s summoning us all to brunch at the hotel,” Nathaniel said. “Do you fancy it?”

“Do we have a choice?” She groaned.

“It’s Chloé so, no.”

The message on her phone was from Adrien, informing her of the same thing. Chloé felt bad for skipping the reunion last night so was hosting a mandatory brunch for all her ex-classmates. She quickly typed a response to him, making sure to inquire after Nino at the same time. A reply arrived quickly, informing her that he took Nino home with him and Adrien was currently rubbing his best friend’s back as he cried and dry heaved into the toilet.

Nathaniel leaned over to kiss her.

“There’s time if you want to go home and get changed? I can come get you in an hour,” He suggested.

“Good call,” She said.

After gathering up her clothes, she threw them on and grabbed her bag, muttering profuse apologies to Tikki as she left. She let herself into her flat and immediately opened the cookie jar, letting her kwami help herself to the contents.

“Stop apologising, Marinette. You've had hookups in the past and I managed to zone out then, too.” Tikki reassured her.

“I know, but I still feel bad,” Marinette put her head around the bathroom. “I’m going to shower real quick, okay?”

Tikki had a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie so she waved at Marinette in lieu of a response. True to her word, Marinette’s shower lasted less than ten minutes, then she spent another twenty minutes standing in her towel trying to select an outfit.

“You’ll look great in whatever you choose,” Tikki encouraged her.

“I just need something cute, but casual. Like I just threw it on, but more considered than that.”

“Human fashion is confusing,” Tikki laughed, “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about it.”

Marinette eventually settled on a black shirt dress, cinched at the waist with a pink belt. She applied mascara and sheer pink lipstick and brushed her hair. There was no time to style it properly so she opted to let it dry naturally in soft waves, but she blowdried her bangs so they sat in the right place. Her buzzer sounded as she was slipping on a pair of black leather pumps and she told Nathaniel she’d be right there. She put her bag over her shoulder and opened the clasp to let Tikki fly inside.

On the street, she shared a nervous kiss with Nathaniel before they joined hands and began walking to the Metro station. At Guy Môquet, they boarded the train, finding two seats together. Nathaniel stroked her cheek with his thumb and she tilted her face toward him, gazing into his turquoise eyes. She brushed his hair from his face and felt electricity where her fingers touched his skin.

By the time the changed trains at Saint Lazare Train Station, they had lost all trace of self-consciousness and were becoming practised at public displays of affection.

At Le Grand Paris, they followed the distinctive sound of Chloé’s laugh to where their friends had already started on brunch. There were two seats left around the table, but they weren’t together. Nathaniel kissed Marinette’s hand before he relinquished it and she sat on the chair next to a grey-tinged Nino. Nathaniel sat between Ivan and Max in the space opposite Marinette.

“Hi, Nino,” She said gently. “How are you?”

He shrugged, lips pressed together, eyes watering. Adrien leaned over from the other side of his best friend and answered for him.

“He’s sick and unhappy.” He passed her a platter of pastries and she took a croissant, resting it on her plate.

“Do you know if A-L-Y-A is coming this morning?” She asked Adrien. He shook his head sadly.

“I can spell my own girlfriend’s name, I’m not a child,” Nino objected.

“I know, I thought it might lessen the pain.” Marinette put her hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m worried about you.”

She sliced her croissant in half and buttered it generously before adding jam. She cut each side into three and put one piece on Nino’s plate. He took it gratefully and ate slowly. She gave him another piece when it was finished and the colour gradually returned to his cheeks.

“How did you do that?!” Adrien was astounded. “I’ve been trying to perk him up all morning.”

“As the daughter of a baker, I can’t give away all my secrets,” She winked at him, “but you should know that croissants and jam have restorative properties.”

Adrien laughed, “I yield to your great, mystical knowledge.”

Chloé clinked her fork against her glass until she had everyone’s attention. As she did, waiting staff brought trays of Mimosas and Bloody Marys to the table, placing one of each in front of each guest.

“Hair of the dog?” Marinette suggested to Nino. In reply, he drained the champagne cocktail in one.

“Thank you all for coming to my little reunion,” Chloé began, “I know you all have busy and exciting lives now, but I would hate for us to lose touch because we didn’t make time for one another.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, most of Chloé’s speech was taken word for word from the message she sent to her friends a few days earlier. Across the table, she saw Nathaniel smirk, possibly realising the same thing. She caught his eye and winked. His smirk turned into a snort which he tried to hide unsuccessfully.

“Is there a problem, Nathaniel?” Chloé demanded.

He shook his head, unable to answer through the fit of giggles that caught hold of him. Marinette laughed too, gleeful chortles that made her eyes fill with tears as she tried to suppress them.

“Do you want to share the joke, Marinette?” Chloé asked haughtily.

For all that she was a much nicer person these days, Chloé was still a self-important attention seeker and she didn’t take kindly to having the spotlight diverted from her.

“I know what’s going on…” Alix teased, her quick blue eyes darting between the two laughing figures.

Marinette and Nathaniel shot her warning looks, but Alix wasn’t intimidated easily, especially not by desperate eye contact.

“Marinette and Nathaniel got it on last night!” She announced proudly. “Didn’t you guys?”

Neither of them had to answer, their blushes spoke volumes. Their friends cheered, hugged them and clapped Marinette and Nathaniel on the back and shoulder, asking for details. Only two friends didn’t react. Adrien stayed in his seat, looking pensive, and Chloé continued to wait for everyone to return their attention to her.

“Really? Tell us the story,” Nino said, looking genuinely happy for the first time in days. Marinette didn’t have the heart to refuse his request.

“Uh, well, we walked each other home last night and when we stopped outside Nath’s apartment, we… um, kissed.” A squeal of delight rose from her friends. “Then, well…”

“...I invited her up to mine and…” Nathaniel picked up the story. “...and Marinette and I. We… she stayed the night.”

“Yeah, she did!” Kim whooped.

“You two are great together,” Mylene said as Rose and Juleka nodded enthusiastically next to her.

Juleka muttered something that sounded like, “Double date” but Marinette wasn’t totally sure.

“ANYWAY,” Chloé practically shouted, “I think you all interrupted me.”

The friends groaned and grabbed their drinks, ready to let Chloé finish her plagiarized speech. As she listened to her own words being spoken back to her, Marinette was very aware that someone was looking at her. She glanced towards Nathaniel, but his attention was back on Chloé. She glanced to her right and made eye contact with Adrien Agreste, who was watching her, not the haughty blonde at the head of the table. She gave him a quizzical look, but his expression was brooding and she couldn’t find any answers on his face.

♥♡♥

Adrien hung back at the hotel after the rest of his old classmates had left. Chloé had excused herself as soon and the first guest announced their departure and he was worried about her. It wasn't like her to leave an event until the last guest left.

He found her sitting on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe, holding Mr Cuddly the bear and sucking her thumb. He sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulder.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think they meant to interrupt your speech,” He said.

“That’s not why I’m upset,” Chloé huffed, “I stole that stupid speech from Marinette. It’s just… Why does she get everything she wants?”

“Does she? Oh, Nathaniel,” He realised. “You still like him?”

“Since collège. I was so awful to him back then, I’ve been trying to redeem myself for years and I thought we were getting closer,” Chloé sniffed. “And, then Marinette Dupain-Cheng comes along and jumps into bed with him.”

“Yeah. What does he have that her other male friends don’t?” Adrien added absentmindedly.

Chloé removed her thumb from her mouth with a pop and gasped. “You like Marinette!”

Adrien nodded. “It took me too long to realise that she’s so much more to me than a good friend, and longer to stop pining over Ladybug. I missed my chance.”

“You know, there is something we can do about it,” A wicked expression crossed Chloé’s face. “You want Marinette, I want Nath, so let’s go get them.”

“Split them up?” Adrien was shocked. Chloé had come such a long way over the years, he sometimes forgot how self-serving and malicious she used to be.

“Why not? We’d be there to console them afterwards, nobody really gets hurt.”

“No, Chloé, I can’t do that to our friends.”

“Fine,” Chloé looked unconvinced. “You know where I am if you change your mind.”

♥♡♥

Marinette and Nathaniel decided to walk through Place des Vosges on their way to pop into see her parents and tell them the news. It was a beautiful day, and they both felt the need to walk off their brunch cocktails before they reached the bakery. They stopped in the park and sat on a bench to discuss their friends’ reaction to the fact they were a couple.

“I’d have preferred to tell them one or two at a time, not all together like that,” Nathaniel admitted.

“Same here,” She agreed. “Now everyone knows except Alya and I wanted to tell her first.”

“I’m sorry,” He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m the one who drew attention to us.”

“No, Nath,” She put her hand on his face, “It was both of us, we should have known we couldn’t hide it from that lot.”

He laughed and pressed his forehead to hers. She sighed, and closed her eyes, feeling completely at ease with him. When she felt his lips brush hers, she chased his mouth, willing him to kiss her. Teasingly, he moved away a little so she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into her. Their kiss quickly intensified when Nathaniel sucked on her bottom lip, biting gently on it. She shifted to sit on his lap and he ran one calloused hand up her bare thigh.

Someone near them cleared his throat and the pair broke apart, pink-faced and breathless. They looked to the source of the noise. Adrien Agreste was standing over them, looking crestfallen. Maybe he didn’t agree with public kissing?

“Oh, hey, Adrien,” Nathaniel said.

“Hi,” Adrien replied. “Erm, congratulations, you guys. You seem very happy.”

“Thanks,” Marinette smiled shyly, “We really are.”

“Great,” Adrien muttered and continued his walk through the park.

Marinette and Nathaniel watched him leave, a little concerned by his downcast demeanour. They saw him take his phone out his pocket and, after selecting a contact, he put it to his ear. He was too far away when he finally spoke so they didn’t hear what he said to his oldest friend.

“Chloé? I’ve changed my mind about this Marinette and Nathaniel thing. Let’s break it in two and keep the pieces for ourselves.”

Caffeine and positive feedback fuel me, buy me a coffee?

[punnyteacup]

thinking about having my little house in the countryside one day. I want enough space for a food garden and a few fruit trees. i’d like to try growing cherries and maybe a larger stone fruit of some kind. something that can be made into jams and preserves. I want a yard to convert into a garden with herbs and flowers planned out for the local bees. bee hotels those would be nice too i think. hives to try my hand at beekeeping if i’m brave enough. i want my closest neighbor to be far enough away that i can fill the ditches near my house with milkweeds and berry bushes. would love to have a raspberry or thimbleberry patch again. an enclosed patio, renovated to suit my cats and myself and a dog or two so we can all enjoy the outdoors together without risking the local bird populations. a road that i can walk down with my dogs without having to worry about cars speeding by. a neighbor with an old barn that they let me visit so i can smell the dust and reminisce. but back to the garden, and the trees, and the bees. i really want to be able to grow things i love with my own hands and share them with my loved ones. like, see! i love this and i love you! take some of this and enjoy it however you want to, just remember to save the jars and send them back to me when the box i sent the goodies in is full with them again. I love you, take care, and eat well.