#ken is so funny in the novel i can’t even—

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it��my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2024, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“‘The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[justforbooks]

In the late 1970s, Bo Goldman was researching a script about Melvin Dummar, the unassuming Utah factory worker, gas station owner and former “Milkman of the Month” who was named as a $156m beneficiary in a will supposedly written by Howard Hughes but later successfully contested in court. Slowly, a realisation dawned on the screenwriter: “This man is a failure just like I am.”

It seemed an unusual conclusion to reach. After all, Goldman had written the book and lyrics for a Broadway musical, First Impressions, based on Pride and Prejudice, before he was 30, and won his first best screenplay Oscar (shared with Lawrence Hauben) for adapting One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), Ken Kesey’s novel set in a psychiatric institution, by the time he was 45.

A second Oscar later came his way for Melvin and Howard (1980), his humane and warmly funny script about Dummar, lovingly directed by Jonathan Demme.

But Goldman, who has died aged 90, was haunted at the time by his inability to sell one of his earliest scripts, Shoot the Moon, or to follow up that 1959 Broadway debut, and by the years he spent in poverty and debt, struggling to provide for his wife and their six children. “I can’t tell you what it does to a man,” he said in 1982. “You feel awful. I respected my wife so much, but felt lousy about myself.”

Hollywood was impressed by Shoot the Moon, the story of a brutal marital break-up that he wrote in the early 1970s, but no one wanted to make it. The writing was strong enough to earn him an $8,000 commission from the director Miloš Forman to re-write Hauben’s script for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. One of Goldman’s first suggestions – that the iconoclastic patient McMurphy, played by Jack Nicholson, should kiss his admitting officers at the hospital – helped win him the job.

He also scripted the Bette Midler vehicle The Rose (1979), inspired by the life of Janis Joplin, but turned down offers to write Kramer vs Kramer and Ordinary People, both future best picture Oscar winners, because the terrain felt too similar to his unproduced script, which he still hoped would be filmed eventually.

It finally was. The British filmmaker Alan Parker directed Shoot the Moon in 1982, coaxing powerful work from Albert Finney and Diane Keaton as the warring couple, and touchingly natural performances from the four children cast as their daughters.

The critical response was positive. Even Pauline Kael, no fan of Parker’s, said she was “a little afraid to say how good I think [the film] is” and praised the script’s “theatrical richness.” Goldman was disappointed nevertheless by its box-office failure.

After his third Oscar nomination, for Scent of a Woman (1992), he said: “I’m always surprised when anything good happens to me.” That film starred Al Pacino as a blind, cantankerous ex-army officer who cuts loose when he is assigned a prep-school student (Chris O’Donnell) as his companion for Thanksgiving weekend.

Goldman based Pacino’s character on a combination of his father, one of his brothers and a sergeant under whom he had served. Pacino won an Oscar; on that occasion, the writer did not.

He was born Robert Spencer Goldman in New York City. It was at Princeton that he changed his name to “Bo”; the college newspaper, The Daily Princetonian, misprinted his byline, and it stuck.

His mother was Lillian Levy, a millinery model, his father, Julian Goodman, a sometime Broadway producer and the owner of a chain of more than 70 department stores, which went into receivership during the Depression shortly before Bo was born. That dramatic fall informed and even overshadowed the rest of Bo’s life, with its occasionally incongruous juxtapositions. He grew up, for instance, in a spacious, rent-controlled Park Avenue apartment yet the family was usually penniless. His father would leaf through scrapbooks from his glory days, even making annual visits to the stables in Chantilly where he kept his prize-winning race-horses.

Though this precarious economic situation was known to Bo throughout his youth, it was not until much later that he discovered his father had another estranged family, and that his parents had never married.

He was educated at the Dalton school and Phillips Exeter academy prior to Princeton. There he wrote lyrics for the college’s Triangle Show and developed an enthusiasm for writing for the stage. He was in the US army for several years, then made inroads into the television industry, starting in the CBS postroom before progressing to script editing and producing on shows such as Playhouse 90.

Though First Impressions, which starred Farley Granger, was poorly received, he devoted most of the 1960s to writing a civil war musical, Hurrah Boys, Hurrah, which was never staged. He took odds and ends of TV work, but was plagued by thoughts of his father’s ignominies, and bruised by his own. “The only thing which kept me going was my wife and the kids who never cared about my success or lack of it,” he said. “They only cared because it was causing me pain.”

Around the time Shoot the Moon was released, his wife, Mab (nee Ashforth), whom he had met at Princeton and married in 1954, and who supported the family financially through endeavours such as her fish and bread shop, Loaves and Fishes, reflected on the disparity between the bad times and the good: “People were so contemptuous of us … it’s remarkable how success has transformed us into acceptable people.”

Goldman became a sought-after script doctor, working uncredited on Forman’s Ragtime (1981), Demme’s Swing Shift, the coming-of-age comedy The Flamingo Kid (both 1984), Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracy (1990) and the Arthurian adventure First Knight (1995).

Credited screenplays include Little Nikita (1988), an espionage thriller with River Phoenix and Sidney Poitier, and Meet Joe Black (1998), starring Brad Pitt as the pretty personification of death. Goldman also shared a story credit with Beatty on the period comedy-drama Rules Don’t Apply (2016). This was another Howard Hughes-related project, with Beatty playing the reclusive billionaire.

Though Goldman came close several times, his enduring dream of directing was never realised. “I think of myself as a filmmaker,” he said. “I’m a writer only because that is what they pay me to do.”

Mab died in 2017. He is survived by five of his children, Mia, Amy, Diana, Serena and Justin. A sixth child, Jesse, died in 1981.

🔔 Bo (Robert Spencer) Goldman, screenwriter, born 10 September 1932; died 25 July 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[deus-ex-mona]

heart no chikai novel expectations: arikaren reconciliation and wholesomeness

heart no chikai novel reality: sumida kei gets adopted by the sanbaka

[pristina-nomine]

Heathcliff and Hareton for the character ask meme? 💕

Ah, them!!! Let's start with Heathcliff, also asked by @the-golden-mango-of-discord

Favorite thing about them: his eloquence. I just love the way he uses language. Dude talks, talks and talks, either he's outpouring his feelings or masterfully manipulating someone. The whole novel could be his endless monologues and it would be fine with me.

Least favorite thing about them: as a character he's flawless, so I'll go with: his treatment of Isabella. The same could be said about his behaviour to Linton, but that we don't know what he has actually done to her makes it all the more disturbing.

Favorite line: "I love my murderer, but yours, how can I"!!! Criminally underrated line. Also all his speeches before his death are the best of the best.

brOTP: I love his dynamic with Nelly: they're pseudo-siblings, companions of servitude, master and servant, she's his confidante and the only person besides Hareton he wants at his grave. There is this weird respect between them that borders on affection, it's moving to me. I'll also add Hareton, but I'm not sure I'd call that a brotp?

OTP: Catherine. Heresy to answer anyone else.

nOTP: Isabella because ew. I'm looking at you 2009 miniseries writers.

Random headcanon: not sure if this goes againist the novel, but that actually he's not that rich when he comes back. He spent almost all his money on a fancy suit to look rich and his ability at playing cards and manipulating plus Hindley being a wreck did the rest.

Unpopular opinion: he's a really funny character. As in, I laugh out loud at his weird jokes. My sense of humor is broken.

Song i associate with them: a whole lot, my WH playlist was 90% Heathcliff songs at first aha. But I'll go with Young Man in America by Anaïs Mitchell (which is about usamerican individualism, I guess, but it's uncanny how well it fits with him)

Favorite picture of them: this still of Ken Hutchison from the 1978 series (not the best Heathcliff by any means, but he basically has the exact same nose and face shape I picture him with)

Bonus: this publicity pic of Solomon Glave from the 2011 movie; him covering his eyes really strikes me for some reason?

On with my beloved lad!

Favorite thing about them: I'm obsessed with the whole thing of him being the son of Hindley who looks like Catherine who was brought up to be like Heathcliff; that he's completely unaware of his own symbolic importance makes it even more fascinating.

Least favorite thing about them: how he kinda "gets a pass" at the ending? Like, Cathy 2 ask for his forgiveness, which is fair and valid, but he never does the same for her, and it really feels like something's missing to me

Favorite line: this is tricky, poor boy barely even talks. I'll go with his one (1) moment of introspection, when he tells Cathy how he doesn’t want her friendship, because he knows she’ll be ashamed of him (can’t find the exact quote now). I love how just a few lines clearly convey his pride, sense of inferiority and fear of giving his trust to someone.

brOTP: as I said, I won’t really call his relationship with Heathcliff a brotp, but it's objectively the most interesting dynamic he's a part of. The lines between manipulation and true affection are blurred, it’s disturbing and heartbreaking, and also incomprehensibly underrated.

OTP: Cathy 2, obviously! I love how they instantly get along, but then their pride and prejudices (aha) ensue and every interaction between them is complete and utter distress until they it rock bottom, and then almost miracoulously manage to get themselves out of the mud. I love that they clinge to each other when there's literally no one else left, like the survivors of a shipwreck. There was this essay I read which described their falling in love as 'mutual and agonized'; of course we're not on Heathcliff and Catherine levels, but there is still a kind of anguish to them, imho

nOTP: ...is there even anyone to notp-y him with

Random headcanon: that he's very knowledgeable about local folkore (source: Cathy 2, when he shows her around)

Unpopular opinion: (this is going to sound so pretentious, help) that his reputation of 'the only nice character in Wuthering Heights' is a bit…reductive? I mean, he is! He is a good person! But the thing is: any other novel would have made him a saint, Wuthering Heights does not. As a child he'd still be a little angel despite the appaling conditions he lives in, as an adult he'd immediately side with Cathy and disown Heathcliff. But in real life there's no way anyone could come out from such a childood unscathed, and I love that Emily Bronte doesn't shy away from that. His being a kind soul it’s clear from little snippets here and there, but an early childhood ridden with violence and an education specifically designed to make him a brute had their effects on him; it’s an extremely nuanced characterization and it’s a pity to overlook it.

Song i associate with them: Dyin Day by Anaïs Mitchell (yes, her again). It's a retelling of the Abraham and Isaac story, and I actually refer it to all the three second generation kids, but the general feeling of quiet acceptance on behalf of the child character makes me think especially of Hareton

Favorite picture of them: this still of David Wilkinson in the 1978 series; awful quality but i love the inscription on the door plus him literally getting out of the shadows (that's kinda the whole deal with him, and I like that this series uses this image a lot)

Bonus: this illustration of him and Cathy by Emilien Dufour, I assume from Lockwood’s pov. Strong ‘you’ve come into the wrong neighborhood’ vibes

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 12 - Restart

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

A/N hi im back and i fulfill my promise to update to chapter 12 at most by this week. see. i’m a person of my words. pls enjoy and talk to me about my fic.

(also check out the newest oneshot from Nick’s perspective when D.E.A.N still beat him up>> tumblr ao3)

Wordcount: ± 4900

TW : Anorexia (low appetite), Depression, Allusion to Suicidal Ideation (heed to other tags on the overall summary in the masterpost)

The much-needed peace and the truce appear to be on the horizon for Mark, his team, and their estranged charge. Maybe. Hopefully.

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

------

“I can’t fucking believe you’re really making us buy some French macarons and ice cream cake. 40 miles, Mark. 40 fucking miles.”

Marcus chuckles in his passenger seat without looking at Luke, taking a slight peek to the back seat where the juxtaposing weapon and other mission supplies are sitting beside colorful boxes of the sweets.

“It’s your idea. You asked me the locations, and I just put them into our GPS tracker. You’re the one who is taking it seriously and actually driving there.”

Luke shakes his head with pissed off face.

“Maybe we all are having crush on him.”

“Well, congrats on your coming out,” Mark jokes flatly.

Luke giggles. “Fuck you,” he lowly says.

“Getting there fast, huh?” Mark smirks. “I took 7 years after being outed before I fucked a guy for the first time.”

Luke bellows a laughter while repeating ‘fuck you, Mark’ as a response.

There is a comfortable silence for a while, then Luke says with relieved voice, “I’m glad you’re making gay jokes again. Thought he shoved you back into closet, with… you know.”

“Fruity Ken?”

Luke chuckles again, a bit uncomfortable this time. “Yeah.”

“Honestly, ‘fruity’ is already being reclaimed nowadays. It’s kinda funny sometimes.”

Luke laughs loudly again. “Oh, thank fuck. I almost always laughed when he called you that, but I restrained myself ‘cause I thought it’s homophobic.”

“I mean, it is,” Mark gives an agreeing face, “but it’s also creative and hilarious.”

“Can I call you that from now on?” Luke asks with a teasing smile while he focuses on taking a turn, steering the wheel sideways.

“Absolutely fucking not. Reclaimed by me, not you,” Mark replies, looking at the rearview mirror out of habit to see if there are suspicious people following them. “Maybe I’ll change my code name to that on the field, though. ‘Fruity Ken reporting in. Over.’”

Luke cackles again at Mark’s exaggerated field voice until he is breathless while Mark just shakes his head lightly with his own chuckles.

“Honestly, you don’t even look like Ken doll,” Luke quips in absently afterwards.

“I’m blond and have blue eyes.”

Luke looks contemplative. “Yeah, but, I don’t know, man. Ken doll usually has pretty boy face, unlike you.”

Mark doesn’t reply, giving a slight thought to how all the Ken dolls that he has ever encountered look like, not that he really cares. There are not many, so he doesn’t know how they look like, really.

“Like that famous male model, called Francisco something. Kind of.”

“Francisco Lachowski?” Mark offers.

“Yeah. Anyway, if anything, George and Nick himself look more like Ken dolls, but with different hair and eye colors. Maybe because they’re still older adolescent guys. But still, more similar, you know?”

Luke then gives a millisecond glance at Mark’s face as Mark raises an eyebrow in question before returning to looking at the road ahead.

“You look quite masculine. Like, uh…” Luke furrows his eyebrows, “…that actor in that Taylor Swift’s 40s savanna style music video. Dunno what the song’s called. Also the actor’s name. I think he is Clint Eastwood’s son or something.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows in disbelief. “You mean Scott Eastwood? The guy in that suckass Suicide Squad?”

“Is that his name? Whatever, him, yeah. But younger, I guess.”

Mark thinks on it for a bit. “Don’t know if I should feel flattered or not.”

Luke chuckles. “It’s not like I’m comparing you to the grinch, Mark. Take it as a compliment.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Mark finally responds with a slight smile.

After another silence lapses, Luke chuckles again before exaggeratedly exhaling loudly like he is so exhausted by the weight of the world.

“What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into? Thought we were supposed to be special task force assigned to bring down international criminal syndicate.”

“Hmm.”

“Instead, we’re just talking about some fucking plastic dolls and buying pastries from out of state. What’s happened to us?”

Despite that, there is no sharpness in Luke’s voice. It’s more like an affectionate reminiscing voice parents have when talking about their kids’ childhood shenanigans.

“We’re still humans, Luke. The targets we’re dealing with are also humans, unfortunately. Whether we planned it or not, we’re gonna have to deal with human things eventually.”

“True.”

Luke concludes, followed by free and calm silence the whole ride back—the calm that they desperately need after the stifling and stressful atmosphere back in the headquarter lately.

***

Luke is awkwardly pacing back and forth in front of Nick’s bedroom while Mark tries to give him a reassuring thumbs-up to convince him. Anna and Don just shake their heads while Mary and Lena are surreptitiously watching from their spots with bated breath.

It is honestly so funny to see their usual self-assured and ballsy teammate like this. It’s so unbecoming of Luke.

“Mark, you do it!” he finally exclaims.

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“You bought the macarons. You do it.”

Luke frowns. He looks at another direction.

“Horace. You’re our leader. Set an example and give this to him.”

Their commanding officer furrows his eyebrows irritably.

“Uh, no. You came up with the idea.”

“Actually, you did, Horace, few weeks ago when we were looking at his twitter,” Anderson quips in absently as he is eating a piece of the ice cream cake while looking at lines of codes on his laptop.

“I wasn’t serious.”

Anderson slurps loudly as he spoons the melted part into his mouth. “Still.”

Luke perks up. “Anderson, you do it. You took a piece of his cake already. It’s only fair.”

Anderson whips his head to Luke’s direction with a glare. “Absolutely not. He’s probably not going to finish it so I’m just preemptively helping him.”

Luke looks around again to find another victim, then lands on George who is watching the surveillance to Nick’s room.

“You, ginger. You’re the youngest and closest to his age. Give it to him.”

Everyone looks at George with meaningful looks and slowly blooming mischievous smiles.

George raises his head and slowly looks around in confusion. “What? Why are you all looking at me?”

Luke rolls his eyes and walks to George confidently, seeing as he already finds his victim. The older man puts the box of macarons on George’s lap.

“Give it to him. He probably tolerates you the most.”

George frowns as he isn’t asked of his opinion. “But—”

“Come on. He is so depressed and hasn’t eaten anything in the last few days,” Luke tells him with intentionally gentle and pleading voice.

George stares at him with irritated look for few seconds, then sighs and stands up while holding the box to walk to Nick’s bedroom.

Luke punches the air in victory while exclaiming, “Yesss!”

George looks back unsurely at the room where his fellow agents are lounging around, then knocks the door.

“Hey, bud. Can I come in? We have some snack for you.”

Like usual, George doesn’t get a response, so he just softly opens the door and walks in. Everyone then turns to look at the surveillance monitor instead with bated breath again.

George is inside, his voice carries over in static voice to cajole Nick to get up and eat the snack at least a little bit. He tries a little bit more for a while, but Nick stays lying down with soulless eyes and dried tear streaks that he weirdly cries silently and emptily sometimes.

Eventually, George sighs and throws a little look at the surveillance camera before putting the box of pastries on the bedside table. Then he walks out and closes the door gently behind him.

Everyone looks at him questioningly while George just shrugs. A chorus of dejected sighs follows after.

***

The next day, someone draws a circle of with those anti-ant chalk around the box of macarons and the plate of food considering they notice some ants crawling around the bedside table.

Nick still just lays down, this time with tears flowing from his eerily unmoving face.

Mark just sighs when he puts down a glass of new water to replace the glass of tepid one from yesterday.

“I feel like maybe we need Doctor Lowe to prescribe him some anti-depressants or something,” Angie says to him as he closes the door behind him. “He’s starving himself, either because he really has no appetite or intentionally because he doesn’t want to live anymore.”

Mark rubs the bridge of his nose.

“He doesn’t even eat. How are we supposed to make him take anti-depressant? He didn’t even take his previous meds, even some of the antibiotics.”

Angie throws her hands in the air in frustration. “Well, what are we supposed to do, then?”

Mark slumps back against the door.

“Talk to him, maybe. I don’t know.”

“He doesn’t exactly talk back, Mark.”

He looks around to his teammates who are in the room with him. “I know, but we’re running out of options. Even anti-depressant will take weeks to take effect.”

Angie, Mark, and Luke then train their marksmanship in their makeshift shooting range to distract themselves eventually, the air still tense with concerns.

When Mark walks into the team room again—which is less of a room and more like a giant hallway functioning as their ‘living room’ where most of their other rooms are connected to—he sees Mary, Anderson, and Horace hunched over their digital touchscreen map on the high-tech table, and they also look distracted. Anna, Lena, George, and Don are nowhere to be found, probably exercising or training their martial arts with each other in the gym.

He looks again towards the door of Nick’s bedroom, contemplating shortly.

Maybe, like he said, they all need to verbally apologize to him and assure him they’re not his enemies to make him come out of his funk. So, Mark walks there firmly, continuously reassuring himself that he is doing the right thing.

He can feel the stares of his fellow agents, but he walks on until he is near the door. He inhales and knocks gently before opening the door.

Just as usual, Nick doesn’t react at all as he just lays down on the bed with his typical thousand-yards stare.

“Hey, Nick?”

Of course, he is not going to get a response.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t eaten anything lately. Aren’t you hungry?”

Mark then walks near the bed while pulling a chair to sit.

“Do you… do you not like the food? Is there something else you’d like instead?”

Nick doesn’t move or make a sound, just does a half-blink, probably instinctually because his eyes are getting dry.

Even with the colorful irises, his eyes look so dark and empty.

“I’m…,” Mark gulps, “I’m sorry. For my harsh words. I was… I was angry.”

Of course, he was. Everything rash he did lately was because he was angry. Maybe he should learn better anger management techniques.

“You’re not… you’re not a coward. You’re just reacting how anyone would react when treated so badly all the time. Anyone would be scared, but also bitter.”

He inhales.

“I mean, I don’t appreciate your insults to us. Some of them went too far, you know? I hope you don’t actually mean those. Would be a shame if you’re actually a bigot.”

Shit, why would he say accusing thing like that?

“I…I mean, I’m sure you’re not, right? You’re just frustrated and feels stuck and imprisoned by us. The only safe thing you can do to feel like you have control is verbally hurting us.”

He looks at Nick’s swirly blue-brown eyes that are so deeply etched in his mind by now. Either though guilt and shock after almost taking Nick’s life, or sympathy and sadness for him when he kept reading about Nick’s previous life before being taken. And, also for all the time he was trying to take care of Nick while badly ill.

Of course, he can’t forget the deep fury and also sorrow filling his eyes as he kept throwing stuff at Mark several days ago, when he finally hit the most vulnerable part in Nick’s heart.

“I’m truly sorry. I’ve forgiven you for your words because I understand why. I think the others are willing to do that too.”

Maybe, or maybe some of them still hold resentment despite being sympathetic with Nick. He hopes they’re still willing to offer an olive branch to Nick anyway.

“I hope you’re willing to forgive us too.” He contemplates a little bit more. “Forgive me too.”

There is something clenching his heart achingly when he stares at Nick’s surrendered and lifeless eyes. Those colorful eyes are supposed to be filled with youthful spirit and hope for the future, not soulless like this.

“I don’t want you to give up, whatever pain you’re feeling right now. I don’t want you to punish yourself or hurt yourself like this.”

Mark stares at Nick’s body for a while, then slowly and jerkily reaches out a hand to touch Nick’s shoulder to squeeze it slightly in reassuring manner.

Mark gives a slight smile. “Get better soon, okay?”

Somehow, what Mark did inspires the others to sneakily goes into Nick’s room in the coming days to give their own heartfelt words with wish for peace and reciprocal forgiveness.

He hears Luke says, “Hey, kid, I didn’t like your racist tone before, but even the most horrendous people deserve second chance, you know? I know you’re a good kid. Sorry if we pushed you to the point of saying something that horrible just to release your hurt.”

Lena says something quite similar, while Horace says, “I feel like I’m not being a good leader, especially since I can’t make you get better. Just give me one thing so that I don’t feel like our previous commanding officer chose the wrong person. Please.”

Mary and George try to playfully tease Nick, saying that they were very nice to him and took care at him really well, so can he please be nice to them both at least and not make them feel crazy for talking to themselves?

The next day, Anderson tells him, begrudgingly, that he is sorry for roughing him up before. “I feel like you’re the only smart person here who won’t make me feel like I’m an underpaid tech guy helping a grandma find a power button. Just hang out with me, okay?”

Angie is a little bit more stilted, but she still tries to be earnest in her apology.

And, of course, Don and Anna have to be pushed bodily into the bedroom to apologize. And even then, they only give begrudging kindergarten-kid style of apologies with only, “Sorry we were mean,” before getting out and hissing that they apologized already.

For a while, they thought it wouldn’t work, but as they lose hope, there is rustling sound from the surveillance monitor few days later. They all immediately turn their heads towards it.

They see Nick weakly pushing his own body up to sitting position as he stares at his bedside table. He stays still for a while before shakily reaching out a hand to grab the box with his arm that isn’t still in arm sling.

He stares at it again before putting the bottom part of the box against his left palm, then he slowly pulls the upper part covering the box with slight difficulty as his left arm isn’t as mobile as the other one. He winces several times while painstakingly pulling it.

Everyone is watching the monitor with bated breath and slight smile blooming on their face.

Nick finally opens the box and gently put the upper covering down next to his thighs on the bed. He stares a little bit at the content of the pastries box filled with slightly collapsed snacks, as they were left out uneaten for days.

Unexpectedly, Nick’s face scrunches up into weeping face and he chokes out sobs instead. He bows down his head to his bent right knee with an arm wrapped around his knee and his head, like his usual position when he was still in their holding cell. His shoulder shakes repeatedly in time with his sobs as he audibly cries.

“What?” Anderson exclaims.

Now they look puzzled.

Angie turns to Mark as they both have puzzled look and furrowed eyebrows. “I thought you said he likes French macarons.”

“Well, yeah,” Mark replies unsurely, “his social medias are filled with cats and French macarons. Besides coding and high school stuff. He even said he can bake it.”

“Then why the hell is he crying like he is looking at his dead family?” Luke asks pointedly.

“I…I don’t know.”

As their confusion goes on, Nick surprisingly takes one of the colorful pastries, even as he continues shaking and hiccupping in tears, then bites it carefully. He then sobs hard again.

“What the fuck is going on?” Don asks, puzzled and irritated.

“Does he have trauma with macarons or something?” Lena questions.

Luke blanches. “Shit, maybe we’re making it worse.”

Mark instinctively stands up and walks on to Nick’s bedroom, knocking gently like usual before opening the door.

Unlike before when Nick didn’t ever react, he now looks up with wet face and tearful eyes that make his swirly blue-brown eyes look more… ethereal and heartstring-pulling.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are they bad? Do you not like it?”

Nick tries to open his mouth, but he is sobbing too hard to talk, so Mark walks slowly and sits on the nearest chair. He waits patiently for a while as Nick is visibly trying to control his sobbing, hiccupping repeatedly.

Finally, he says, “I haven’t had this in years.”

He tries to rub his face and erase his tears, failing miserably. So, he just keeps crying while looking at Mark.

Mark has never thought he would ever hear it from the boy, but Nick does say with tearful, but slightly smiling and grateful face,

“Thank you.”

***

Nick has started to eat the food brought to him, now going back to pureed food again under advisement of Doctor Lowe to prevent refeeding syndrome. They also put his prescribed multivitamins and other supplement to help him get better, along with some anti-depressant and anxiety medications that Nick now takes dutifully.

He still doesn’t eat much, probably trying to get used to normal food and its portion after getting starved for so long.

The half-Asian boy doesn’t talk much either, but he does give small smile every once in while as new food and medication are brought to him.

The environment seems a little less stiff now. Some of them even sometimes stay after giving him food and new clothes to tell him stories about their mission or absently explaining some intel to him, not really expecting him to understand or respond.

Sometimes Nick looks raptly at them, or he looks down almost close to tears again, which they now understand as him feeling a little too reminiscent of his time in Helga, so they change the subject to something domestic like talking about cooking, their dislike towards standard D.E.A.N prepackaged instant foods, or some chores they like to do.

Sometimes he still cries silently and has lower appetite again, or worse yet, he stares off into the wall with dissociated eyes like before.

Some of them, like Don, Anna, Angie, Anderson, and George, don’t really have the patience to sit through Nick’s crying fit and dissociated state, so they stop going to his room to talk to him and are just back to doing whatever they were doing before as they entrust Nick’s wellbeing to the rest, including Mark.

At some point, when Nick looks less sad, they look at their fridge randomly. They find that they still have some of their ice cream cake left. So, Mark, Lena, Luke, Horace, and Mary impulsively decide to bring it with some candle—their usual one for emergency or blackout which is the only ones they have, so it’s pretty big for the cake—to Nick’s bedroom.

Nick is looking down at his fiddling fingers, now that his arm is out of the sling, but he looks up in surprise to see more people than usual at once.

“Happy belated 21st birthday!” they all exclaim to him.

Nick looks surprised but he unsurely and slightly smiles.

“You don’t… you don’t have to burden yourself like this.”

Lena says with beaming smile says, “Nonsense. It’s a 21st birthday. It’s supposed to be special.”

“Yeah, but sorry, we ate some of it. We haven’t had sweets in a while in the mission,” Mark tells him absently.

“Anderson mostly ate it, though, not us,” Luke quips in.

“I heard that! Asshole!” they hear Anderson from the outside yelling at them, presumably listening and watching the live feed to Nick’s surveillance camera.

Nick giggles a little, the sound sending a jolt of… something delightful in Mark’s heart. He brushes it off.

“Oh, that’s a lot. I can’t finish them,” he says with small voice, seemingly still not confident and calm in their midst.

“Well, there are 6 of us here,” Horace says. “The others don’t get to eat some, though. They didn’t want to come in with us.”

“Happy diabetes, then, bastards,” Anna exclaims this time.

Ignoring the cynic, Lena puts the plastic covering on the bedside table as they open the lid and pulls a plastic knife with some paper plates. They cut the remaining cake, thankfully still over a half of it, to six roughly equal pieces.

“Here, the birthday boy gets it first.” Lena hands one piece on a paper plate to Nick.

“I think… that was a long time ago already,” he quietly murmurs.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still the birthday boy,” they reply as they try to steady Nick’s slightly trembling hands. “OH! Wait!”

Everyone looks at Lena in question.

“Make a wish and blow the candle first!”

Nick looks questioningly at them with unsure face, staring warily to the candle.

“Um, okay.”

He still stares unsurely a little bit, some slight fear even visible in his eyes that makes the others look doubtful about the candle. Maybe he has some traumatizing memory with candle.

Still, he eventually inhales deeply before leaning forward anyway with shaky smile, then blows the large candle. He has to blow several times as the air he blows is quite weak, up until the third blow that completely snuffs the flame.

“Yay! Congrats, here is to a better 21st birthday celebration and so on!”

Nick smiles again at Lena, now finally receiving the cake piece completely in his hands. Everyone follows suit one by one to receive the cake piece. Few of them gently sit on the side of the bed due to lack of chairs.

“You guys really don’t have to do this. I feel like I’m taking important time for your work.”

Mark looks at him with genuine smile. “It’s for us too, to be honest. Sometimes it's so tense and stressful. Having a nice fun time like this every once in a while is something that we need.”

He hears a chorus of ‘Yeah, true’ from his fellow agents.

After a while of comfortable silence, Nick puts down his plate on his laps with some of the slightly melted cake left. There is contemplating and slightly frowning look on his face.

Everyone looks at each other before pausing their eating.

“I’m sorry, for being vile to all of you.”

There is soft look on their faces.

“You’re right,” Nick looks particularly at Mark for a bit, “that I want to take out my years of frustration, and you know, those two weeks frustration too,” he chuckles a little but schools his expression again when the others look uncomfortable, “on someone, anyone. I just, kept it all in for survival, but I was dying to get it off my chest for once.”

Mark and his teammates look serenely at Nick.

“I was so bad to all of you, trying to find what hurt all of you the most. I was just so sick of being hurt that I want to do it back to someone.”

He is silent as he thinks more, so they wait patiently.

“It’s ironic, actually, what I said to four of you, specifically,” He looks at Luke, Horace, Lena, and Mark.

“Not that what I called you isn’t bad,” he quickly adds facing Mary.

“But, you know, I’m half Vietnamese—also, half Russian, in case you can’t tell from my full name—and I had other kids telling me to ‘go back to your country, you ugly communist!’”

“Ouch,” Horace responds emphatically.

Mark looks forlorn on behalf of Nick at his exaggerated voice reminiscing his childhood bullying. Then, he furrows his eyebrows.

“Wait, why ironic with me and Lena?”

Nick spoons around the melted cake absently as he looks down.

“Are you gay?” Lena asks, sounding slightly shocked.

“Not gay,” he mutters, “Bi.”

Mark smiles smugly and surreptitiously at Luke. Luke just rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you have a good gaydar, yada yada yada,” Luke jokingly says.

Nick looks at Mark through his lashes. “You knew?”

“Just got the vibe from your last tweet.”

Luke interjects playfully, “Because he has crush on you and is trying to find out if he has a chance with you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Luke. I’m not that unethical.”

They all chuckle, as Nick just smiles slightly, giving a millisecond look at Mark.

Mark blinks and looks away with a gulp. Of course, he is not going to be that unethical.

Right?

“Anyway,” Mary quips in, “I know you were trying to be mean with me, but I’m not too offended, actually, because my family used to call me barbie. You know, as a way to call me pretty.”

He eyes Mary a little contemplatively.

“I mean, yeah, you’re very pretty for a specialized task force agent,” Nick jokes.

“Thanks,” Mary beams. “I’m just offended you keep confusing me with Angie, sometimes you called me Plastic Barbie One, but sometimes Two. Makes me feel very forgettable.”

Nick looks down in shame. “Sorry.”

“I’m kidding.” Mary giggles.

Something comes up in Mark’s mind.

“But, you do know the difference between Mary and Angie, right?”

“Um,” Nick spoons the melted cream a little more frantically this time, “I know you both have different hair length. And you’re the younger one.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s not like we’re ever formally introduced ourselves. I’m Mary,” she points at herself, “and this one is Luke,” she points at the older man with dark skin, “and this one is Horace, our commanding officer,” she now points at their tall Latino leader, “and this—”

“Wait, I thought the captain is you,” Nick interjects while looking at Luke.

Everyone is suddenly feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the unsaid contention that Nick now blatantly points out.

Luke raises his hands as a placating movement, saying hurriedly, “Oh no, not me. Horace is our commanding officer. Also, he is older than me anyway.”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t know,” Nick says apologetically and widens his eyes, before continuing, “I think I remember vaguely something about you being chosen by the previous one. I forgot, I’m so sorry!”

Horace gives a smile, even if there is something forced on the edge, “It’s all right, kid. We’re all supposed to be equal teammates anyway.”

Not really, not with Jackson before, Mark thinks but he keeps his mouth shut.

“And you’re Lena, I remember that. You’re the one who takes care of me often,” he finally looks at Lena, earning a wide smile from them as they realize Nick acknowledges them the most.

“You know who his name is?” Luke now asks, pointing at Mark.

“Something starting with M, I think?” he says, cocking his head to the side.

Mark is too focused at staring at Nick’s colorful eyes that he has to have Luke elbow him to refocus his attention.

“Your name,” Luke says with meaningful stare.

“Uh, yeah. Marcus. Or Mark. Whichever really.”

Nick looks a little bashful, making him appear… sweet. Kind of.

What the fuck is happening to him?

“Um, hi. Mark. Sorry I threw stuff at you.”

Mark waves it off, partly to pull his thought out of his musing. “It’s fine. Wasn’t too bad. It stopped aching like two days later.”

They continue eating the cake, lightly commenting on the taste and how much or little they like the dessert. They also ask Nick if he likes the macarons, which he does, but he says that he likes his own baked pastries usually, even if the ingredients are expensive.

Eventually, they all finish their cake and are starting to stack the plates and cutleries to throw out the one-time-use items and bring the rest to the kitchen sink. Nick offers to help, but they insist that he just rests instead.

He seems to want to insist anyway, but his eyes look half-lidded, so they tell him to just nap, then they leave him to sleep in his room on his own.

Ten minutes later, Mark sees from the surveillance monitor that Nick’s eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls steadily.

“‘Wasn’t too bad. It stopped aching like two days later,’ huh? Trying to impress him with your strength or something?” Luke teases him.

Mark just shakes his head with a ‘fuck you, Luke’, which the older man responds with a cackle.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

[faraway-wanderer]

BOOKS BY ASIAN AUTHORS MASTERLIST #stopasianhate

In light of recent events and the growing anti- Asian hate in the US and UK over the course of the pandemic I wanted to put together a masterlist of books by Asian authors. Obviously, it’s not extensive and there are HUNDREDS out there, but supporting art by Asian creators is a way of showing support; read their stories, educate ourselves. It goes without saying that we should all be putting effort into reading stories of POC and by POC because even through fiction we’re learning about different cultures, countries and heritages. So here’s some books to start with by Asian authors!

Here is a link also for resources to educate and petitions to sign (especially if you don’t read haha). It’s important that we educate ourselves and uplift Asian voices right now. Your anti-racism has to include every minority that faces it.

https://anti-asianviolenceresources.carrd.co/

for UK peeps, this is a good read: We may not hear about the anti Asian racism happening here, but it is definitely happening. https://www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/culture/culture-news/a35692226/its-time-we-stopped-downplaying-the-uks-anti-asian-racism/

 THE BOOKS:

·         War Cross- Marie Lu ( the worldbuilding in this is IMMENSE.)

For the millions who log in every day, Warcross isn’t just a game—it’s a way of life. The obsession started ten years ago and its fan base now spans the globe, some eager to escape from reality and others hoping to make a profit. 

·         Star Daughter- Shveta Thakrar

A beautiful story about a girl who is half human and half star, and she must go to the celestial court to try to save her father after he has fallen ill. And before she knows it, she is taking part in a magical competition that she must win!

·         These Violent Delights- Chloe Gong (I told my little sister to read this book yesterday bc she has a thing for a Leo as Romeo- so if you want deadly good looking Romeos, badass Juliet’s and to learn about 1920s Shanghai- this is for you.)

The year is 1926, and Shanghai hums to the tune of debauchery. A blood feud between two gangs runs the streets red, leaving the city helpless in the grip of chaos. A Romeo and Juliet retelling.

·         The Poppy War- R.F Kuang (My fave fantasy series just fyi- it’s soul crushing in the best way. Rebecca Kuang is a god of an author).

A brilliantly imaginative talent makes her exciting debut with this epic historical military fantasy, inspired by the bloody history of China’s twentieth century and filled with treachery and magic, in the tradition of Ken Liu’s Grace of Kings and N.K. Jemisin’s Inheritance Trilogy.

·         Loveboat Taipei-  Abigail Hing Wen  (Really heartwarming and insightful!)

When eighteen-year-old Ever Wong’s parents send her from Ohio to Taiwan to study Mandarin for the summer, she finds herself thrust among the very over-achieving kids her parents have always wanted her to be, including Rick Woo, the Yale-bound prodigy profiled in the Chinese newspapers since they were nine—and her parents’ yardstick for her never-measuring-up life.

·         Sorcerer to the Crown- Zen Cho (if anyone is looking for another Howl’s Moving Castle, look no further than this book)

At his wit’s end, Zacharias Wythe, freed slave, eminently proficient magician, and Sorcerer Royal of the Unnatural Philosophers—one of the most respected organizations throughout all of Britain—ventures to the border of Fairyland to discover why England’s magical stocks are drying up.

·         Emergency Contact- Mary H.K. Choi (very wholesome and fun rom-com!)

For Penny Lee high school was a total nonevent. When she heads to college in Austin, Texas, to learn how to become a writer, it’s seventy-nine miles and a zillion light years away from everything she can’t wait to leave behind.

 ·         Jade City- Fonda Lee (I am reading this currently and can I just say- I think everyone who loves fantasy and blood feuds in a story should read this.)

JADE CITY is a gripping Godfather-esque saga of intergenerational blood feuds, vicious politics, magic, and kungfu. The Kaul family is one of two crime syndicates that control the island of Kekon. It's the only place in the world that produces rare magical jade, which grants those with the right training and heritage superhuman abilities.

 ·         A Pho Love Story- Loan Le

When Dimple Met Rishi meets Ugly Delicious in this funny, smart romantic comedy, in which two Vietnamese-American teens fall in love and must navigate their newfound relationship amid their families’ age-old feud about their competing, neighbouring restaurants.

·         Rebelwing- Andrea Tang

Business is booming for Prudence Wu. A black-market-media smuggler and scholarship student at the prestigious New Columbia Preparatory Academy, Pru is lucky to live in the Barricade Coalition where she is free to study, read, watch, and listen to whatever she wants.

·         Wings of the Locust- Joel Donato Ching Jacob

Tuan escapes his mundane and mediocre existence when he is apprenticed to Muhen, a charming barangay wiseman. But, as he delves deeper into the craft of a mambabarang and its applications in espionage, sabotage and assassination, the young apprentice is overcome by conflicting emotions that cause him to question his new life.

 ·         The Travelling Cat Chronicles- Hiro Arikawa

Sometimes you have to leave behind everything you know to find the place you truly belong...

Nana the cat is on a road trip. He is not sure where he's going or why, but it means that he gets to sit in the front seat of a silver van with his beloved owner, Satoru. 

 ·         Super Fake Love Song- David Yoon

From the bestselling author of Frankly in Love comes a contemporary YA rom-com where a case of mistaken identity kicks off a string of (fake) events that just may lead to (real) love.

  ·         Parachutes- Kelly Yang

Speak enters the world of Gossip Girl in this modern immigrant story from New York Times bestselling author Kelly Yang about two girls navigating wealth, power, friendship, and trauma.

·         The Grace of Kings- Ken Liu ( One of the Time 100 Best Fantasy Books Of All Time!)

Two men rebel together against tyranny—and then become rivals—in this first sweeping book of an epic fantasy series from Ken Liu, recipient of Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy awards.

·         Wicked Fox- Kat Cho

A fresh and addictive fantasy-romance set in modern-day Seoul.

 ·         Descendant of the Crane- Joan He

In this shimmering Chinese-inspired fantasy, debut author Joan He introduces a determined and vulnerable young heroine struggling to do right in a world brimming with deception.

 ·         Pachinko- Min Jin Lee

Richly told and profoundly moving, Pachinko is a story of love, sacrifice, ambition, and loyalty. From bustling street markets to the halls of Japan's finest universities to the pachinko parlors of the criminal underworld, Lee's complex and passionate characters--strong, stubborn women, devoted sisters and sons, fathers shaken by moral crisis--survive and thrive against the indifferent arc of history.

·         America is in the Heart- Carlos Bulosan

First published in 1946, this autobiography of the well known Filipino poet describes his boyhood in the Philippines, his voyage to America, and his years of hardship and despair as an itinerant laborer following the harvest trail in the rural West.

 ·         Days of Distraction- Alexandra Chang

A wry, tender portrait of a young woman — finally free to decide her own path, but unsure if she knows herself well enough to choose wisely—from a captivating new literary voice.

·         The Astonishing Colour of After Emily X.R Pan

Alternating between real and magic, past and present, friendship and romance, hope and despair, The Astonishing Color of After is a novel about finding oneself through family history, art, grief, and love. 

·         The Gilded Wolves- Roshani Chokshi

It's 1889. The city is on the cusp of industry and power, and the Exposition Universelle has breathed new life into the streets and dredged up ancient secrets. Here, no one keeps tabs on dark truths better than treasure-hunter and wealthy hotelier Séverin Montagnet-Alarie. When the elite, ever-powerful Order of Babel coerces him to help them on a mission, Séverin is offered a treasure that he never imagined: his true inheritance.

·         When Dimple met Rishi- Sandhya Menon

Dimple and Rishi may think they have each other figured out. But when opposites clash, love works hard to prove itself in the most unexpected ways.

·         On Earth we’re briefly Gorgeous- Ocean Vuong

Poet Ocean Vuong's debut novel is a shattering portrait of a family, a first love, and the redemptive power of storytelling.

·         Fierce Fairytales- Nikita Gill

Complete with beautifully hand-drawn illustrations by Gill herself, Fierce Fairytales is an empowering collection of poems and stories for a new generation.

 BOOKS BEING RELEASED LATER THIS YEAR TO PREORDER:

·         Counting down with you- Tashie Bhuiyan- 4th May

A reserved Bangladeshi teenager has twenty-eight days to make the biggest decision of her life after agreeing to fake date her school’s resident bad boy.

How do you make one month last a lifetime?

·         Gearbreakers- Zoe Hana Mikuta- June 29th

Two girls on opposite sides of a war discover they're fighting for a common purpose--and falling for each other--in Zoe Hana Mikuta's high-octane debut Gearbreakers, perfect for fans of Pacific Rim, Pierce Brown's Red Rising Saga, and Marie Lu's Legend series

·         XOXO- Axie Oh- 13th July

When a relationship means throwing Jenny’s life off the path she’s spent years mapping out, she’ll have to decide once and for all just how much she’s willing to risk for love.

·         She who became the sun- Shelley Parker-Chan- 20th July

Mulan meets The Song of Achilles in Shelley Parker-Chan's She Who Became the Sun, a bold, queer, and lyrical reimagining of the rise of the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty from an amazing new voice in literary fantasy.

·         Jade Fire Gold- June C.L Tan- October 12th

Two girls on opposite sides of a war discover they're fighting for a common purpose--and falling for each other--in Zoe Hana Mikuta's high-octane debut Gearbreakers, perfect for fans of Pacific Rim, Pierce Brown's Red Rising Saga, and Marie Lu's Legend series

  Keep sharing, signing petitions and donating where you can. The more people who are actively anti-racist, the better. And if your anti-racism doesn’t include the Asian community then go and educate yourself! BLM wasn’t a trend and neither is this. We have to stand up against white supremacy, and racism and stereotypes and we have to support the communities that need our support. Part of that can include cultivating your reading so you’re reading more diversely and challenging any stereotypes western society may have given you.

 Feel free to reblog and add any more recommendations and resources of course!

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Sometimes a Great Notion

This is one of those old movies my mom requested that we couldn’t even find at our local library. It’s incredibly hard to track down, which says more about how easily lost our film history and culture can be as we move from format to format rather than its quality as a film, but that is another conversation. Basically this 1971 film is the second that Paul Newman directed, and it tells the story of the Stamper family, a family who run an independent logging business in a town where the local logging union has gone on strike. As independents, they take the union’s former contracts and as the film goes on, the consequences of that choice become larger and larger, and depending on your perspective, this is either an indomitable tale of the perseverance of the human spirit or a disheartening look at everything that makes America the end-stage capitalist nightmare it currently is.  

Some thoughts: 

It appears that I’m supposed to think Henry Fonda, as the patriarch of the Stamper clan, is a charming old coot, like an Archie Bunker type, complaining about Commie pinko socialists and calling his estranged son a New York fairy. I’m not really seeing the charm here.

I’m not 100% sure what’s going on with this subplot where Joe B (Richard Jaekel) and his wife apparently attend the Church of God and the Metaphysical Science...so maybe they’re cult members too? That never really gets delved into, which is a head scratcher.

I feel like with this dialogue they’re supposed to be kind of...gruff and jokey with each other, but I really don’t get it. None of it seems funny at all, just aggro. 

I think I'm just really confused about what exactly this movie IS. It’s not a character study because we’re learning so little about these people. It doesn’t seem to be a David vs. Goliath small business taking on The Man story because the whole union vs. Stamper family thing doesn’t seem to be anything the Stampers are that concerned about. Leeland (Michael Sarrazin) coming back after a long absence is certainly a wrinkle, but no one is actually delving into what that means for the family or how they feel about it. Like the purpose of the film seems to just be “these are some people doing their jobs and going about their business for a couple hours.”

Like for real, there are multiple really long segments that just show them doing logging shit. 

And listen, I’m not one of those people that only wants to watch media where I like the characters. There are a lot of bad people and evil characters that I don’t want to emulate and would absolutely hate to be around in real life that I REALLY enjoy watching. Hell, in the last year, my main TV hyperfixations have been Succession and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. So it’s not the fact that the Stampers are sexist, stubborn, union-busting jackasses. I just don’t really care about any of them and I question why I should care about their story because the movie isn’t doing a very good job at convincing me. 

There are some Very Good Dogs! At least that’s something.

This would be a way more interesting movie if Leeland and Viv (Hank’s wife, played with stunning grace by Lee Remick) hook up because Leeland is the only one who talks to her or listens to what she has to say. He sees her in a way no one else in the family sees these women at all. ESPECIALLY because even though Henry is Leeland’s father, Hank had an affair with Leeland’s mother too, which is deeply disturbing because we find out he was 14 and she was 30. Fuck, now there’s statutory rape and unresolved trauma involved. Wouldn’t this be a fantastic thing to actually talk about and delve into? Wouldn’t this whole relationship entanglement and the ripple effects it’s had on this family be really interesting? NOT ACCORDING TO PAUL NEWMAN I GUESS.

As much as I love Paul Newman, I’m really questioning a lot of his directorial choices, too. He can’t control the story or the script so much (this is based on a Ken Kesey novel) but other choices are baffling. The pacing is a mess. Some scenes go on for what seems like forever for no reason, others are brutally short or feel cut off. The transitions between scenes are all these quick cuts that don’t let anything breathe. Leeland and Viv’s deep, intimate conversation ends with her saying Hank’s satisfied and Leland asking “Are you?” and then BOOM next scene where bluegrass kicks in and they’re all riding motorcycles. What should have been a body blow of a moment gets its legs cut out right from underneath, and it’s a damn shame.

“To work and eat and screw and sleep and drink and keep on going, that’s for what. That’s all there is.” - the film’s central thesis, uttered by Henry Stamper in his big Oscar-worthy monologue. Which in a nihilist sort of way I agree with, but there’s a big fat asterisk that gets ignored here: if you’re doing those things and directly, knowingly causing the suffering of others - and you can make choices that AVOID that as much as possible, and you DON’T - well that’s where your philosophy turns to shit, I’m afraid.

And the consequences of that philosophy are laid bare when the Stamper family has one HELL of a bad day. Play stupid games and win stupid prizes. 

I really thought the movie was going to end with Hank sitting alone in his dark, quiet house drinking beer and feeling sorry for himself and maybe reflecting on the enormous cost of his decisions. Instead the movie ends with Hank displaying his father’s severed arm at the top of his boat, flipping the bird to the town he’s turned his back on. And frankly it’s a big “fuck you” to the audience as well, for thinking that the Stamper family could learn or grow or see outside of their own rugged individualism for one second. 

Did I Cry? I probably should have, but any emotional weight the tragedies we watch hold gets completely deflated when no one learns a goddamn thing from them. 

All things considered, this movie is a perfect encapsulation of the toxic attitudes that have yielded every single moral failing of America from its inception. The myth of the American frontiersman, pulling himself up by his bootstraps, owing nothing to no one and simply trying to work hard and provide for his own family - it’s all wrapped up in the same wars (both literal and figurative) we’ve been fighting for centuries. We’re supposed to cheer at the Stampers for sticking to their guns and moving forward to get the job done no matter the cost, and that’s precisely the fucking problem. Costs matter, especially when they’re paid in human lives. And I would be more willing to view this film as a fascinating artifact of attitudes that have gone by the wayside if we weren’t having the same damn argument today. As a result, it ends up just feeling frustrating. 

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[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [9]

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 9.5 OR Chapter 10

➜ Words: 3.9k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

➜ Warnings: Heavy mentions of sexual themes.

cr.

Fuck romance.   That shit is overrated anyway. Everywhere you look, there’s love here and there — in television shows, movies, advertisements, short stories, novels. But it hits you like a train, like a light switch that finally turned on in your head, you don’t need love to be happy. You don’t need someone else. You’re perfectly content with being by yourself for the rest of your life. You’ll never have to shackle yourself down or compromise again. It’s the ultimate freedom.    “I approve this message.” Aeri nods several times.   “Right?!” You wipe away the cheeto dust that’s accidentally sprinkled on the pouch you call your stomach. Your sweater’s ridden up as you’re slumped over her bed. “Like do people even realize that almost half of marriages end in divorce?”   “Exactly.”   “Love? It’s all trash feelings. It’s a distraction. Why should I have to work hard for years and then throw away my career and ambition to stay at home and have kids and then eventually be divorced and have to fight over custody?” There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you shake your head.    “Men ain’t shit.”   “Hallelujah.” You don’t believe in love anymore, not when you’ve come to realize that you’ve been brainwashed for so long. Now, you were enlightened. But you just can’t believe you were so blinded and stupid in the first place. You were crying over a guy who wasn’t worth shit. “But where are you going?”   Aeri is dressed up in a summer outfit despite it being the end of February and still frigid outside. She looks at herself in the mirror, fixes her lipstick and then whirls around. “Oh, I’m just...meeting up with Hoseok.”   “You’re going on a date?”   A blush creeps up on her cheeks. “N-No. W-Well...he didn’t really call it that.”   “Oh my god, all my friends are leaving to the dark side.”   “Just for a little, love.” She winks at you and you can’t hate her when she’s so evidently excited. Aeri grabs her bag and smiles. “Well I shouldn’t make him wait. How do I look?”   “If Jung doesn’t cream himself, he doesn’t deserve you.”   The tips of her ears turn scarlet and she throws a pillow at you, making you laugh. You watch Aeri leave and then the silence settles. You sigh and get up to go to your only friend left.   Your fist pounds on his door for a good second until it opens.   “Jesus, try not to break it down, will you?”   “Hey, Yoongi,” you greet the person on the worn sofa, brushing past Jungkook. “Where’s the other guys?”   “Well, unlike you two, people actually have their own lives,” Jungkook mutters, flopping down to where his butt’s been imprinted into the couch seat and he resumes his game.   “Taehyung and Jimin are in class like good students,” Yoongi says, “and I’m only here cause Hope’s ditched me for a lame date apparently.”   “Same.”   “Is my room a refugee camp?” Jungkook glances over with his brow cocked. “Am I everyone’s second choice?”   “Get used to it,” Yoongi mutters, watching Jungkook play.   In the meanwhile, you walk over to Jungkook’s bed that’s sloppily made with the covers wrinkled, but at least the effort shows. You’re about to flop down and maybe roll over to take a nap, but then you pause, gawking at his collection of IU merchandise.   You’ve seen it before, but you realize you’ve never gotten a good look. There are posters of her from when she debuted in 2008 until the most recent comeback lining the corner of his wall like a small shrine. And over his bed is a shelf of albums and her lightstick. “Wow, you have a lot of her stuff. Must’ve costed a fortune.”   It occurs to you that he even had a substantial amount of IU things in his room at his parent’s home — little things that you didn’t pay mind to at the time — a sweater that was on a hook, more albums, some DVD sets, posters of her in her dramas.   Your comment seems to trigger a reaction from him. Jungkook pauses the game and those bambi eyes of his are rounded. He’s defensive. “What?”   “He’s got a massive hard on for her,” Yoongi snickers.   “Don’t talk about Jieun like that.”   You steal a glimpse of Jungkook, rather puzzled over his hobby. You just never expected Jeon Jungkook to have an idol, or rather, celebrity crush. “Why do you like her so much?”    He looks like he doesn’t even know where to start. “She’s just so...talented.”   “Oh, here we go again.” Yoongi rolls his eyes.   “Shut up,” Jungkook spits and then turns to answer your question seriously. “Her voice is beautiful, she’s good at singing, she can play guitar, and she’s really cute. She produces a lot of her music too. And her personality is great. She’s kind and funny. She donates a lot and stuff like that.” Jungkook shrugs. “I just like her.”   “Yeah I get it.” You nod while staring into IU’s eyes. “She’s pretty hot and cute. I’d do her if given the chance.”   His big nose wrinkles. “You act like you don’t have any celebrity crushes either.”   “True. If Song Joongki walked through the door right now, I would throw myself at his feet and he could do whatever he wants with me. He’s so handsome and such a sweet guy.” You sigh wistfully, wishing you had someone like that. “Do you have any celebrity crushes, Yoongi?”   “What’s her face from the Notebook.”   “Rachel McAdams?”   “Yeah, her.”   “Okay, I can see that. Jungkook!”   “What?”   “Would you smash or pass Rachel McAdams?”   He wrinkles his nose again. “Smash, I guess.”   “You guess.” A scoff comes from your throat. “What? You think you’re too good for her?”   “No. She’s just okay.”   “You’re wrong,” Yoongi deadpans, making you laugh.   You ask— “Okay, how about Sana from Twice? Smash or pass.”   “Smash.” — “Pass.”   Both you and Yoongi look at him with brows raised and you audibly gasp. “Dude, even I would smash her. Why would you pass? She’s cute and hot. Isn’t that your type?”   “No.” Jungkook snorts. “You don’t know my type.”   “Okay, so who would you smash then?”   “I don’t know. Maybe Gong Hyo Jin. That main girl from Master’s Sun.”   “Seriously?”   Jungkook glances over. “Why?”   “No, she’s pretty and really girl-next-door-ish. She’s just older, like twenty one years older than us.”   “Yeah, well, she’s good at what she does. She’s a good actress.”   Apparently being good at what they do is enough for Jungkook to want to bang them.   It’s a juvenile game, but a fun one. And it’s particularly interesting to hear both Yoongi and Jungkook’s responses. They’re unpredictable, unlike Taehyung who you’re sure would say yes to anything as long as it breathed, and Jimin who would be too shy to answer.   “How about people we know? Byun Baekhyun.”   “No.” Yoongi answers right away. “He’s so loud, he gives me a headache.”   “If you find him annoying, it makes for good hate sex.”   “Sure. But that’s still a no.”   “Okay then, who would you say yes to?”   “I don’t really swing that way but if I were to give it a shot, maybe Kim Jongin, just so he can teach me how he gets the ladies.”   “Word,” Jungkook mutters, concentrating on his game.   “Or maybe Lee Ken,” Yoongi points out. “His face looks good enough for me to spit on.”   “That’s disgusting.” Jungkook wears a distressed expression, looking at you as if to ask if you’re hearing the same things he is, but you merely laugh.   “Trust me, Ken’s a screamer. Jin told me about it when they shared a room during their first year.” You don’t notice how Jungkook pauses his game at the mention of your ex. He stares at you from across the room, on the edge of his seat, but you don’t have a trace of sadness on your features. “He’ll burst your eardrums. He’s a loud dude.”   “No thanks then.” Yoongi hums and bluntly considers, “Maybe Seokjin then. He’s pretty good looking. Looks spitable.”   You smile softly. “He’s too nice for you, Yoongi.”   You recall the faded memories with Seokjin, but they don’t make you feel so sad anymore. Your heart doesn’t ache as much. It makes you wonder if this is what it means to move on.   //   The cardboard box is in your lap as you study the small trinket in your hand before tossing it in. Everything that Jin ever gave to you, anything that’s associated with him, sweaters and tokens, key chains from amusement parks and stuffed animals he gave is thrown in the box or stuffed in a trash bag.   “I wonder if I’ll ever regret giving this stuff away.”   “Maybe, but you’ll always have new stuff and new memories and all that.”   “Yeah.” You remind yourself that you’re just making space for the new memories you’ll make — maybe with Aeri, maybe with Taehyung and Yoongi, Hoseok or Jimin, or Jungkook, or just by yourself.   Jungkook helps you put away the stuff, asking every once in a while if you wish to discard a certain object. You had asked for his help, afraid you would chicken out, and you promised him that in return, you would buy him a meal.   It seems like you owe a lot to Jungkook these days.   You donate it all before deleting all of Seokjin’s contact information on your phone. The pressed rose he once gave you on your first date and the first note he ever passed you in class is thrown away too.   Finally, you’ve severed your ties with Seokjin once and for all. It’s a bittersweet moment, like sugar mixed with coffee. Not quite sweet but not quite bitter.   The room seems emptier, but it’s welcoming.   “So where are you going to treat me?”   Suddenly, a light bulb flicks on inside your brain. Your entire face lights up and Jungkook notices, shifting on his spot in discomfort. It’s never good when you have ideas. “I think I know something better we can do.”   “Better than eating?”   “When was the last time you ate some pussy, Jeon?”   Jungkook chokes on his spit. He wheezes. And pounds his chest. Jungkook’s doe eyes look at you in horror like he’s been personally violated. “What?”   You repeat the question and he makes a strangled noise like he’s absolutely disgusted talking about this with you.    “Are you ten? Answer the question.”   “I don’t know! Maybe like over a year ago,” he rambles in a breath, “I dated a girl named Olivia for a few months but then it didn’t end up working out, so we broke up.”   You put your hand on your friend’s shoulder, squeezing securely while nodding once. “I think we're both deprived of some good pussy and cock.”   “So what do you propose?” He doesn’t know where you’re going with this.   “We go to a club and get ourselves some one-night stands.”   “That’s a terrible idea,” Jungkook spits without even needing to think. It’s instinctive. Impulsive. Like he knows not to squeeze a lemon into his eye, to not touch his crotch area after handling chili peppers, to not take toast out with a metal fork.   “Why not?” You shrug. “Some low-level commitment, no love or strings attached sex. We don’t need relationships to keep us satisfied and we don’t need to keep...you know handling it ourselves…” Your hand makes a rounded circle and you thrust back and forth obscenely, wiggling your brows, and it makes Jungkook groan.   “Oh my god. Please stop.”   “Listen, I’ll be the best wingwoman you’ve ever seen. I owe you, right? So I’ll find you the best fuck of life and then I’ll find my own. I see this as an absolute win-win.”   “It’ll be fun,” you insist and then pout when he continues to glare. “If you’re not coming, I’ll go by myself.”   “You’re not going by yourself,” Jungkook says.   “Why? You can’t tell me what to do. What are you, my dad?”   “Why? Because you’re an idiot. If I see you on the news, I’ll never be able to forgive myself….” You scoff and he continues. “—for being best friends with such an idiot…”   “Are you coming or not, jackass?”   Jungkook sighs.   //   It’s spontaneous. One moment he’s in your dorm room and the next blink, there are strobe lights flashing around, sweaty bodies, and deafening music. The alcohol on his tongue is certainly not enough to make him feel remotely sane. Jungkook didn’t even have enough time to drag Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok or Yoongi over. You told him that it was a two man mission and any more people would only serve as a distraction to the main goal.   He’s not sure what you think that goal is. Jungkook isn’t really a one-night stand kind of guy.   “Hey!” You scream in his ear above the booming beat, making him wince. Your breath is stained with that tequila. “What do you think of her?!” You point to a girl dancing on the floor. “She’s got a great ass!”   He internally sighs. “Why don’t you go fuck her then?!”   “What?” Your voice strains above the music.   “Go fuck her!” He points.   You frown, lips lopsided. “You want to suck her?!”    Jungkook’s last two brain cells are about to die. “Never mind!”   “What?!”   He shakes his head and then you giggle.    Jungkook wonders if you’re just fucking with him, but before he can even react and perhaps punch you, you’re leaning over the bar, waving your arm towards the bartender. “Excuse me! Can we get two shots again?!”   Of all the shit you make him go through, he’s hoping you don’t get drunk. He can’t carry your ass back to the dorm. His back is too precious for your idiocy.   The two of you down the alcohol given to you and he shudders after. The taste is sharp and beginning to dull his senses. You can feel it too, how the world is spinning faster and that’s when you begin, clasping your hands together. “Alright!” You lean in close to talk into his ear, breath skimming against his neck. “Let’s get down to business, Jeon. Anyone caught your attention yet? How about her?”   You signal to a busty girl sitting alone at the bar. She’s in a tight, red dress with her lips matching the same crimson shade. Her black hair contrasts the boldness, cascading down her back in waves.    Jungkook looks and then glances at you. “Not re—Hey! Where are you going?!”   You strut with drunken confidence, sliding up to the girl with plans to be the best wingwoman on this planet. “Is it always this noisy?”   The girl turns her head and visibly relaxes to see another female and not a greasy dude. “Well, it’s a club. So yeah, it usually is.”   “I’m just not used to it.” You sigh and take a seat on the stool. “Know any good drinks?”   “Chardonnay’s pretty good,” she tells you with a friendly, open expression. “Usually wine sucks at bars, but it’s pretty good here.”   “I’ll order it then,” you muse and extend your arm with a grin. “I’m Y/N.”   “Hyuna.” She shakes your hand, red lips curling.   “Can you do me a favour, Hyuna?” You point across the bar to Jungkook. He’s frozen. Watching you in horror like you’re trying to seduce his mom or something.    You wish he’d wipe that stupid fucking expression off his face. It’s not helping. Frankly, it ruins his looks and for once he’s not in gym shorts or sweatpants. Jungkook’s dark hair is gelled back, black dress shirt and black trousers fitted to his muscular frame. It took so much nagging to get him dressed up, but it was worth it. If he didn’t look so dumb, you would be proud of your best friend.   “My poor friend here really likes you, but he’s pretty shy. If you said hi, I’m pretty sure it would make his entire night.”   Hyuna gazes at him and her smile only widens. “I’d be happy to help.”   “Great!” You slide off the stool, strutting back. Inside your head, you are screaming for joy that you actually pulled that shit off on the first try without getting a drink thrown in your face.    Maybe you should consider switching career paths.   Jungkook leans in close to you when you’re in earshot distance. “What the hell are y—”   “Jungkook, this is Hyuna. Hyuna, this is Jeon Jungkook.”   Her hips sway as she approaches him and she extends her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”   Jungkook shakes it with a polite smile, trying to diminish the awkwardness and attempting to be civil. In the meanwhile, Hyuna’s cat-eyes sweep him up and down, focusing on how his pants are tight around the meat of his thighs.   Her perfume fills your senses. “Nice to meet you.”   You stick your nose between them. “Jungkook goes to baking school, so he knows how to knead dough! He’s really good at it!” You grab his wrist, pulling it up in front of her eyes. “Look at his hands!”   “Oh god, shut up.” If there was enough light in the room, you’re sure his face would be beet red. But unbeknownst to you, Jungkook’s embarrassment is second-hand. He takes his own hand back and looks at the stranger. “I’m so sorry for her behaviour. She’s obviously drunk.”   “I’m not!” You’re just….happier. A little giddy. On an energy high.   Hyuna giggles and looks between you both. “Are you two togethe—”   “No.” Jungkook cuts her off and is truly thankful his relationship with you isn’t like that. He can barely handle you as a friend. Anything more would frankly be overwhelming. “We aren’t.”   “Oh, okay, cool. I thought this was going to be a threesome situation.”   Jungkook starts wheezing as you giggle. You put your hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeeze. “Oh no, he can’t keep up with me. Not for miles. Anyway, I’ll leave you two at it. I should probably go to the bathroom, gotta take a leak.”   “Y/N.” Jungkook calls after you. “Y/N! L/N Y/N!”   He shouts after you, tightening his fist and wondering if you actually have the outrageous audacity to leave him behind like this with some chick you picked up like you just went grocery shopping. But much to his dismay, you don’t even glance behind you. You dive into the sweaty bodies, disappearing from sight.   He groans internally and turns back to Hyuna.   She smiles at him. “So you bake?”   “Yeah, well, I’m in this pastry program.”   “Wow.” Her thick lashes bat. “That’s so impressive! So you can make whatever dessert you want?”   “Working towards it.” He smiles meekly. “Are you, uh, here by yourself?”   Jungkook has never done this before, never talked to a girl like this — but so far it’s not bad. Probably because it was her who was salvaging the conversation and lessening the stiffness.   “It’s actually one of my friends’ birthday today, so we’re just out celebrating, but I lost them in the crowd.” She flashes a million watt smile. “I assume you’re just with your friend, Y/N?”   “Yeah, she dragged me out here. She’s a headache. I swear she’s shaving years off of my life.”   Hyuna laughs and bats his arm. She leans close and he swallows hard at the way her eyes sparkle, her lashes thick, and her cleavage is practically shoved in his face. “Want to dance?”   “I don’t really…”   “It’ll be fun. Trust me.” She takes his hand and drags him out on the floor.   In the meanwhile, half across the club, you’re dancing to the music. It’s not until a second later that you feel someone's hands on your waist and you turn around in their arms.    In dark lights, you make out a half-decent looking guy. “Shake that ass, babe.”   You smile at him, looping your arms around his neck. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be. Giving into temptation and the heat of another person’s body, not having to commit to someone else and put yourself out there. Maybe you were doing it all wrong to begin with.   You don’t even know his name, but you dance with the stranger, your sweaty bodies moving against one another. You’re not sure how long it lasts, but eventually he presses his crotch to your front and offers to buy you a drink through a whisper in your ear.   When you get to the bar, you don’t see Jungkook and Hyuna anymore and you wonder if he’s getting lucky in the washroom or if he’s gone completely.    But you try not to dwell on what your best friend might be doing. You focus on the present moment and order a Strawberry Daiquiri. You’re sipping your drink as you talk to the guy. You don’t exactly catch his name, but it doesn’t matter. The fewer connections, the better. After all, you’re just looking for a rebound.   But you’ve never done this before and in your nervousness and intoxication, you end up on a tangent. “Like it’s so easy to make better cheesecake! And there’s so many kinds of cheesecake.”   “Cheesecake?” The tall blonde frowns as if he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about.   “Yeah! Cheesecake! All you need is the crust, cream cheese, sugar, eggs, sour cream, vanilla extract, and all-purpose flour! My favourite is actually chocolate cheesecake in a restaurant back at home and they had chocolate wafer crumbs in the crust and it was so delicious, must have had ganache between the layers or something. I can’t remember anymore.”   “Oh, cool.” The guy glances around, looking at the other people on the dance floor and the bar. When he realizes you’ve stopped talking, he directs his attention to you again. “Uh, what’s a ganache?”   “Ganache? It’s just chocolate and heavy cream and you can use it as a glaze, icing, sauce, or filling for pastries. You’ve probably had it before if you’ve had chocolate cake!”   “I see.” His eyes flicker down to the swell of your chest exposed by your small black number, and they linger there. “You ever tried pouring chocolate over your body?”   “What?”   You realize he doesn’t care about baking — he doesn’t care for what you have to say.   The guy excuses himself to the bathroom and never comes back. After ten minutes of waiting, you sigh and check your phone. You stand up, ready to leave as it occurs to you one-night stands aren’t really your thing.   You’re about to text Jungkook, but you catch his mop of hair on the dance floor. He’s dancing with Hyuna, her back pressed to his front. His hands are placed on the dips of her waist, grinding his front against her ass that’s pushed out. You make a face of disgust before snapping a blurry picture and sending to the group chat.   But Jungkook seems to be having fun, out of breath, but still enjoying himself. You’re happy for him, glad that at least one of you is getting lucky tonight. Or rather, it was Hyuna getting lucky.   Jungkook’s a great catch. You wonder why you didn’t realize it sooner. Whoever ends up with him will be fortunate.

[imaginedigimon]

I know the Adventure 01 & 02 kids have canon adulthoods already, but do you headcanon any of them with different jobs and/or futures? Or just some cool side hobbies when their older?

I’M SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS

I CANNOT EXPRESS WITH MERE WORDS HOW SORRY I AM

But you know, I think about this a lot. When I saw the epilogue of 02 the first time, I just kinda took it. But then, I’ve always been more a canon lover than anything. Maybe that’s because I’m just thankful that the media I consume exists, so I like most if not all of what it does.

Enough about me and my strange relationship with the idea of canon.

Adventure Kids as Adults Headcanons

Tai [Taichi]

Honestly, I don’t think Tai would have played soccer all his life

The diplomat thing, at least after watching Tri, kinda works for him to be honest

I mean yeah my bae isn’t the smartest, but

Where was I going with this?

Oh, yes, anyway, he probably would’ve become a gym teacher or something

I imagine he’s great with kids and wants to be a lot like Nishijima, except without the whole secret agent-y bit

He started doing calligraphy in honor of Nishijima sometime after college ;-;

Matt [Yamato]

Is it cliche to say I honestly thought Matt was going to become a rockstar, if not one of those cool rocker guys who works in some record store or something and turns out to be really wise?

No I’m not thinking about Phineas and Ferb wdym

I’d like to think that even if he’s not still playing the bass like the god he is he gives lessons to others

Also he collects rocks

That’s important

Sora

Even I’m not sure why on Earth she’d be a fashion designer, fabulous as she is

But anyway, if she didn’t do that, she probably would have followed in her mom’s footsteps in... whatever it is she does [I’ve never been clear on that to be perfectly honest]

I think she definitely would have married Matt still as much as my 13-year-old self cries over it because I’m married to Tai, so...

Although I was enlightened to the idea of Sora and Joe some months ago during Takari Week so perhaps---

ANYWAY I can actually see Sora babysitting a lot or being the go-to friend for caretaking needs, whether it’s pets or children

Izzy [Koshiro]

We all know his occupation makes perfect sense

We wouldn’t have it any other way

He still makes Tentomon very very worried (they don’t mention it in the show but we all know it’s true)

He lowkey goes drinking with Sora’s dad and Joe’s brother all the time and nobody’s able to comprehend why he won’t go drinking with the other DigiDestined

Legend has it that he researches different brands of alcohol every now and then

(It’s actually every day)

Mimi

Not that she wouldn’t do a cooking show, but

Can you imagine if she had become an idol?

LIKE IMAGINE

She just goes up to Tai or Matt or all them on the street and people are like “YOU KNOW MIMI” and they’re like “uh yeah we’ve known her for X years”

Palmon joins her on stage too and looks fabulous

She does the thing Alec Benjamin does and goes up to people on the street and sings to them

And of course you can’t say no to Mimi she’s a legend

Joe [Jou/Jyou]

Again, his occupation made sense

I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way

But he doesn’t make as big a fuss about the doctor thing with his son

Watch his son be a delinquent I swear---

Joe somehow got really invested in crime shows

I wish I could explain how

Oh, and also---he found House

WHO LET HIM FIND HOUSE?

T.K. [Takeru]

I don’t think about it much, but I support his career as a writer

Mostly because I am a writer myself

Anyway, I think he probably did more than the novels, like some screenplays for TV shows and movies

He won some nice awards for that stuff

But you know what he really loves

Satanic rituals

....

....

I WAS KIDDING mostly

Kari [Hikari]

CHANGE MY MIND, SHE IS THE BEST TEACHER EVER

I LOVE HER OK

She is so loved by her students it’s heartwarming

We love teachers who get the respect they deserve

Her side hobby is making a better paper airplane than any kid in her classes

I...

I wish I knew why she tried so hard, but

Kari

Davis [Daisuke]

I am not about to take his dream from him

But I propose that it wasn’t just noodles

Oh no

It was also other delightful dishes found in carts like his (I’m not good at Japanese culture, so I’m not about to list some)

He’s so wealthy he goes to hang out with Oprah a lot

Somehow he’s started reading like all of the Oprah’s Book Club stuff

I just

I don’t know why it took this long to get him to read

Yolei [Miyako]

I greatly respect women who are willing to stay home all day with three children (like seriously HOW DO YOU DO IT), BUT

I think that’s just not very Yolei

She definitely joined Izzy a few times for his thing

Maybe she became a professional hacker

Like Garcia in Criminal Minds

So, yeah, she’s a big help to Ken, which makes sense

I bet Sora knows more about their kids than they do at this point XD

Cody [Iori]

HE IS JACK MCCOY FROM LAW AND ORDER CHANGE MY MIND

So anyway

I’d also like to think he’s like the dad of a friend of mine--the type of lawyer who represents children in tough situations

Social justice is just his thing, you know

When he’s not being the best lawyer in the world, he is rewatching Legally Blonde over and over and over again

He’s even watched Red, White, and Blonde and that spinoff Legally Blondes a thousand times

Let the man have a hobby

Ken

You cannot tell me he didn’t become the star of a reality show

You know “Cops” or like the Shrek parody of it from Shrek 2 “Knights”? Ken’s in something like that

But it’s all just antics between him and Stingmon

It’s really funny because they’re the best detectives but you can’t tell at first glance

We love them anyway

He still plays soccer, but he actually prefers coaching recreational leagues of it

---------

I don’t know where a lot of these came from @_@

It is 2 am, but I am tired, so I will finish my last backlogged request tomorrow (hopefully... I have some things I promised myself I’d do)

Thanks for stopping by!

[midrashic]

1  | THE BEST BOOK YOU READ LAST YEAR | THE FORTUNES | PETER HO DAVIES

the fortunes shocked me, shattered me, & took my breath away as a chinese american reader of literary fiction. the other narratives that have really unzipped me about my chinese american-ness tend to dwell on the shame of appending american to that identity, of being unable to relate to your parents, of hurting them with your childish desire to assimilate, of some kind of tether between us & the folklore of our ancestors: gene luen yang’s american born chinese, maxine hong kingston’s woman warrior, ken liu’s “the paper menagerie.”

this novel… does not do that. it creates a space so sublimely chinese american, not chinese / american, by focusing in on the histories of chinese immigrants & their descendants. what emerges is a deeply historical tale, one that does not have to be processed through second-generation guilt or half-remembered myths. railroad workers & anna may wong; for a second i could see it, the reminder that chinese americana is a community in and of itself, not the awkward meeting of two distinct worlds, that it is not bounded to my experiences as a child of political asylum-seekers, that it is a thread stretching back to ah ling & his countrymen. this is a criminally underrated book, & i can’t recommend it enough for chinese american readers of any stripe, fans of contemporary short story collections like jhumpa lahiri or edwidge danticat’s, & fans of lyrical history novels.

Sly, funny, intelligent, and artfully structured, The Fortunes recasts American history through the lives of Chinese Americans and reimagines the multigenerational novel through the fractures of immigrant family experience.

Inhabiting four lives—a railroad baron’s valet who unwittingly ignites an explosion in Chinese labor; Hollywood’s first Chinese movie star; a hate-crime victim whose death mobilizes the Asian American community; and a biracial writer visiting China for an adoption—this novel captures and capsizes over a century of our history, showing that even as family bonds are denied and broken, a community can survive—as much through love as blood.

[ april in books ]

[soratakenouchie]

Kizuna

So I read Kizuna’s novel last night and boy, do I have thoughts? Of course I’m aware no one cares for them but, I need to write things down.

Spoilers about the novel.

In a general aspect, I really liked the novel. It’s well structured and the passing is good. It felt a little overwhelmed at times but mostly on the battles (and that’s on me since I have a really hard time focusing on those things lol). 

I loved the focused characters arc, I think it was perfect for them even if I have questions about it that I hope will be answered at some time? Don’t worry, TOEI, I’m gonna be waiting forever. The new characters were also right, not outstanding but they didn’t feel unnecessary either, just.. right for the movie/novel.

I REALLY loved, loved, loved Yamato so much in the story, he’s the absolutely highlight of it. He says what he’s thinking, he’s proactive, he’s an absolutely cutie! That scene with him talking with the 02 kids have my heart forever, I just enjoyed him in all the novel! He has changed so much but stills shows part of his old self here and there. 

Taichi was also good! I mean, he was himself and that was great. He stopped overthinking and jumped to the action as he should. His scenes with Agumon were so funny lmao (you know what I’m talking about) and what it took my attention is that we witnessed the first time Agumon went to his apartment. That was… interesting, and made me think that he was already moving on without even noticing it. Hikari tells him that he should visit his mom from time to time and it seems that he isn’t close with some of his old friends (he wasn’t aware of why Sora’s so busy).

Also, was me the only one who thought that his classmates friends were like the Sorato College version? The fashionable Morikawa and Nemoto that acted as the older sister of their group. I know Yamato is not fashionable (although I like his style oop) but you get my point lol. I don’t know, they sounded like a briefly descriptions of their old friends.

While reading their struggles, I couldn’t stop thinking of how much pressure they have even at a very young age, but that’s how society fucks you amirite? They’re only 22 and they’re supposed to be already setting their future, looking for jobs (in Japan you already have to be setup in a workplace before graduating).

Which absolutely contrast with Sora that’s already aware of what she wants and doesn’t want.

And speaking of Sora…  I loved her mini arc (I’m gonna call it mini because it was there but it was resolved in one single scene). She as Taichi and Yamato, was struggling but not with her future, but with her past. She already moved from her childhood and teenagers years, she already knows what she wants to do and how she wants to do it, and I think that the “she wants to live as Sora Takenouchi” also tells me that she knows who she is. Her arc was the opposite of Taichi and Yamato’s and I loved it.

But as much as I loved it and as much as it felt right for her, I couldn’t help but think that it could be more. There were scenes when I thought “she could fit here, or here, or here” which I know was ridiculous of me since I knew this wasn’t her movie and probably I would never have a movie focused on her. And that’s why, I hate that they decided to wrap her arc behind the scenes.

Did she know that Piyomon would disappear? Was she alone when that happened? What was she feeling in that moment? It breaks my heart to think all of this. I really wished that the scene with Gennai would be between all the 12 chosen children, but apparently is only important for Taichi to be aware of that.

I’m gonna stop it here lol. I’m not salty or anything like that, I still loved the novel and enjoyed everything from it! The reason why I focused mostly on those three is because they’re the only ones whose role didn’t fit in an established one.

We had Koushiro (who was great btw) being, Koushiro. He filled his role perfectly, there was nothing more for him that we already expected. Same with Jou, Mimi, Hikari and even Takeru. They were there, being themselves and were perfect.

The 02 kids were another ones filling their roles but they were amazing and the second highlight of the novel, specially Miyako! She was a delight and I’m so proud, that her first scene is she saying hola (sobs) and passing on the issue to Taich and the rest, best girl! Daisuke, Ken and Iori were lovely as well, love their friendship and love that Takeru was the one who knew where they were and Yamato was such a dad with them (sobs more). Have I said that I loved him in the novel? Because I did.

I can’t really wait to see the final battle, it was good reading it but it will be better animated so I’m excited for that. Meona by the end made me feel bad but that’s great, right? Quoting @takerusfedora “I love when the villains believe they’re in the right” and Meona was that.

The final scene with Taichi/Agumon and Yamato/Gabumon made me weep out a little not gonna lie and I think that we all agree that there has to be a continuation, right? I mean, there has to, they need their Digimons back and I don’t think they’re gonna waste this opportunity to make money.

How much time is gonna take them, who knows? But it’s gonna happen eventually.

This was longer than I thought lmao and I’m sure I have more thoughts but I can’t think on anything right now.

[gffa]

hi! i really want to get into the EU stuff, but i have absolutely no idea where to start. can you point towards a few good books, maybe? thank you, and i absolutely love your account btw!

Hi!  Thank you for the kind words, I’m glad you’re enjoying the blog.  ♥  Recommendations for EU stuff often depends on what you’re interested in, because there are a lot of books I really enjoyed, so I’ll organize them by era, since that’s how fans are often divided.  I’ll also include comics, because often times the comics are some of the absolute best stuff!If you haven’t watched The Clone Wars and Rebels yet, those are absolutely the places to start as they’re key to the fabric of the bigger story, imo.  Not that you can’t understand the movies without them or anything, but TCW is especially important for understanding just how grueling the clone wars really were.  And Rebels is important for showing the fates of a lot of the TCW characters and seeing the Empire vs the Rebellion (it does a lot to flesh that out, too).PREQUELS:

Any of the Star Wars Adventures comics that contain the prequels characters are great.  Well, ALL of the Adventures comics are great, but the prequels ones are adorable, funny, and yet really well-told.  They’re light-hearted and largely oneshots, but the IDW comics have been incredible for still being some of the absolute best SW content out there.  Especially a not-miss is #12-13 and the 2019 Annual for the Padme&Leia&Breha story.

Obi-Wan & Anakin comic by Charles Soule.  A five-issue mini series that has the most stunning art of all the comics I’ve ever seen pretty much, it’s also a really good look at the time of Anakin’s apprenticeship and provides some interesting glimpses into their early days together.

Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith comic by Charles Soule.  This comic was an absolute phenomenon to read month to month and one of the comic series that I’ve spent the most time analyzing and felt it’s really held up to scrutiny, which shows just how much thought went into it.  It’s 25 issues of Vader fresh off Revenge of the Sith, over the span of a couple years, and really does an AMAZING job of exploring Anakin Skywalker as Darth Vader, all the choices he made and the themes of the comic are all about showing he can’t admit to the HUGE mistakes he’s made.  It was incredible.

Choose Your Destiny: An Obi-Wan & Anakin Adventure by book Cavan Scott.  I’m not usually a fan of Choose Your Own Adventure style stories, but this one was worth it to me to get an absolutely DELIGHTFUL book with Obi-Wan and Anakin, who are cranky with each other, but ultimately show that they can come back together and obviously care about each other.  Sprinkle in some other cool stuff (Jedi details, Bant Eerin being recanonized) and it was lovely.

Dooku: Jedi Lost audiodrama by Cavan Scott.  If you’re interested in Dooku, Asajj Ventress, or the Jedi at all, this drama was pretty amazing, it gave a ton of worldbuilding detail, but also did a lot to fill in the backstory of Dooku and gave us a long look inside Asajj’s head as well.  Qui-Gon makes some appearances, he has an amazing dynamic with Dooku, and my heart as always skips a beat for how much I love the Jedi.

Age of the Republic comics by Jodie Houser.  Holy shit, these comics were SO GOOD.  They’re a series of oneshots about the various heroes and villains of the time, a glimpse into the lives of all of them, and Houser really nailed it here.  My favorite is the Obi-Wan one, because the conversation he has with Anakin about Qui-Gon is a must and delves deepest into the characters’ stuff, but all of them are worth reading.

Jedi of the Republic - Mace Windu comic by Matt Owens.  A five-issue mini series that, okay, the art is Like That but the storyline really worked for me because it’s a really good look at Mace’s character and his belief in the Jedi Order and how he came to master himself and how the galaxy looks at Jedi.  It’s woven around a fairly typical action plot, but one of the things that always strikes me is the compassion the Jedi show one of their own, even when they’re falling into darkness, as well as this is a comic about Mace Windu’s faith and his work to master himself and it’s SO GOOD.

Kanan: The Last Padawan comics by Greg Weisman.  Stunning art plus a look at some of the characters/relationships that I want so much more of (TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT DEPA BILLABA) and more glimpses into life at the Jedi Temple, as well as telling the story of how the character went from Caleb Dume to Kanan Jarrus, all of it heartbreaking and so, so good.

While the Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover is no longer canon, but it does an absolutely phenomenal job of breaking your heart all over again for the characters and expanding on everything that was going on during that time and really, really gets into the headspace of Anakin’s character in a way that was line-edited by George Lucas himself, so I think of it as having a lot of emotional truths to it, rather than being part of canon (which it’s specifically said as not being).

ORIGINALS:

The ongoing Star Wars comic (by Jason Aaron, then Kieron Gillen) + the original Darth Vader comic (by Kieron Gillen) are the absolute best place to start, they’re an incredible addition to the characters’ journeys between ANH and ESB.  The two comics are meant to be read concurrently, so I recommend them together, they often show the same scenes from different points of view, but you can roll with either of them if they’re going well for you.  They’re my favorite for what they add to the story.

Star Wars Battlefront II’s storyline can be watched on YouTube like a movie, which is about two hours long, has some fantastic characters (Iden Versio and Del Meeko are amazing, but also the brief storylines the OT trio have in the game are fantastic) and it does a really great job of helping to bridge the gap between the OT and the ST, explaining a lot about Jakku’s significance and how the First Order popped up.

From a Certain Point of View novel by various.  MY FAVORITE BOOK IN THE EU, FULL STOP.  A series of point of view stories from various supporting characters during A New Hope is exactly what it sounds like and, okay, not all of them worked out for me, some of them are very skippable if you’re not enjoying it, but the Obi-Wan one, the Qui-Gon one, and the Yoda one are all must-reads because they are HEARTBREAKING and fill in so much of what’s going on with those characters in the OT with regards to the PT events.  Also the Motti one is the single funniest thing Star Wars has ever put out.

Lords of the Sith novel by Paul S. Kemp.  While I’ve only read about a third of this one so far, I’ve enjoyed it a lot, as it’s a look at some of the worst parts of SW’s timeline, where Vader and Palpatine are at their worst, where Ryloth is suffering, but it’s done with deftness and gravitas, imo.  Possibly better after you’ve seen TCW and Rebels because Cham Syndulla’s character will have more weight then.

Legends of Luke Skywalker novel by Ken Liu.  This book came out around the time that The Last Jedi came out (or at least that’s when I read it, iirc) and it was a balm for my soul that needed Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.  It’s an in-universe series of myths, so it’s not literal, it’s stories told about Luke Skywalker as he travels the galaxy trying to understand the Force and the Jedi.  It’s lovely!

Thrawn novel by Timothy Zahn.  I still think the first Thrawn book was really good (even if the shine came off the apple after that) and it does a fantastic job of setting up the character’s backstory, intro into the Empire, and creating the character of Eli Vanto, WHOM I LOVE.  It’s a great read and some of the best of Zahn’s Thrawn work.

ROGUE ONE + SOLO:

The Rogue One novelization by Alexander Freed.  I had trouble connecting to Jyn Erso when I first watched the movie, but the way Freed wrote her as this messy, complicated, thorny person who was trying to do the right thing was perfect for making me fall in love with her.  (Freed is really, really good at writing messy, complicated, worthwhile women, imo.)

Most Wanted novel by Rae Carson.  I loved this book a lot, where it’s a young adult novel set before the events of Solo and helps tell Han and Qi’ra’s backstory and is a great space adventure at the same time.

Catalyst novel by James Luceno.  This does a really great job of bridging the Republic era with the Empire era, how the galaxy went from the Clone Wars to what we see in Rogue One, AND expanded a ton on Galen Erso’s character, his relationship with Orson Krennic and Lyra Erso and Jyn, so it made the R1 experience just a ton more valuable for me.

SEQUELS:

Bloodline novel by Claudia Gray.  This book still does the absolute most to bridge the gap between the OT and the ST, to explain the events of what happened in that time period.  Gray’s writing is best when she’s writing Leia as a character and this book works as a novel for her and as a story about the rise of the First Order and some of the problems of the New Republic.

Spark of the Resistance is a young adult novel (so about 200 pages) by Justina Ireland.  I only recently read this one and I just thoroughly enjoyed it, it was Rey and Rose and Poe off on their own adventure, which was typical cute Star Wars stuff, but the chemistry and adorable banter between these three was so good I could have read an entire series for them!  (I also liked her Lando’s Luck YA novel, if you’re interested in his character.)

Poe Dameron comics by Charles Soule.  Soule’s writing is some of the best stuff in SW so far and he does an absolutely phenomenal job of capturing the charisma of Poe’s character, while also giving him an actual character arc to work through.  The comics just fly by, they’re so good and so smoothly easy to read and so damn charming.

Cobalt Squadron novel by Elizabeth Wein.  If you get the audiobook of this, it’s narrated by Kelly Marie Tran, who does a love job of reading it, and was a book that helped me just utterly FALL IN LOVE with Rose Tico.  It’s a book that does a lot to explain her back story and who she is and it’s just absolutely wonderful.

The Last Jedi novelization by Jason Fry.  If you really, really hated TLJ, this might not be the book for you, but I found it to be a book that helped fill in some smaller details that made the movie work better for me and got inside the characters’ heads just enough to help grease the wheels to put me in a better place with the movie, so I always really like it.

[jack-andthestalk]

Our Son, Arc II, Storytime, Chapter 12

@notevenjokingfic​​ took a small idea I had and used her wonderful mind to help me build on it for this chapter. Both she and @balfeheughlywed​ give me their time, advise and support and I really value it all as I know they've hectic lives outside of fanfic land. As usual @laythornmuse​ and @ladyviolethummingbird have been hugely helpful and supportive, and the DM's over our combined fics could fill a novel lol.

7 weeks later. Boston.

    With my phone tucked under my chin and Jenny Fraser’s persistent questioning in my ear, I fumbled in the bottom of my bag in search of the house keys.

  “Jenny, honestly I’m fine. We're back in a routine now, Willie is happy to see his old school friends. – I – am fine.”

    “Ye have repeated fine twice, so ye must be then.” She quipped sarcastically, before her tone softened – “ye are not and I ken it well, mam and Da want to go out to see ye and Willie in a few weeks would that be ok?”

  “Of course, I would love to see them, and Willie would be delighted.”

  “aye,” Jenny agreed quietly. I could almost hear her mind working over the phone.

  “Wot?” I blurted out more testily than Jenny deserved and kicked myself.

  “Ach, it’s nothing Claire, it’s just I ken ye dinna want to talk about him, but I only wondered if ye had heard anything from Jamie? His calls are becoming less and less frequent here, Mam and Da are worrit and I – don’t want to upset ye, but there is something off about what is going on there.”

  I wasn’t capable of answering without sounding bitter, but I heard the weary, worried tone in Jenny’s voice and wouldn’t hurt her for anything.

  “He rings Willie every second day.” I said sighing, since the first phone call after I returned to Boston, I just hand the phone to Willie, so I haven’t really spoken to him myself – I can’t just yet.” I finished honestly.

  “aye – off course Claire.”

  The vice-tight grip on my heart as I even discussed Jamie was the reason I wasn’t capable of holding a conversation with him. My days and nights spent missing him, followed by the wave of gripping pain overcoming me every time I imagined him with Geneva Dunsany, her high pitched giggle haunting my dreams as I saw her, at work, at play and in his bed.

  Willie tugged impatiently on my coat, “Will ye open the door mama, I’m burst’n.” I looked down at him as he danced from foot to foot while holding his crotch.

  Pushing the door open, I dropped my bag and swapped Jenny to my opposite ear.

  “Look I’m sure, he is just busy there Jen, it’s all new – ” I trailed off lamely.  Geneva is new; I thought to myself and felt the lump run from my stomach up to my throat.

  “Claire – “Jenny began hesitantly “I dinna think Jamie is busy for the reasons you do; I have spoken to him – I told ye what he said.”

  I blinked back tears, “Yes you did – but I really can’t think about it anymore – I need to be strong for Willie and working myself into a weeping heap thinking of the what if’s will not help me function.” I admitted in resigned sigh.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments, and Jenny’s tone was almost unrecognisable when she spoke again.

  “As mad as I am with him for putting you in this position, to even give people the chance to question him. I don’t believe it. – Claire, I heard him. There is no way that man loves anyone but ye.”

  The bitterness in my retort surprised me as much as Jenny, “He doesn’t need to love her Jenny.”

  I could hear static and the sound of Jenny picking something up and placing it down again. I didn’t need to see her to know she was pacing, a tell when Jenny was thinking, similar to Jamie’s fingers running a rhythm on his thigh. Fraser quirks.

  “Claire – ya ken ye need to speak to him, yer not being honest with him either. “

  “Not yet- its – too ” I cut off mid-sentence when my eye fell on an envelope amongst the post that was  strewn across the welcome mat. 

  Mr William Fraser, followed by our address and in Jamie’s very distinguishable scrawl.

  “Claire, are ye there?”

  “Oh yes sorry- yes –yes I am.” An urgency to get Jenny off the phone made me blurt out “I promise I will talk to him soon.”

  “Jen I have to go Willie needs – “

  “Aye, aye, go on then I will speak to ye tomorrow.”

  I heard a click at her end and grabbed the envelope from the floor ignoring the rest.

                    ___________

    Willie ripped open the package with gusto, tongue hanging from his mouth in concentration. Toppling the contents on to the table, he clutched something resembling a brightly illustrated, bound journal.

  He cast it up into the air and excitedly declared “Da send me a book.”

  “So it would seem” I replied throwing my dubious gaze over it.

  The front cover was a sweeping landscape of fields and meadows, a little mole family standing front and centre arms and hands entwined with each other. I only needed to glance once to know that it was Jamie’s work. He had inherited Ellen’s artistic streak, and often drew funny cartoon characters to entertain Willie, this work had the same detailed sketching but with bright wisps of colour illuminating it. 

  It wasn’t unusual for Jamie to buy or send books to Willie; bedtime story was their thing whenever they were together. Jamie excelled at it, he read animatedly to Willie, giving each character a funny accent, making background sounds and explaining any detail Willie failed to grasp. In the short time he had lived together in Lallybroch I found myself being lulled into Willie’s room at night to hear Jamie read to him.

  The bound storybook I held in my hand now, was a first; Jamie had made an actual book just for Willie.

  The title at the top of it read, The Mole family and at the bottom, it said written and illustrated by James Fraser.

   “Look Mama” Willie was jumping up and down excitedly, “those moles are us, see.” His little finger jamming each animal. “The big mole looks like Da, he is really tall and has red curly hair, and he is wearing a kilt!” Willie’s eyes were wide as saucers as his gaze drifted to the littlest of the moles, who was wearing Willie’s favourite jeans, sweater combo, this mole had the same straight floppy red hair as Willie that made it so easy to pick him from a crowd.

  “That one is me –” he continued voice getting pitcher with each similarity he could find “oh and look” – he almost screeched – “that pretty mole is you, mama.”

  I had never seen a pretty mole before and had to admit the mole Willie was now jabbing eagerly, was quite eye-catching, and there was little doubt this mole was female.

  She stood out from the rest of her family, wearing a pretty floral dress resembling something I owned and wore regularly, a matching flower stuck in long curly hair.  However, what made her different to the others wasn’t just her lack of red hair or feminine wardrobe, it was the detail Jamie went to in adding golden flecks to her eyes making them look like they were glowing. She had long fluttering eyelashes sweeping wide across her upper lid and a wide smile lighting her face.  Her femininity was further emphasised by the usual lack of roundness moles typically possessed, this mole had an accentuated curvy figure with a controversial voluptuous cleavage for a children’s book.

  Jamie had further personalised this mole to resemble me by adding a shiny stethoscope, which hung loosely around her neck.

  I bristled at the happy little family bounding up from the page, suddenly angry at whatever Jamie was trying to pull off. Paint a picture of a happy mole family running through a pretty garden, make it resemble the woman you fucked over and all should be forgiven?

   Willie peeked inside the front cover which had an inscription a printed version of Jamie’s scrawl, he hastily thrust the book into my hand, “what does it say mama?” rubbing his little hands together, smile wide and brimming with delight.

  I inhaled deeply as I glanced at the typescript and cursed Jamie with everything I possessed.

  “Well” I began evenly, “the name is called the Mole Family” I traced my finger lightly over the title. Imagining Jamie bent over a desk plotting his story out.

  Willie nodded his head, “aye and what does that say at the bottom?”

  I puffed out an incredulous  breath and damned Jamie Fraser to hell and back.

  “It says: Mama please read this to Willie, all my love Da.”

  My childish heart felt like picking up my phone and texting him to read his own bloody story.

  However, I wouldn’t deprive Willie of anything and certainly not something that had lit up his whole face the way this book had.

Letting out a shaky breath I told Willie to brush his teeth and to hop into bed, “I will be there in a minute.”

  ________

  Holding Willie under the crook of my arm I opening the first page of Jamie’s book, feeling ridiculously nervous for someone about to undertake what most parents routinely went through every evening.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that this book was more than just a bedtime story.

  Once upon a time, way up in the Scottish highlands lived a mole family.

Da Mole, Mama Mole and Baby Mole.

They loved their home, and their little farm and being together –

    Jamie had illustrated each page, showing the moles living and working happily on their farm, to build the story he had included the moles with different types of dialogue, riding horses, playing with the baby mole,  all lending to the storybook happy family image most children’s books captured.

  I turned a page to find the mole family standing outside a house that looked eerily familiar to what the finished product of our house at Lallybroch should have looked like; Willie didn’t seem to notice my hesitancy at turning the next page, as if I was waiting for something to explode from the book.

  Willie pointed at the smallest mole riding a large black horse, tilting his head up to look at me,

  “look mama I’m riding Donas”  he declared proudly.

  “So you are.” The next page showed the mole talking to a new family of animals. “What are those?” Willie asked, his brows creased in confusion. “Wait until I get to that bit” my curiosity had me skimming ahead quickly, suddenly desperate to know where this story was going.

  One day a weasel family came to visit. They asked Da mole to go and work for them at their home, far away from Scotland.  Da Mole didn’t want to work for the Weasel family, so he said no thank you, he would hate to leave Mama mole and baby mole. However, the Weasels were a mean family and _____

    My heart beat fast in my chest as I read on to Willie, revealing the Weasel family threatened and fought with the moles until Da mole went with them.

  Willie’s brow creased and his chin dimpled while he listened to each twist and turn.

   I couldn’t deny I was more familiar with the beginning of the story but once I turned the page to see Da mole working at the weasel farm and a new character introduced on the page next to him. I almost forgot I was reading a four-year-old story and found my eyes jumping ahead as  I eyed a puffin dressed in a police uniform that Jamie had drawn in great detail.

  The puffin had floppy blonde hair, with boggle eyes, he was dressed head to toe in police uniform.

  Da mole was working one day on the Weasel farm when Puffin the policeman came to see him –

  My lips trembled, and my sweaty palms fumbled with the pages as I read over the piece about the policeman to Willie and again in my head.  The policeman said the weasels had a lot of money that didn’t belong to them, and if Da mole could pretend to be their friend, the weasels might show Da mole where they hid their money.

  I almost forgot to read the bit to Willie where the puffin would watch and listen to everything Da mole did so he could catch the weasels I was so intent on working out what this meant for Jamie in Hellwater.

  “ye skipped a bit mama” Willie pushed his hand to where the puffin was observing Da mole from a distance.

  As the story played out, I found myself ignoring Willie’s requests to put different accents on the animals as Jamie did. Instead carefully piecing  together the plot Jamie was laying out, and the message he sent when the policeman told the mole of the risks to his family should they find out what he was doing.

  Jamie had worked towards Willie seeing how much the mole missed his family, a little thought cloud bubble over the mole’s head, imagining what it would be like to be home again in bed with his family all of them curled up contently in one bed.

  Willie’s head bent solemnly, “that’s like pur Da.”

  I turned the next page to images and text of Da mole befriending the weasels so that they led him to the money. Willie complained I was reading too fast.

   The quality of the bedtime story taking a backseat as I grappled to understand what this all meant.

  As I reached the last few pages, Da mole was stood in a room filled with money, showing it to a little army of puffins. Willie laughed at the funny caricature faces Jamie had given each one.

  I licked my lips nervously as the story concluded with Da mole back and happy with his family. The weasels locked up. Willie sighed contentedly, “that was sooo good mama, will ye read it one more time?”

  I could barely stop myself from tearing out of the room to scan the book alone. Turning off the light I promised Willie I would read it one more time in the morning before school.

  A few minutes later I was bent over the book in the kitchen, going through each detail. Panic rising in my belly as I examined each picture again, this time noticing small details that my addled brain had missed, the puffin pointing at a phone and telling the mole not to use it, ‘if the weasels should find out.”  Written in the dialogue box about the puffins head.

  I let my fingers feel each drawing, feather-light touching the words images of Jamie plotting, planning and taking the time to sketch something to match each twist and turn so that he could tell me a story.

  This wasn’t the action of someone who was cheating with another woman; this was someone who was caught and still found a way – to make me see.

  My fingers suddenly felt something like brail along the last page.

  I traced each letter with my finger before hastily jotting it on a notepad beside me.

  Gaelic words, I knew few but recognised the first two instantly. Jamie used the first one when he slipped his ring on my finger. My bhean, my wife. The second he regularly used when talking about Willie. Mo Mhac, my son.

  I grabbed my phone from the table and typed in the last two, tears flowing down my cheeks when the translation popped up on the screen.

  Mo bhean

Mo mhac

Mo h-uile rud.

Na dìochuimhnich

  My Wife, My Son, My everything, don’t forget.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh To Boston Chapter 8 - The Morning After.

Hello all, I am so sorry for the delay in posting this. It took a bit of time for all the corrections and rewrites that I had to do. I know some of you had read the preview but it has not changed too much.

I also want to thank everyone for their kind words and good wishes when I explained that things were delayed because my husband had taken ill.  He is well and back to himself.  I am adjusting to the new job and a little less crazy. A little I said.

I do need to thank two very special people @curlsgetdemgurls and @ladyviolethummingbird for being my betas on this chapter.  I don’t know what I would have done without them. They are the best.

I am not promising when the next chapter will be out except to say that it is underway. I dislike promising something that I can’t keep.

So without further ado, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston Chapter 8 The Morning After

Jamie Fraser laid in his hotel bed watching the dawn slowly break over the frozen sleeping city. The sky underwent a metamorphosis transitioning from the inky black of night to the vibrant colors of the day.  Streaks of hot pink, vivid orange, and fiery golden yellow glowed in the heavens splattering across an underlying electric blue.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful as to cause him to weep. But nothing could surpass the goddess who slept beside him. Claire. His Sorcha, his light.

Claire lay on her side, back curled into his chest. Their bodies fit well together. Each one piece of a puzzle when combined made a whole, a complete picture.

He ran his hands along the planes of her body becoming familiar with each dip and luscious curve. Her body, while thin and lithe, spoke of a woman’s sensuality. A hand drifted to cup that sweet round arse of hers.

Aye, plump and juicy like a fat wee hen.

He felt himself rouse just from the mere thought of her. She consumed him. The need left him wanting, needing. He knew he could take her again and again and it would never be enough.

Smiling tenderly, Jamie brushed an errant curl away from Claire’s face. Her hair, that glorious mane, spread out across the pillow a tangled, tousled mess. She would awake and be annoyed with it. There would be fussing, muttered obscenities, and futile attempts to tame it into some semblance of order. Chuckling, Jamie admitted that one of the things he loved about her (and truth be told, he loved everything about her) was her hair, as it truly represents who she is.  At times, she could be wild and free just like her curls. Most of the time she would confine her curly wig into a conservative bun. The reserved Dr. Beauchamp, her public persona. But, her hair would never stay in place. It always struggles to escape its confines and become free. He witnessed the wild and unrestrained side of his enchantress last night, giving and receiving pleasure without inhibition. She was simply magnificent. Jamie blushed at the thought of what they had done, hoping they could do that again soon.

Jamie yawned and stretched feeling each one of his vertebrae popping. He hadn’t slept much during the night. It was his duty to stand guard over his beloved as she slept. He was the Watcher of Her Sleep; The Guardian of her Dreams. Jamie snorted at himself.

“Becoming poetic are we, Fraser?”

He rolled his eyes at his own pretentiousness.

“Weel, if I’m becoming a poet, then she will be my poem.”

He grinned at the thought.

Eyes heavy and gritty from the lack of sleep, Jamie fought to stay awake. Wrapping his arms around Claire, he pulled her closer to his chest.  Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled her sleepy scent. Her fragrance comforted him allowing him to relax.  He settled himself spooning into her, back to chest, arse to groin, legs intertwined. The act while intimate soothed him. Jamie began to drift, feeling the pull of sleep and surrendered to it.

****************

The morning sunlight slowly crept along the floor clambering up the bed settling on Claire’s sleeping countenance rousing her from slumber.  Eyes squinting, she blinked adjusting to the harsh glare suffusing throughout the room.

“I should have closed those bloody drapes last night.”

Peering through narrowed eyes at the clock, it cheerfully blinked 9:43 AM. Claire attempted to shift to her side, wanting very much to return to sleep. This proved impossible as she was held in the steel embrace of a very large, very warm...very naked Scot. One arm wrapped around her chest, while the other came around her waist, tightening every time she tried to move.

“Christ, this is what it must feel like being caught in a bear trap.”

Claire chuckled to herself imagining Jamie as a great giant red bear. Jamie pulled Claire closer making huffing and snuffling noises into her hair.  

Falling into a deeper sleep, his arms became limp, the vise-like grip momentarily relaxed. Quickly, Claire changed position her head now resting on Jamie’s well-muscled torso. She centered her ear over his chest, listening.

Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub, Lub-Dub.

The sounds of the strong gentle beat of his heart hypnotic, serene. She felt content and safe surrounded by his arms, sharing a bed with him. Nestling closer, Claire became aware of a hardness pressing against her belly.

“Hmm, penile tumescence,” Claire, ever the clinician, mused “He must be in REM sleep.” She wondered what he could be dreaming about, hoping it was her.

******************

“Hello, Claire, I see you have taken a lover,” said a cultured English male voice. Tall and thin, he had the athletic grace of a tennis player. An attractive chap with an aristocratic face, he possessed dark wavy brown hair, and eyes of hazel flecked with honey. Attired in a three-piece brown suit, white button-down shirt, and striped tie, the figure jammed one hand into his pants pocket, cocked his head to one side, projecting a rakish air.

“Hello, Frank. Why don’t you go get stuffed? While you’re at it, get out of this bed,” Claire said her voice laced with anger.

Frank chose to ignore Claire’s request.

“He is rather large is he not?” Frank sneered. “Is that what appeals to you these days, Scottish barbarians? Are you having fantasies about being dominated that you need such a brute in your bed? I recall Joe Abernathy had you reading those dreadful novels. Ghastly, really. I can just imagine the title: ‘The Scottish Barbarian and the English Rose’,” he laughed contemptuously. “TSK, I always thought you to be a refined lady of gentle birth,” he said in a reproachful tone.

“Frank, you never took the time to know anything about me or what I needed or wanted. But Jamie does. Now get out of my head! Go away!”

“How sweet! Jamie, is it? Hmm, sounds rather boyish, doesn’t it,” The Englishman mocked.

“I’ll have you know he’s no boy,” Claire growled vehemently.  “He’s more man than you’ll ever be.  Jamie is kind, gentle, funny, supportive of me, and most of all he loves me. He is everything I could possibly want in a man — something you wouldn’t know anything about. I really don’t know why I am having this conversation with you.”

“You know perfectly well why Claire. You called me here to fuel your insecurities, your inadequacies. I am a figment of your imagination, your dreams. You only have yourself to blame.”

“You know you’re right.  I did call you here. It’s to tell you I am no longer the frightened, insecure girl you knew. You can no longer intimidate me or make me feel inadequate. I have grown emotionally, and I found my self-confidence  — no thanks to you.  I am happy and in love. Yes, I am in love with Jamie. So, why don’t you just bugger off? Oh, and do us both a favor, don’t come back.”

“I’ll be back Claire when you call me again.” The fetch faded into the gray mist of her dream-world.

*************

It was late morning and the sky became a dazzling azure blue, vast and limitless. The sunlight reflected off the whiteness of the snow giving it an even greater brilliance.  As the sun climbed higher, the reflection from the golden beams struck the sleeping lovers rousing them from the land of Nod.

Jamie woke first, finding Claire snuggled in his arms, head still pressed against his chest. He lowered his lips and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Her eyes blinked, as she slowly moved toward wakefulness.

“Good morning mo chridhe, did ye sleep well?”

“Yes, yes I did. And you? Did you sleep well?”

Claire hated lying to Jamie, but she was loath to start the day talking about her disturbing dream.  She would tell him everything...later.

“Aye, I did. Better than I have in a long time.”

Jamie bent forward and kissed the tip of Claire’s nose, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

“Are ye hungry a leannan?”  

“Yes, famished. Aren’t you?” Claire looked up into his fathomless blue eyes.

“Aye, but what I’m hungry for is no’ on the menu.”

“I thought you would have had your fill of me last night.”

“Nah, never mo ghràdh.”

Jamie ran his fingers down the side of her cheek and along the sensitive skin of her neck. Claire shivered under his touch.  In return, her hand went to the nape of his neck and at feeling the soft curls, brought his head down to her mouth. His lips were soft and warm. She melted into his kiss; her heart fluttering in her chest.

“I could get used to waking up like this every morning,” Jamie said his bright blue eyes twinkling.

“So could I,” Claire whispered as she stroked the rough plush of his morning stubble.

His large hands caressed her back up and down before settling on her arse giving it a good squeeze.  

Claire squeaked.

“Ye ken, Beauchamp, it was torture watching ye walk away from me in yer scrubs.  I’d see yer sweet fat arse swaying seductively as ye walked down the corridor. It took all my self-control not to throw ye over my shoulder, carry ye off, and have my way with ye on the spot,” he grinned.

Claire looked up at him offended,

“My arse is not fat, Fraser! I prefer to think of it as Rubenesque. More voluptuous, than fat.”

“Call it what ye will. ‘Tis fat. Just how I like it.”

With that, Jamie gave said arse a loving swat and got out of bed.  He stood naked by the side of the bed stretching luxuriously. Claire did enjoy watching Jamie move. His movements graceful, belying the strength and power his body possessed. Bending down, he retrieved his robe and put it on.

“Why don’t ye take a bath while I order up some breakfast for us?”

“Alright, that sounds like a good idea.”

Claire slipped out of bed while Jamie held open her robe wrapping her snugly in it.

Claire walked to the bathroom, ran the water for the bath adding a bath oil and bubble bath called Romance to the water. The bubbles blossomed up like white fragrant clouds filling the air with the scent of roses, sage, orange, and rosemary as they dispersed. Claire entered the tub, slid down until she was covered in the sweetly scented foam to her shoulders.  

“Ahh.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes, enjoying the absolute bliss of relaxing in the water. The door opened and Jamie stepped in carrying two champagne flutes, the champagne, and the strawberries.

“Mind if I join ye, lass?”

“No, not at all.  There is plenty of room,” Claire looked up at him smiling.

Taking his phone from his robe pocket, Jamie put on some soft instrumental music, popped the cork on the champagne, poured the glasses, and placed a strawberry in each. Dimming the lights just a little, he removed the robe and joined Claire in the tub. Jamie moved with a natural elegance for such a large man, nimbly descending into the water without causing a wave or a ripple allowing them to face each other.

“Do ye no’ feel a wee bit decadent, mo chridhe? I’ve never done such a thing as this.”

He closed his eyes leaned back so only his head could be seen above the mass of bubbles and let out a contented sigh.

Claire giggled at the sight of him up to his neck in bubbles.

Jamie grinned and reached along the edge of the tub finding the champagne flutes and handed one to Claire.

“What should we toast to?” Jamie paused contemplating. “Ah, I have one. Here’s to a lady of grace, a woman of strength, a lass of astonishing beauty, and the woman that has captured my heart, Claire Beauchamp.”

Whether from the heat of the water, the nearness of Jamie, the effusive compliment, or all three, Claire’s face flushed.

Touching their flutes together, they sipped the champagne. When Jamie finished he retrieved the strawberry from his glass bit the bottom, causing the juice to flow freely.  Jamie ran the berry seeping its sweet-tart fluid over Claire’s generous lips, painting them a ruby red. He pressed the fruit to her lips teasing them apart with Claire accepted his gift.  She slowly chewed it all while her sultry amber eyes focused on him. A few drops of sweet liquid trickled out of Claire’s mouth settling onto her lips. Jamie leaned forward, eyes riveted on her mouth. His tongue swirled over her lips licking the nectar from them savoring the taste of the strawberry and her.  Her lips stained red were plump, sweet, and begging him to claim them.

“I would very much like to kiss you, Claire,” his eyes never wavering from her.

“I would like that very much,” Claire replied breathlessly.

Their lips met. His were soft, warm, with a hint of champagne. Hers were supple and sweet with a lingering taste of berry. Jamie's tongue quested across her lips seeking entry which Claire gave gladly. Their tongues met in a sweet caress, touching, stroking sending sparks and shivers through each of them. They broke apart resting forehead to forehead absorbing each other in through their breath.

“Turn around, I’ll wash yer back.”

Claire did as Jamie requested settling between his legs. Knees bent, Claire, rested her forehead on her thighs providing ample access to her back.

Jamie reached for the bath sponge. Soft and silky, he filled it with water adding the sweet-scented soap to create a rich creamy froth. He slowly began to massage Claire’s back, moving in circles working the foam into her skin. He lifted each arm, stroking up and down from shoulders to fingertips. Claire’s head rolled back falling against Jaime’s chest.

“Hmm, that feels so nice, Jamie.”

“Ye like it, a nighean? Why dinna ye rest yer back against my chest too?”

Claire willingly complied. Once more, Jamie loaded the sponge letting the soapy water trickle over her chest, between her breasts, and over her nipples. Slowly, unhurriedly, he brought the sponge down tracing a path down toward her belly. Claire made small mewling sounds deep in her throat.

“Move yer legs apart, lass. ”

The silkiness of the sponge contrasted with the pressure Jamie applied to her apex.  Claire began to shift and writhe in time to Jamie’s movements. Her mouth opened breath becoming shallow. She began to whimper. Claire placed her hand over Jamie’s adding to the already delicious sensation he was creating. Her lips moved not making a sound. A curse perhaps, or was it a prayer in supplication?

“Ye like this, lass?”

Jamie’s arousal grew, the need for her surging.  

“Yes.”

Claire began to squirm, twisting her body. She needed his mouth, needing to feel it against hers. She leaned in, their lips meeting giving him a soul-searing kiss, igniting a blaze of passion that threatened to devour them both

Jamie rose up with the water streaming off his chiseled body. He looked like Poseidon rising from the depths of the ocean.

“Mo ghràdh, I must have ye or die!”

Claire raised her arms up to him.

“Then have me.”

Jamie lifted Claire from the bath. She would be his Venus, nascent from the sea.  Her arms were wrapped securely around his neck; her face buried in his chest. His strength supported her, cradling her against him. In two strides, he moved from the tub to the vanity countertop. While one arm supported Claire, the other swept the counter top clearing it of bottles, tubes, jars, and soaps sending them flying across the room. He had no care for the shamble he was creating, no attention to spend on it. His breathing was rapid and eyes now dark with lust. He placed Claire on the cool marble countertop nudging her legs apart. Jamie came closer settling between them. He needed to touch her. He ran his hand down the valley between her breasts, across her belly, and resting on her hip.

Ah Dhia, her skin is so smooth, so soft. It shimmers like a pearl newly pulled from the sea.

His hand dropped between her thighs wanting, needing to touch her. The tender flesh of her thighs opening wider inviting his fingers to roam over the satiny skin.

“Kiss me, Jamie.”

Jamie licked his lips, leaned in claiming her mouth.

Surrendering to the driving force of his kiss left her breathless, and wanting. An aching tension grew between them igniting the flames of their lust.

Jamie spied the mirror behind Claire. Dripping with condensation, he swiped at it clearing the steam obstructing his view of them. He could watch; he could see what he was doing to her.  He didn’t think he could get any harder but the thought of watching made his cock so hard he didn’t think he could feel it anymore.

Leaning back on her arms, Claire spread herself wide in invitation. Jamie took his cock in hand and began to rub it against her sensitive tissue, making her moan.  He placed himself at her entrance and in one swift motion slid home.

Claire gasped at the sudden intrusion into her body.

“God! Jamie!”

“Lie back a nighean. I want to love ye thoroughly.”

Claire complied. Taking her legs he placed them upon his shoulders. His thumb moved to the center of her arousal, stroking building sensations of molten waves of pleasure through her. Joining to her in their heated flesh, he moved sliding in and out of her, watching himself.

“Look in the mirror as I take ye. See how I love ye.”

Claire craned her head, looking into the mirror she saw the ecstasy and agony of pleasure and passion across Jamie’s face. Struggling to find purchase, her nails grasped vainly at the slick marble countertop.

“Help me up, Jamie! I want to see us.”

A large strong hand supported her back allowing her to sit up; the other pushed her head down. Legs widely spread Claire could see him take her, watching him thrust into her, possess her. They became one.

It became more than she could endure. This was the most erotic thing she had ever done, becoming both participant and spectator.  Moaning loudly, her hips began to gyrate wildly. She could hear the thrum of her blood as it coursed through her body. She could no longer focus her arousal was complete.  There was only pure sensation, pure pleasure.

“Jamie! I can’t...I...I… Oh, God Jamie!”

Claire’s nails raked down Jamie’s chest leaving angry red marks in their wake.  She felt herself flood around him. Her climax shattering. Her Scot was not far behind.

“Claire! Oh, God! Claire!,”

Jamie shuddered spilling himself into her. He leaned forward biting her at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He trembled in the aftermath of their love. They clung to each other as they descended from the throes of their passion.

Jamie looked at Claire somewhat abashed. Helping her down from the countertop, he dampened a face cloth and offered it to her.

“Claire, I never...that is, I didn’t mean... Oh, Christ!”

Face flaming, he grabbed his robe and left the room; leaving Claire puzzled.

Have I done something wrong?

Claire straightened up the room, picking up the bits and pieces that had been unceremoniously thrown onto the floor.  Putting on her robe, she arranged herself into some semblance of order and walked out into the room.

Jamie was standing with his hands in his pockets staring out the large window onto the street below.

Boston was trying to dig itself out. Sanitation trucks with large plows attempted to make the streets passable again.  Merchants with shovels and snowblowers cleared their walkways from the mounds of snow. People slipped and slid on the sidewalk while others endeavored to walk around the piles of drifting snow with varying degrees of success.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Jamie saw none of it.

How could I treat her like this? What is wrong with me to use her in such a way? She must think me a beast or an animal.  I don’t deserve her.

Disgusted with himself, Jamie hung his head in shame and embarrassment, unable to face Claire. So deeply lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear her enter the room.

“Jamie are you alright? Please tell me what’s wrong. Was it me? Was it not good? I’m sorry.”

Claire bit her lip nervously. Frank had always made her feel inadequate in bed. She did not want to disappoint Jamie. She couldn’t bear it.

Jamie turned to look at her with eyes wide in disbelief. His voice soft, halting,

“Claire, what are ye talking about? Ye did nothing wrong, lass. It was me.”

His shoulders slumped and he had difficulty maintaining eye contact.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to ye for my behavior. Or lack of it.”

He continued gazing at a place in the distance that only he could see.

“I dinna want ye to think, I mean I dinna want ye to feel that I only want ye for…”

Jamie waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the bed.

“Jamie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You did nothing wrong. Why should you apologize to me?”

“Claire, my Da taught me that women were to be respected, revered especially ah, in sex. He said that when ye love a woman, ye should pay tribute to her body as it is her right. I dishonored ye, lass. What I did was selfish. I have no claim on ye. I am no’ yer husband. I did not consider ye. And for that I must beg yer pardon.

Jamie began to pace about the room, restless running his hands through his hair.  He turned facing Claire, “Christ do ye no’ ken how much I love ye?  Ye are the air that I breathe, the blood of my heart. Without ye, I am naught but an empty shell. Your face is my heart mo ghràdh and the love of you is my soul.

“Ye see I want this, want us to be more. I want something we can build on, grow with. No’ just some magnificent weekend and then we part. That’s not good enough, Claire. Not for me and certainly not for ye.  Ye deserve better.”

Jamie was stiff and rigid, fighting to control his emotions. He did not want to lose Claire because of one foolish mistake.

Claire was touched by his concern for her and her feelings. She walked around to face him, cupping his face in to get him to meet her eye.  Jamie resisted.

“Look at me, please. You did nothing wrong. I wanted you to.”

Claire spoke softly and tenderly.

“You make me feel beautiful, sexy, desirable, loved, wanted, safe. How can these things be wrong?”

Jamie turned looking at her, a single tear running down his face.

“Do ye mean it, Claire? That’s how I make ye feel?”

Claire thumbed away the tear. Standing on tiptoes she leaned in and sweetly kissed him on the lips.

“Yes, and so much more. I love you, Jamie Fraser.”

Jamie sniffed, a crooked smile on his face

“And I you.”

He wrapped his arms around her pulling her close.

“Well, now that is all out of the way let’s have some of this delicious breakfast that you ordered for us.”

“Oh, and Jamie,” Claire said mischievously, “the next time you want to do it in front of a mirror, just make sure I can see your sweet arse in action, aye?”

A devilish grin played across her face as she turned and walked away leaving Jamie standing with his mouth agape.

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

Eight years is a long time. Enough time to forget, move on, start anew... 

Except that sometimes it isn’t.

This story is inspired by my favourite Jane Austen novel ‘Persuasion’. Its a bit of a slow burn with a bit of angst and bit of fluff.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and thanks to @happytoobservenolongerdistant for the encouragement.

So, very nervously posting- hope you enjoy x

1. And So It Goes

So I would choose to be with you.

That’s if the choice were mine to make.

But you can make decisions too,

and you can have this heart to break

Billy Joel

Eight years ago

“Claire, love, please remember, I am no’ walking away from ye.”

“Well, that's what it feels like.”

“I have tae go, ye ken that. It’s ma family’s survival, it’s the future of Lallybroch. This contract we have wi’ the breeding stables in Kentucky, I have tae do it…  I have tae go. But I'm askin’ ye tae come with me.”

“You’re asking me to give up the dream I’ve had since I was a little girl, to be a doctor, a surgeon.”

“There must be hospitals in Kentucky where ye can continue that dream, wi’ me.”

“But none with the reputation that Glasgow has. It’s pioneering work here, and Dr. Hildegard says…”

“So it’s Dr. Hildegard as has persuaded ye on this then. She should keep her mouth shut and let ye decide for yourself.”

“I am deciding for myself. Can’t I stay here and we try to make it work long distance?”

“That’s no’ goin’ tae work and ye ken that. Ye work all the hours ye can. How often would ye be able tae visit me? If I visited ye, how much time would ye spend away from the hospital? Nah, Claire, I want ye tae come wi’ me… us together.”

“Jamie, I want us together too, but I want my dream as well, Dr. Hildegard says it’s my calling. Don’t make me choose, please.”

“Aye, weel, I reckon ye’ve already chosen. It’s funny ye want tae be a cardiologist, fixin’ people’s hearts, because Claire, I tell ye, ye’ve just broken mine.”

*************

Present Day

“Uncle Lamb, Uncle Lamb?” Claire dropped her car keys in the bowl on the hall table and shrugged off her coat. “Are you in?”

She walked down the hallway, the sound of her heels on the chequered floor tiles echoing in the silence. Quickly scanning each room as she passed by, she continued a one-sided conversation with her unusually silent uncle. “Has the post been today? Where is it? Did my copy of The Lancet arrive?”

Finally arriving at the door to her Uncle’s study, she knocked gently before entering. The scene that greeted her was familiar, unchanged since she was a child. The large, dark, wooden desk was strewn with a forest’s worth of paper, fixed in place by a haphazard assortment of stones, belt buckles and ancient bowls, and lit by a single desk light. The old leather chair turned away from the desk to face the window overlooking the back garden.

A garden of this size was a rarity in the suburbs of Glasgow, and Claire had to admit, was sorely in need of some tender, loving care -- Claire being short on time and Lamb short on inclination. But she had always loved the view from this window, as had her uncle.

One of her first memories, following the deaths of her parents, was quietly creeping into this study, desperately looking for assurance that her uncle was there, yet trying not to disturb him. Her ninja skills being unrefined at age five, Lamb had heard her and immediately swept her into his arms, settling her in his lap as he sat and turned the chair to face the window.

“See there, Claire,” he had whispered to her. “Over there, that’s where we’ll put a swing, if you’d like. I want you to be happy here. This is your home, too.”

The swing, much used, was still there, now rusted and wobbly with weeds breaking through the wood-chip ground cover beneath.

The desk seemed more untidy than usual, a layer of envelopes and official looking letters covering its surface. Uncle Lamb was sitting facing the window. He swung back to face Claire.

“Hello, Uncle. Have you got my copy of The Lancet? There’s an interesting article on a non-surgical approach to mesenteric vascular disease…”

Claire looked at him and stopped. His eyes were red rimmed and watery. “Lamb, what is it?”

She rushed round the desk and crouched beside him. “Are you ok?”

He pointed at the papers on his desk and sighed. “The bank, the credit card companies…”

Claire focused on the collection of letters in front of her, statements and demands from an assortment of financial institutions, some of them dated months ago.

“Uncle, what are these? I don’t understand. Why haven’t you talked to me about these before?”

Lamb cast his eyes down to his hands, fingers nervously worrying his cuticles. “I don’t know… I thought I could sort it out… that you’d never need to know. But the bills just kept coming, and the amounts kept getting bigger. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I should have been able to cope. But now, I’m worried… I don’t know how to get out of this.”

Claire was silent for a moment, doing some rough mental calculations. It seemed to add up to quite a sizeable amount, certainly more than was evidenced by her uncle’s usual lifestyle. She didn’t want to embarrass him more than he obviously was, but she needed to understand.

“Uncle, how did this happen? I’m sorry, but that’s a fair amount of money to have spent so quickly.”

“The field trip last summer, that six week dig in Turkey. That’s where it started.”

“But I thought those expenses were covered by the university. Not funded out of your own pocket?”

“Well, you know the universities at the moment, cutting back on everything nonessential. Apparently research into cairn burials around the Black Sea is not relevant enough for today’s modern universities. The funding they gave me was a pittance… practically an insult.” Lamb spoke bitterly. “How can learning about what has made us who we are not be relevant? What did I always tell you, Claire?”

“A people who do not know their history are fated to repeat it.” Claire answered automatically, years of visiting historical sites with her uncle had drilled this into her brain.

“Exactly! You understand, Claire. And there is more to be done over there, that trip just set the groundwork. I’m sure that…” Lamb’s eyes brightened at the thought of future archaeological digs.

One of her Uncle’s many endearing qualities had always been an otherworldliness that focussed his mind on the significance of the past at the expense of the trivia of his present. Claire had never minded having to shoulder the responsibilities for their ‘trivial present’, leaving Lamb free to explore the ‘significant past’. Even now, part of her longed to be able to take this financial predicament away from him, leaving him to dream and plan for his next expedition.

But, she had to be practical. Lamb had to set aside any thoughts of future trips until this financial problem in his trivial present had been dealt with. And Claire thought she had just the solution.

“Uncle, no, please.” Claire interrupted. “I’m sorry but you can’t be thinking about that at the moment. We have to sort this out. You are going to have to sell this house.”

Lamb was immediately jolted from dreams of the past back to the present. He stared at Claire, aghast at this suggestion. “Sell the house? I couldn’t do that! This is our home.”

Claire cleared her throat and paused for a second before she spoke again. Her medical training had taught her to view objectively, taking all emotion out of her surgical procedures. And surely that’s what this is, she told herself, another surgical intervention -- quick, clean strokes to sever the bonds and leave everything repaired good as new.

“Lamb, you know as well as I do, this house is too big for us. We’re rattling around in here, and half the rooms we never even go in. How many people still live in great big Edwardian villas like this? You only have to look down this road, most of these houses are converted into flats. I’m sure a property developer would give us a good price and you could get something smaller. And it’s high time I got my own place. A flat close to work would be great.”

“Claire, I can’t sell this place. It’s where you grew up. It’s what I want to pass on to you, your inheritance. No, I won’t do it. There must be another way.”

*************

Claire settled herself in the battered chair reserved for visitors to the office and waited for Mrs. Fitzgibbons to return with the promised cup of tea. Glenna Fitzgibbons (widely known as ‘Mrs. Fitz’), had been her Uncle’s secretary at the university for many years and knew him better than anyone apart from Claire herself. Claire hoped that she might be able to use her considerable influence to persuade Lamb to sell the house.

Mrs. Fitz bustled into the office with a tray filled with what seemed to be a full afternoon tea. Settling behind her desk, she poured two cups of tea from her favourite novelty thatched cottage teapot, added milk from the matching jug and passed a cup  to Claire, along with a scone liberally spread with butter and jam.

“I canna bide the notion of jes’ dippin’ a teabag in a mug of hot water, ye ken. A cup of tea, properly brewed, mind, can fix anything. So, pet, tell me, how are ye? And what’s mitherin’ ye? I ken there’s something goin’ on.”

Claire sipped her tea. “Oh, Mrs. Fitz, I’m so worried. Has my uncle spoken to you about his current financial situation?”

“No, that he hasna, but from the look on yer face, I’m guessin’ that’s what’s on yer mind. Talk tae me, how can I help?”

“Well, he’s been hiding it from me, but that last trip he did to Turkey, he practically had to fund it himself and it’s wiped him out financially. He owes so much now, the only way I can see out of it is to sell the house, but he refuses. I was hoping maybe you could talk to him, change his mind?”

Just the act of talking to Mrs. Fitz made Claire feel a bit better. She couldn’t remember how many times growing up she had sat in this office while Mrs. Fitz had shared pots of tea, advice and great big all-enveloping hugs. There was a time, in her teens, when Claire had asked her advice on everything, looking for a female, almost motherly view that Lamb, much as he loved her, was unable to provide.

Once into her twenties, although their bond remained strong, the need for this advice waned. Although, Claire sometimes wondered how different her life would be had she sought out Mrs. Fitz eight years ago rather than relying on another’s counsel.

Claire passed over a piece of paper with her rough calculations on it. Mrs. Fitz studied it intently.

“I’m thinkin’ there may be a way round this. How about if we could convince Lamb he didna have tae sell, but could rent the house out for a couple of years and then use that money tae pay off what he owes. The university has some accommodation for faculty members at a peppercorn rent but what about ye? Where would that leave ye?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve been thinking for a while, it’s time I got a place on my own. This is just forcing me to make the move.”

Claire took the paper back and folded it before placing it carefully in her handbag. “I know the funding from the university wasn’t great, but this amount looks really high…  I don’t know, has anything changed?”

Mrs. Fitz pursed her lips and remained silent for a moment before responding. “Aye… Malva… his latest grad student. She went on that trip with him.”

Claire was taken aback. “No… surely not… you don’t think…”

“Och, nay, I dinna mean that. But she was determined tae go on that trip wi’ him, and somehow convinced him. And the equipment… for years yer uncle hasna changed his equipment, now, suddenly nothing but the best state of the art imagin’ equipment will do. And a drone, he’s bought a drone. Now I’m no’ one tae point the finger, but all this started when she began tae work wi’ him. Mark ma words, she’s tryin’ tae make a name fer herself here at the university… and at yer Uncle’s expense”

And with that, Mrs. Fitz sat back and furiously began to munch her scone.

[distant-rose]

I just read the last chapter of Once and a Future Thing and it was amazing! I was wondering if you could maybe tell us or write about Beth's adjustment to the world and the rest of her family's reactions? Thanks so much for your awesome writing! I always love when you update Little Pirates and I always enjoy your other stories!

Notes: Okay, I owe you the biggest apology. This has literally been in my inbox for half a year? I honestly don’t remember when this entered my inbox but I know it was a long time, so long that whoever sent this probably forgot all about it. I wouldn’t be surprised. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for how long this fucking took. I was inspired to work on the Jim and Beth reunion by @clockadile and I knew that I couldn’t work on it or post something new OAFT-related without doing this. Now, I don’t really have Beth adjusting to life in Storybrooke, so much as her family’s reactions to her return, namely Harrison’s because he is legitimately the sanest and most well-adjusted member of the Jones family, and I say that objectively. He is. So, I felt his POV might be best for this chapter or coda or whatever. Anyway, a special thanks to @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl for allowing me to spam them with this nonsense. I hope you enjoy it. There’s a bit of Arabic in it, but it’s translated at the bottom.Summary: Beth’s quest for vengeance against her boyfriend’s killer goes a bit haywire when she and her former best friend Jim Hawkins are sent into thirty years into the past. Now, they must figure out how to find a way back to the future without wrecking the first meeting between Beth’s parents, Emma Swan and Killian Jones. Rating: T+Chapters:  One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue | Coda IWord Count: 4,300+

–

The large clock on the wall said 6:30am and years ago that would have meant that it was way too early for him to be up, but Harrison Jones didn’t sleep anymore. Time had simply muddled together and all that mattered was that he got at least one cup of coffee on the hour or his brain was going to ooze out of his ears. He wasn’t quite what he was going to die from first – his heart exploding or exhaustion.

His fingers tap impatiently against the kitchen counter as he stared down the ancient machine gurgling to life. He never liked coffee, in fact he hated the very taste of it, but it become so integral to his daily functions that he no longer gagged at the bitter taste.

Feeling agitated, he began rummaging sluggishly through the cabinets in search of the sugar. When he found the container in the back of the spice shelf completely empty, he threw it against the wall while muttering dark curses under his breath. He knew exactly who was behind this crime against humanity. No one had a bigger sweet tooth than Wes and he had a tendency of finishing off products without replacing them.

He hoped his younger brother’s wifi wasn’t working this morning. The asshole deserved it.

Bitter and disappointed, he put as much cream into his coffee as he could. Taking a seat at the breakfast table, he picked up his kindle and began reading the last few chapters of his Ken Follet novel. The house was quiet at the moment and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. As long as he had been alive, the Swan-Jones house had been one prone to chaos and any lull of silence was worth its weight in gold.

“Holy Christ, Harrison, you still live here? At twenty-seven? Jesus.”

The coffee mug slipped from his fingers, missing the table by a fraction of a hair and falling to the floor with a loud crash. Pieces of ceramic glass shattered as they made contact with the hard tile, scattering everywhere.

Harrison barely registered it.

He was too busy staring at a ghost.

She looked so much older and impossibly thinner than the last time he saw her, but there was no mistaking the green of those eyes and that riot mess of untamed dark hair. His sister, whom he hadn’t seen in three years, was standing in the doorway in a probably the most dramatic pirate gear that he had ever seen.

“خرة,” he breathed out in disbelief.

“What did you just swear at me?”

“In Arabic, yes,” he responded faintly.

“I’ve never been prouder of you,” she laughed merrily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. He continued to gape at her, unable to process what exactly was happening.

“I swear. Always have. I’m not a saint, despite what you all think.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father move past his sister as if everything was normal and ordinary. Without even commenting on the broken mug at Harrison’s feet, Killian Jones made a beeline for the coffee machine and made himself a cup. He offered no comment on the fact his long-lost daughter was standing in his kitchen.

“Are you going to just gawk at me like an idiot or are you going to say something?” His sister asked somewhat impatiently, crossing her arms in front of her chest and arching her eyebrow at him mockingly.

“You’re alive?”

“Did you think I was dead?” She snorted in amusement at the question, but Harrison didn’t find anything about this to be funny.

“Well, yes.”

“Well, considering I’m standing right in front of you. I can assure you, I’m alive.”

“Considering how sleep deprived I am, I was convinced you were a hallucination.”

She scoffed at him, stepping forward. She rose up on the tips of her toes and poked him between the eyebrows like she used to do back when they were kids; back when she was trying to get his attention away from his guitar. It was annoying then and Harrison found it even more annoying now.

“I can’t believe you thought I was dead. I’m insulted.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from you in three fucking years, Beth. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“That’s…fair…I guess,” she replied. She took a step backwards, shifting on her feet uncomfortably. The move reminded him of when they were younger. She always did that whenever she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Simpler times.

Her eyes shifted back towards their father who was still leaning across the cabinets, watching them both with tired eyes. She seemed to be silently pleading with him.

“Don’t look at me,” he said to her as he took a sip of his coffee. “This is your hole to dig out of, not mine.”

“Thanks Dad,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“No problem, minnow. I told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Yeah, you got that right.”

“Well, honestly, Beth, what did you expect?” Harrison replied, raising to his height and crossing his arms in front of his chest, anger fueling him faster than caffeine could ever have. “I hate to be repetitive, but it can’t be ignored. It’s been three years. Three fucking years. No phone call. No note. No nothing. You just vanished. As if it was nothing. As if we were nothing.”

“I understand why you’re mad. Look, I get it —"

“No, Beth. You don’t get it,” he interrupted, nostrils flaring in anger.

She flinched at his words, but he having a hard time feeling sympathetic. Her disappearance had nearly torn them all apart. He still remembered the sound of their mother crying in the back room of the police station, the amount of times he had to walk their father back to the house because he had drunk himself into a stupor on the docks waiting for her to come back and how they had put Ned through counseling because he thought it was all his fault. He could see Wes in his mind’s eye running himself ragged trying to find the right locator spell and how he had torn through her room trying to find a single strand of hair to use.  He could still recall the nights of he stared blankly at sheets of paper, unable to write music because his mind kept drifting back to her and the maelstrom of emotion she had left inside of him. His knuckles were still scarred for the times he had tried to beat his self-loathing and anger into a punching bag until it broke, and sand spilt onto the floor of his basement. She owed him at least seven bags.

“You don’t get it,” he repeated. “And you don’t get to say that because you weren’t here and that isn’t okay. This entire family almost crumbled when you left. Ned almost failed out his senior year and almost didn’t get into college.”

“Ned’s in college?” She whispered in disbelief.

“Yeah. He’s in his second year and if you were here, you would have known that!”

“That’s not fair, Har.”

“No. What’s not fair is that we’re still picking up the pieces that you left behind and now you think that can be just swept under the rug.”

“Harrison.” Their father straightened himself up, giving him a warning look. “Enough.”

“Are you kidding me right now? I know she’s your favorite but this is ridiculous! She broke our hearts! She broke your heart, Dad!  You drank yourself into the bottom of a bottle waiting for her to come back! You’re just going to let bygones be bygones?”

“I don’t have favorites, Har.”

“Bullshit. Look me in the eye and tell me if I pulled the fucking nonsense she did that you wouldn’t punch me in the face if I dare showed my face afterwards.”

A muscle in Killian’s jaw ticked and there was a dangerous look in his eyes, but Harrison stopped being scared of his father the minute he was taller than him.

“Don’t go putting words into my mouth, lad. I never said any of that. There is a time to address things. And that time isn’t now. Right now, let’s focus on the fact that your sister is home.”

Harrison worried at his jaw, glaring at him. He took three steps forward, away from his sister and crowded into his father’s personal space. Any other man would have shrunken away from a fight with a man of Harrison’s stature, but not Killian Jones. He met his son’s gaze with his own furious blue eyes, straightening his shoulders and refusing to backdown. For a brief moment, Harrison thought his father might actually punch him.

“Good morning everyone.”

The tension in the room was immediately cut by the appearance of Nasira. She gave them all a tired smile as she walked into the kitchen, their three-month old son cradled in her arms. Harrison immediately turned his back on his father and ignored the choked noises Beth was making in the background. His focus was on the love of his life and his infant son.

“هلتتصرفبنفسك?” She asked him, raising her eyebrows at him as she rose up on her toes to kiss his chin. He was making an effort not to be insulted by her insinuations about his behavior.

“دائما.”

She gave him a look like she didn’t quite believe his reassurances but didn’t say anything to him as she adjusted her hold on their son and turning to address his sister.

“Hey Beth. It’s been awhile. When did you get in?”

All three Joneses jolted at Nas’s nonchalance. Her tone held no underlaying sarcasm or anger. It was a friendly, casual remark, as if she were talking to someone that she had seen almost every day of her life. Killian nearly spat out his coffee while Beth stared at her, clearly shaken by the question.

“She got in this morning,” Harrison answered tersely, scowling still.

“توقف,” Nas responded, striking Harrison across the abdomen in reproach. She then turned her attention back to Beth and smiled at her. “Your brother can be an ass.”

“I’m well aware,” Beth managed to croak out, still looking a bit uneasy. “You’re too good for him.”

“Absolutely not. I can be an ass too. We’re just the perfect amount of ass for each other,” Nas responded with a laugh. “But how have you been?”

“Busy. But you seem to have been busy as well…” She gestured to the child in Nas’s arms.

“Yeah, yeah, I definitely have,” Nas beamed. “Between him and his brother, I’ve been very busy.”

“B-brother?” Beth’s eyes went wide. “You have more than one?”

“Yep! I had Sam nearly three years ago. He was a bit of a surprise, but we loved him so much that we decided to have another. We’ve had Kam for three months now and he seems pretty good, so I think we’re gonna keep him.”

“You have babies.” Beth looked like she was one second away from having a panic attack.

“Yep!” Nas responded brightly, deliberately ignoring his sister’s obvious discomfort. “They’re great. I would ten out of ten recommend.”

“I don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”

“Nas, my love, my jewel,” Harrison spoke up, giving Nas a tight smile. “I’m so glad you’re happy and proud of our children, but I feel the need to point out to everyone, because clearly seems you’ve all forgotten, but Beth has been out of our lives for three years. She left us. For three years. Without a word.”

“Harrison, my love, my sweet, gentle, understanding man,” she responded, giving him the same time smile and now speaking a sugary tone that belayed a message that was more steely than sweet. “I’m so glad that you’re happy for my happiness, but I feel the need to remind you that this is Storybrooke. We deal with all sorts of things from time-traveling witches, cursed gems, megalomaniacs and not to mention brothers who try to pull political coups to try and steal your kingdom. This family drama? It’s honestly just a blimp on the radar. We’re getting married. Your sister is going to be in the wedding party. I’m not having the groom feuding with his sister.”

“You guys seriously aren’t married yet?” Beth asked in disbelief.

“No,” they answered at the same time, Harrison sounding angry while Nas was wistful.

Beth immediately turned to their father. Killian merely shrugged his shoulders at her and sipped his coffee.

“I don’t know why you keep looking at me for answers. You’re all adults. I have no control over your decisions.“

“We just haven’t found the right time,” Nas replied, giving a placating smile.

It was then that Kam started crying and Nas began making shushing noises, bouncing him up and down in hopes of calming him. Harrison envied his infant son’s ability to be so free with how he felt. He wanted to scream too.

Harrison opened his mouth to make a comment but was stopped when the front door opened loudly, and a very familiar voice called out.

“Good morning Vietnam!” Wes shouted merrily, making his way towards the kitchen. Harrison winced at the volume, afraid that his brother was going to wake his still sleeping three-year old and their mother.

Wes seemed to be in good cheer, chuckling to himself as he swaggered in. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and the tightest pair of pants that Harrison had ever seen. The smell of cigarettes immediately filled the kitchen and it was quite clear that he had come to the house straight from closing up the bar.

The smirk died the second Wes’s eyes land on their sister. For a brief moment, the entire room was silent, save for the tail end of Kam’s whimpering. No one spoke as Wes stared at Beth. Their eyes met for exactly five seconds. Harrison counted them.

“Nope,” Wes said quietly, shaking his head and turning on his heel.

“Wes!” Beth shouted, stepping forward to run after him.

He stopped at the sound of her voice. He turned again to face them, his face pinched with concern. He tilted his head and took a tentative step towards her.

“Guys,” he said slowly, still staring at their sister. “Don’t get mad at me, but I think I might be a little high from getting hotboxed all night at the Hole…because I’m legit seeing Beth right now and there’s no way that could possibly be happening right now.”

Beth scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.

“Good to see you haven’t changed a bit.”

“She’s snarking me right now. Fake Beth is snarking me, guys.”

“Fake Beth is Real Beth and she’s five seconds from punching you in the face.”

“And now, she’s threatening me!”

“We know,” Nas snorted. “She’s real and we can hear her and so help me, Westley Jones, if you’re high around my children, I will castrate you with a rusty spoon.”

“Oh,” Wes blinked dumbly before turning to look at their father. “Dad, I’m going to need your flask, because…damn.”

“Sorry, it’s empty,” Killian responded, not looking up from his coffee. It was very clear to everyone in the room that he was lying.

“Okay,” Wes responded, drawing a shaky breath before heading towards the sink. "This calls for drastic measures.”

He bent down and took out the emergency bottle of rum that they kept behind the dog treats. He uncorked it and placed it down on the counter before grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack. He contemplated it for about three seconds before placing the glass back down and deciding to drink straight from the bottle. He took a long drag from it before turning to address them.

“Okay, good,” he said, smacking his lips. “Good. Now I can deal with this.”

“Are you going to share that?” Beth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely not. You owe me at least ten years of alcohol.”

“I was gone for only three!”

“Yeah, three years plus the seven extra years I’m going to spend talking about this in therapy. Welcome home, sis.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So are you,” he replied, taking another sip. “It runs in the family.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’re taking this so casually?” Harrison snapped, feeling irritated.

“Well, to be honest, I’m still not convinced I’m not hallucinating right now and it seems kinda silly to argue with a hallucination.”

“Trust me, I thought she was a hallucination too, but I got past that pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, well, you’re more well adjusted than me. I’m a little mad at my subconscious right. I mean, seriously? My sister? Why couldn’t my hallucinations be more hot? Kate Hudson? Sienna Miller? Giselle? Something I could actually enjoy seeing?”

Beth moved forward and hit Wes across the shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain, massaging his shoulder and glaring at her.

“See? Not a hallucination.”

“God, I forgot how vicious you are.”

“You’ve gotten soft without me.”

“Well, it’s not like I have any good sparing partners. The last time Harrison and I fought, he picked me up and tossed me over the fence like I was Benny Booth.”

“Benny Booth?” Nas asked, frowning in confusion.

“The asshole who nearly knocked up our sister. Harrison threw him over a fence, except he didn’t quite clear it and Moe French had a fence with an ass shaped cut out for like three weeks,” Wes explained with a quirk of his lips.

“He didn’t nearly knock me up,” Beth scowled.

“Henry bought you a pregnancy test. He nearly knocked you up,” Wes volleyed back at her.

At that comment, their father spat out his coffee and began to cough profusely. Harrison gave him a healthy whack on the back.

“He did not!”

“He did!”

“He. Did. Not.”

“Yes. He. Did. Your eggo was almost preggo.”

“Ugh! Stop talking! To think I actually missed you!”

“You actually missed us? Wow, maybe you’re the one whose gone soft.”

“Beth?”

Their mother was standing halfway down the stairs, staring at her daughter the same way Harrison and Wes had previously – like she was looking at a ghost. Beth returned her gaze with one of her. This time she didn’t look self-assured, however. She looked on the verge of tears.

“M-mo-mom?”

“Beth? Is that you? Is that my daughter?”

Emma didn’t wait for an answer. She raced down the stairs, nearly tripping over the final step. The stumble seemed to wake something inside of Beth because she finally regained her senses and was scrambling past Wes to meet her. Their mother grabbed onto their sister’s arms and yanked her almost violently forward. Beth fell into her arms and a loud, almost inhuman sob sounded through the entire kitchen as the two embraced each other, rocking side-to-side in a forceful but erratic sway.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Beth’s voice was muffled by Emma’s shoulder, but Harrison could still hear her words as she kept repeating them like a broken record.

“You’re home” was their mother’s mantra. He could tell by the waver in her voice that Emma was also crying.

Harrison couldn’t stand it.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He couldn’t handle this any longer. If he stayed, he was going to break something. His father and Wes’s easy acceptance of Beth had been hard enough to swallow but seeing their mother tearful and happy to see the daughter that had abandoned them was just too much.

Nas seemed to sense this.

“هلانتبخير?” she asked, looking at him in concern.

“Can you give me the baby?” he asked in a barely measured tone. “I’m thinking he could use some air.”

Nas studied his face for a moment, frowning. He briefly thought she might not comply with his request, but she gave him a curt nod and handed over their son without a word. Kam was whimpered loudly, clearly unhappy with being given over to his father.

“Thank you,” he murmured, bending down to kiss her cheek before making his escape.

While everyone was focused on the reunion between mother and daughter, Harrison made his escape with his son in his arms. He went out the back door and leaned against the deck railing, staring out into the backyard at the old rusted swing set. It had been a long time since anyone had used those swings and he tried to think of the last time Lucy had used them.

It was equally surreal and frightening to think that his own children would soon be old enough to use them.

“Do me a favor, bud, and don’t grow up too fast,” he murmured to the infant.

Kam stared up at him crankily but waving his arm in displeasure and hitting him across the nose. Harrison jolted at the unexpected contact, rearing his head back away from his son. He adjusted his hold so he could massage his injured nose. He felt equal parts proud and embarrassed about getting whacked in the face by a mere infant. It was almost comical.

“You might have more Jones in you than we realized,“ he mused aloud, trying to appease his unhappy son.

“Which is a bit shocking considering he’s your kid and you’re a helluva lot more Charming than you are Jones,” a voice called out.

Beth.

She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest and looking at him with pensive expression.

“Aren’t you supposed to be chatting with Mom?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“You know when you do that, you look disturbingly like Dad. Like really disturbingly like Dad. I didn’t really see it when we were kids, but I can see what everyone was saying now. You look a lot like him.”

“So I’ve been told,” he responded, eyebrow lifting even higher on his forehead. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

“I am,” she nodded.

“You know, when people ask questions, they kinda expect a response.”

“Those people should get used to disappointment.”

“They already have.”

Beth flinched, staring down at her feet and biting her lip.

“Look, I know you hate me, but —”

“Beth, I don’t hate you,” he cut her off. “I honestly wish I did. Things would be easier then. If I hated you, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t have lost sleep worrying about you for the last three years. I wouldn’t have cried. I wouldn’t have let Nas stall the wedding for you.”

“Nas stalled the wedding? What!” She looked horrified.

“She accepted my proposal and refused to plan the wedding without you,” Harrison responded, trying to keep his voice even. “She said if you weren’t there, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You can be sorry. I’m glad to hear it in fact, but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive you…”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know. And I don’t blame you.”

“I love you. You’re my sister and you’re always going to be my sister, and someday I’ll probably forgive you, but I can’t today. Not today. There’s been too much pain, Beth. I can’t just forget that. I can’t look at you without thinking about how Dad destroyed his liver over you, how Mom threatened the Dark One to find you and how they tracked to track you for years despite the fact you obviously bought protection spells against that. I can’t just forget that Ned went to actually depression and almost stopped playing baseball, which he loves more than life itself. Henry worried himself sick enough he had ulcers. And Wes? Wes was so focused on finding you, he forgot to shower and Gideon begged me to come over and literally force him away from his research. I can’t just get past that. I’m not like that them, I can’t forgive and forget like that. I know you guys like to call me perfect and if I was, I could forgive you, but I can’t.”

“Oh, Harrison, they haven’t forgiven me,” she laughed bitterly. “No one is letting me off the hook. They’re just in shock right now. Like you said, I’ve been gone for three years. Once that shock fades away, the anger will be there. Just you wait.”

“That anger is justified.”

“I know that,” she snapped, hot angry tears spilled down her cheeks. “Lord knows, I know that. I know I deserve it. I half expected to be disowned upon arrival.”

“We don’t do that.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” she replied, wiping her cheeks and turning away from him. “I’ve come to except the worst.”

“Expect the worst but hope for the best.”

“Hope is a very dangerous thing. Nothing worse than false hope.”

“Dangerous, but powerful. A little hope can go a long way, Beth. You’ve proved that, yourself.“

"You really are a Charming. You legit sound like Grandma.”

“I know you’re trying to mock me but I’m being serious,” Harrison replied, slightly frustrated. “The thing about hope is that…it can drive you, but it can’t take you all the way there. You have to put the work in too…No one is going to forgive you unless you actually try. Don’t just say you’re sorry. Show us you’re sorry. Until you put your money where your mouth is, nothing is going to get accomplished. I can’t forgive you until I see it.”

“That’s what Dad said…That the path to forgiveness…I need to put the work in.”

“He would know better than anyone else,” Harrison said gently. “And I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”

“Never,” she responded fiercely, eyes flashing with determined. And for the first time since he saw her, Harrison felt a flash of warmth. He had missed her fire.

“Good.”

He pushed himself away from the railing, tightening his hold on Kam as he did so. He made his way towards the doorway, his sister watching him warily. He bent forward and placed a brief kiss on her cheek.

“Nice to see you, Beth.”

“Nice to see you too, Har.”

–

خرة - shitهلتتصرفبنفسك - are you behaving yourself?دائما - alwaysتوقف - stopهلانتبخير - Are you okay?