#not to mention all the articles out there that insist on calling every new cozy game stardew-like

[dogboysora]

Video game journalism never fails to amuse me. Look, I'm as fond of Eric Barone as any other Stardew fan, but I'm not sure if him getting into Balatro is headline-worthy, ya know?

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Start With the Sad Stuff Gen 1 pt.73

TW: Mention of car accidents and death

Beckett stepped inside admiring Madison's house. She closed the door and stood in the small entryway.

Beckett: Hey.

Madison: Sorry about the mess.

Beckett waved off her comment.

Beckett: You call this a mess? You should have tried living with my college roommates. That was a mess.

She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes he realized.

Beckett: Your home is lovely. It reminds me of my childhood home in Tomarang. It has a certain warmth and charm to it, like you.

He wasn't trying to deliver some cheesy pickup line. He'd felt her warmhearted nature from the moment they'd met and her home outwardly expressed that. It was filled with soft hues of blue and grey while the bulk of the furniture was white. It was cozy and inviting with its crowded bookshelves and small kitchen.

Madison: Sorry for ruining the plans. You went to the trouble to plan... you didn't say where we were going.

Beckett laughed shyly scratching the back of his neck.

Beckett: It seems pretty lame now. Remember last week you mentioned that Moonwood Mills author, Vulfgang Mulder. Well, he was just nominated for an award for "Packs & Prejudice". When I read the article it said that a popup cat cafe planned to be in town this week and they booked him for the entire time to do a live reading. I figured cats, writers, and a little artsy shopping. The cafe was serving dinner, I promise. I didn't intend to make you eat croissants and caffeine every time we went out and now I'm likely rambling.

Beckett: Madison!

Madison was floored. What he'd planned sounded like a dream, but in that moment she realized just how little Paris had truly known about her in the last 20 years. When they spoke about the plans for that day, almost a week ago, Beckett had requested that he be allowed to plan the whole thing. She had been a little skeptical but he'd seemed so excited and she'd wanted to please him. At the time it had seemed like such a mundane thing to give up. Now she could see that it hadn't been a minor deal to him at all. Vulfgang Mulder wrote Romance novels. She'd been following his work for a few months. He'd recently released a new book "Wolf's Next Door" and Madison had told Beckett how she'd been meaning to pick up a copy but hadn't had time. She had only mentioned it once and briefly during one of their many conversations. Clearly, he'd been listening.

He soothed her as she sobbed, never leaving her side until she could manage to take slow even breaths. He helped her sit back on her heels.

Beckett: You want to tell me about it?

Madison: It's a mess..

Beckett: I planned to spend the whole day listening to you tell me about your life, no offense to Vulfgang. So what if we have to start with the sad stuff.

Madison sighed, she got to her feet with some assistance from Beckett. She took a seat on the couch inviting him to sit beside her before she told him everything.

Madison: I met Paris in the third grade. We were friends almost instantly. Her family is pretty wealthy and she had all the newest toys so she insisted we spend most afternoons at her house with the babysitter. Her parents were hardly around so we got away with a lot of stuff. Plus with a house that big it was pretty easy to stay out of the way.

As she recounted her childhood Beckett heard her stomach growl.

Beckett: I could whip up something if you didn't mind me using your kitchen.

Madison: Really? I could just order a pizza or something.

Beckett: I think you could use a home-cooked meal.

He rummaged through the cabinets and fridge gathering ingredients. As he expertly prepared a group serving of Chicken Stir-Fry she told him about high school and Paris's first romantic endeavor.

Jared Hollands was the 10th-grade English teacher at San Myshuno High. He was too young to be a teacher and all the girls in his class had a thing for him. But a schoolgirl crush and swooning over him during lunch hadn't been enough for Paris. Madison had noticed her flirting with him during class and finally towards the end of the first semester she'd admitted that she was sleeping with him.

Madison: I tried to talk her out of seeing him anymore but Paris does what Paris wants. She would ask me to cover for her in between classes or tell her parents she was at my house when she was really staying the night with Mr.Hollands. When his wife found out it got pretty bad. She started stalking Paris at school, parking her car outside in the student parking lot. Just, waiting. One day she confronted Paris when school let out.

She paused not wanting to speak of the incident but needing to.

Madison: I felt so bad for the woman. Paris just laughed at her. I pulled her away and we got in the car. Paris had robotics and I stayed for bookclub that afternoon so it was late. We didn't realize she was following us until we were halfway home. She rammed the car.

Closing her eyes as she pictured the cars on the road that night.

Madison: We veered off the road and crashed into a pole. Paris walked away with a few scraps and bruises. I spent 2 weeks in the hospital...Mrs.Hollands didn't make it off the road.

Beckett cleared the dishes while Madison poured cups of wine. They head to the back porch to enjoy the last of the daylight.

Madison: After High school, the plan was always to paint. San Myshuno seemed like the obvious choice with its huge art scene but the art style was a little too grudge for my taste. I wasn't sure what to do for a while and I stopped painting. Of course, Paris told me that I shouldn't have wasted my time with the "Stupid hobby" in the first place. I wasn't painting anymore but for a few months I started taking freelance work doing digital sketch art, good money but I'm a painter at heart. My mom landed some work in Brindelton Bay, She's an artist herself, so I tagged along figuring I could use the change of scenery. The moment we got off the train in Whiskerman's Wharf I fell in love. The ocean and all the boats, the lighthouse, and nature. I'd found my muse.

For the first time all night, she really smiled.

Madison: Suddenly I was painting again. I talked to my mom and during the 2 weeks we were here she helped me find an affordable place and I set my date to move.

But the smile faded just as quickly as it appeared.

Madison: When I got back I was so excited to tell Paris. I shouldn't have been. She threw a fit, Paris style of course. Said I was "abandoning her for some talentless tree huggers". She didn't talk to me the whole month I was preparing to move.

She looked down at her hands. While telling the story, she felt embarrassed about how she had allowed Paris to treat her over the tenure of their friendship.

Madison: She..she stopped by the day I was leaving just to drop off a painting I made for her. Said she didn't need it anymore. She dropped it in the street by my stuff and left. I was in Brindelton Bay for 2 weeks without hearing from her. On my third week here I found her on my doorstep with a suitcase.

She went into detail about Paris's drinking and partying habits. How she would bring different guys home nearly every night. She finally got to when Paris got the job at Bay's Robotic Engineers.

Madison: Paris was always good at building things. It kind of runs in the family seeing how her father builds rockets for a living. When she left home she came with no plan. Her mother was furious, but her father made a few phone calls and the next morning she landed the internship. I thought it was the best thing ever. A way to get her out of the house doing something other than drinking.

She explained how amazing the first 2 months were. Paris had seemed to be on track to securing the job and making a real life for herself in Brindelton Bay.

Madison: Or so I thought. At the end of summer, she came home after work rambling about some guy at work. Apparently, he was the head of the mechanical engineering department and was returning from leave. They assigned him to train her. She wouldn't stop talking about him. Every day got worse until they sent them on a business trip together.

Madison told Beckett about the trip based on what Paris had shared.

Beckett: Sounds like your friend is looking for trouble. If this guy is married and made it clear he was uninterested why go to all the trouble.

Madison shook her head.

Madison: I told her the same thing. You'd think she'd have learned her lesson from the first time. She's just used to getting what she wants.

She tells him about the airport and the phone call the night at the club.

Beckett: No offense but your friend sounds a little erratic.

She smirked and pushed back a stray lock of hair.

Madison: What does that make me? I was her best friend for years.

Beckett: A saint.

She turned away from his intense gaze feeling her face warm.

Madison: U..Until that point, I had never seen this guy. Then Pumpkin got sick and I didn't want to go to the clinic alone. By then Paris had moved into her own place. I called her and asked her to come with me. It was there that we ran into the guy. He didn't notice us so Paris told me to go over and say hi, and against my better judgment I did.

The shame started to creep in again. She started to wonder if maybe Kason was right to be mad at her for what Paris had done. She hadn't done anything to truly stop her. Had she been an accomplice?

Madison: Stupidly I didn't realize she had an ulterior motive. He turned out to be a really nice guy and you'd never believe me but he's also married to my favorite author.

Beckett: Well that was a nice turn of events.

Madison: It was. He was kind and when he found out I was a fan he offered to help me and my book club meet her. We got together to plan the whole thing. That was the day we met at the cafe.

Beckett: Sounds like a decent guy. It sucks he has to put up with Paris.

Madison: Yeah well, I didn't realize that she followed me to the meeting...

Beckett: Followed you?

Madison: No, nothing like that. I invited her to be polite, but I knew she would never come. Paris hates reading anything that isn't a wine label.

She scoffed sarcastically.

Beckett: You're funny.

He smiled trying to lighten the mood. She grinned back sadly.

Madison: What's not funny is she took pictures of me and Kason and posted the damned things online. Now his wife thinks we're sleeping together. Which we obviously are not. But because of that, he hates me, which I can't say I blame him for. It's not like I warned him or even told him I knew Paris. I kept telling myself I would tell him before it blew up in my face I just couldn't find the time. But I knew how much Paris hated Mercury, I should have seen this coming.

Finally, she stopped her rant to take a breath.

Beckett: Mercury?

But Madison hadn't heard him. She was off on another tangent

Madison: He's going to cancel the event. All the work they put into this and they won't even get to meet their favorite author because of me.

All the pieces fell into place, the puzzle becoming whole for Beckett.

Beckett: Are you talking about Mercury and Kason Gratz? Like Mercury the writer?

Madison: I never told you who my favorite author was did I.

Beckett: Show me the pictures.

She stared up at him her eyes filled with hurt and confusion.

Madison: Beckett I swear there's nothing to see.

Beckett soothed her unease, figuring she had misunderstood his reasons for asking to see the photos.

Beckett: I believe you. But please, I need to see the pictures.

Beckett: That's Kason and Comet.

Madison: How did you know the dog's name?

He hesitates for a second before answering

Beckett: Kason is my brother-in-law.

Madison: Your.. brother....in-law.

She shook her head with wide eyes.

Madison: There's no way...

Beckett: Mercury is my older sister.

Previous Next

Beginning

Sidebar: So I didn’t realize how important TW were. I apologize if I’ve been insensitive at any point and will be sure to add them from this point on. Next I want to give all the props in the world to any simmer that uses T.O.O.L. ( it kicked my a** for that car)

Poses: @rebouks table talks sad

@elen-shine letter poses & confidential conversation

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[nc7dr3am]

IF LILY DATED...

HI this is a long post. the idea for this was inspired by my favorite @delicatejisung who also has an nct dream oc that you MUST follow. also i know the edit sucks. also also i write very light nsfw stuff in this. like mentions but no smut cuz i don’t do that. HOWEVER there are no nsfw mentions w jisung. ik teens do whatever and lily is only a year older than him but 1.) i will not do that because he is still a minor and 2.) they just aren’t like that together. they don’t need it

THIS IS ALL HYPOTHETICAL NONE OF IT IS OFFICIALLY CANON. lmk which ones sound cute cuz even tho it’s not gonna happen .. lilno and chenlil might have stolen my heart

mark:

you can bet they’d be so completely in love with each other

very sweet, very romantic

“baby” “babe”

in front of the camera they’re normal, the same amount of affection as usual, oftentimes less

lily, when mark is talking or being unintentionally attractive: *bites bottom lip, looks up a little, seems like she’s trying not to smile*

he does his rap in mfal to her randomly and it’s cringey and funny but he does it to make her smile because he knows it’s her fav title track

when she sings he smiles so wide because in his opinion. there is no sound more beautiful than her voice

they talk to each other so well. like. they can sit for HOURS just talking and it never gets old to them

writes genuine love letters to her but will cringe and hate himself if he gives them to her until she gets teary and smiles

her basically giving him book reports about the books she reads and he literally falls more in love with her when she’s screaming about the novels because she is so PASSIONATE

her falling asleep in the practice rooms or studio late at night because she INSISTS on staying with him

and when he kisses her he likes to tilt her chin up with his hand of holds both sides of her face

hyuck taking credit for the whole relationship

she has a collage of polaroids of them, of him (including some of the ones from qtah) that are separate from her other photos of friends (she has a lot)

mark has a few polaroids of her that he keeps by his bed and he always smiles when he sees them

HE 10000% WRITES SONGS FOR HER AND SHOWS HER BUT HES REALLY NONCHALANT ABOUT IT

she never calls him oppa (even a bit before they start dating tbh)

when she has to do sexy performances or just acts sexy you will 100% find mark at his most awkward

they will have fun doing ANYTHING they’ll be happy through anything if they’re together

they could go through five watermelons in a day

konglish all the time. and getting excited/thinking something is funny and jumping and screaming

“can i have your netflix password, lils?” “mark you’re literally richer than me and still use all of my accounts”

her getting embarrassed by him and giggling

she will continue her campaign to get mark to play spiderman

lazy days making music, him watching her cook, binge watching american reality shows she likes, and literally just days where theyfe in bed and make out and talk and make out

shopping trips all the time

they love to do activities together. like, they’ll go places and try new things

she’s desperate to visit his home and his family

and they have their ideal life planned. like. if they weren’t idols they’d get an apartment together. they wanna have some pets together. they have trips they’d like to go on together

they grew up together, they’ve loved each other for years, they’ve been pillars of support

but as much as they’ve loved each other they grew to be IN love with each other

but teased by every unit especially 127. wbk.

they’re more.. private than the others. they’re alone together a lot and don’t overdo it in front of the others

SLIGHT nsfw below. no smut but. and then some fluff near the end <3

ummm so like. vanilla for the most part even tho lily is a bit more ✨wild✨

oh um. ass grabs. when they’re alone but. constantly

when they get comfy with each other (read: when mark finds confidence and is comfy) he will always have his hands on her ass

even just resting there

mirror selfies with his hand on her ass

if he can’t touch her ass, it’s always a hand on her thigh

very affection when alone together, moderate when they’re with others

he likes to lay on her stomach and she loves when he lays on her shirtless

so many days where they just lay in bed together, tangled in lily’s blankets, music playing in the background, lazy makeout sessions... need i go on? CUTE SHIT

mark isn’t great at expressing his emotions publicly, and they hold so much of their relationship just between them. they both always know how much they love each other

renjun:

so they’re SOFT

song covers together

she tries to learn mandarin but. she ends up getting frustrated that she can’t get it and renjun kisses it better

he tells her the wrong words in mandarin a lot and it has fucked her over a lot, especially in lives

“oppa, how do you say ‘i bought that shirt for renjun?’”

*in mandarin* “i am in love with renjun”

they’d be a bit more obvious about their feelings, a bit more touchy

when they confess, they’re together right away, no questions asked. they literally need each other

sleepovers every night and they’re generally really cozy

lily reading, renjun drawing, a movie playing on her laptop that they aren’t paying too much attention to

renjun has specific articles of clothing he puts aside in his closet because he KNOWS she’s gonna take those specific ones

he is very into giving her flowers and little gifts

shes asked him to give her mf art lessons LMAO

ended with them covering each other in paint and making a MESS

they’re silly together, they’re the couple who knows how to cook but starts playing with the ingredients and makes a mess

they leave sticky notes for each other everywhere

lily jumping into his arms

constant pecks on the lips. the dreamies are sick of it. so sick of it.

deep talks late at night

lily being funny and having a box of his stuff in her room even though they live in the same place

nomin threatening renjun

but then lily fourth wheeling with them all

somehow they become even more of a savage duo

when they make eye contact while performing they’ll make faces at each other

he turns the koala joke into her pet name

so he calls her koala and she calls him a pain in her ass

SOFT KISSES he always cups one side of her face

he braids her hair a lot or does cute little styles

lots of cafe dates

will KILL any of the others if they wake her up when she’s sleeping

the type of romance that’s sappy but also they can most definitely roast each other

she likes to wrestle him LMAOO

the way they’re basically chenji’s babysitters is SO FUNNY it started to happen a lot right after they got together

they want to adopt a puppy and name him moomin

SLIGHT nsfw below. no smut but. and then some fluff near the end <3

okay so it’s kinda.. more hesitant and sometimes she takes the lead more than he does

their make out sessions are more heated but don’t always lead to something

like the way it’s going youd THINK it’d be something, but then they just decide to watch a movie and go to bed

he really likes her neck and collarbones but can’t do much to her neck because yknow they’re idols

there’s almost no insecurity in their relationship

it’s very relaxed and loving, and everyone around them can see and feel the love

jeno:

a bit unexpected

a ✨whirlwind romance✨

lilno? more like lilmino because jaemin is always there

a part of her was genuinely sad that she broke up nomin and everyone looks at her like she’s crazy

torn between her love for him and letting him go if jaemin confessed

they can be a bit more obvious in front of fans than the others, because for some reason there isn’t much suspicion there

in front of czennies he lowkey flexes and picks her up over his shoulder a lot, has his arm around her a lot, and they wink at each other from across the set

he holds her waist a lot, and he’s super protective

but also the !! softness !!

have literally been walked in on several times of them just peppering each other with kisses and laughing and its literally lowkey a movie romance

working out together

practicing dances together

the type of guy to literally ignore everything she’s saying because her beauty distracted him

she hits him on the arm for that

passionate kisses

there have been too many times where the others walk in the kitchen and lily is sitting on the kitchen counter with her arms around jeno’s neck as they’re just making out

they’re the couple that’s yelled at by the dreamies the most because sometimes they need to chill out

LMAO THEYRE LIKE THE HORMONAL HIGH SCHOOL COUPLE

and like they love each other deeply and fully, it’s not high school in that regard

but they giggle too much and are kinda all over each other sometimes

they use pet names just a BIT too much

the older guys are a bit more protective of her with him than they would be with any of her other options

cuz while they’re softies

they escalate their relationship super quick

and it’s RIGHT for them

but the hyungs are protective

jeno surprisingly isn’t that jealous because if he could actually get lily

he knows neither of them are going anywhere

him constantly telling her how beautiful she is

her encouraging him and telling him he’s so talented and more than he thinks he is

when they ride the tandem bikes (i think that’s what they’re called? the bikes with two people?) it’s just jeno pedaling

OH and when they make eye contact during stages it only enhances their stage presence because they both wanna look sexy for their boo

jeno is rooting for lily solo because he knows she deserves it

super sweet and wholesome and they make each other smile so WIDE

she pops his zits for him LMAO

cuddles for DAYS and jeno’s fav thing is when she falls asleep in his arms

touches his muscles all the time

SLIGHT nsfw below. no smut but. and then some fluff near the end <3

they make out so much OMG

a bit wilder than she would be with others

she loves to run her hand down his abs

when she does that or touches his biceps it lowkey turns him on

jeno is a bit more reserved than the others at times, but with lily he feels utterly HIMSELF

he doesn’t feel like the jeno who is just a hot rapper. he feels more than that with her

they bring the light out in each other

hyuck:

another unexpected pair but a lot more expected than jeno/lily would be

they’re both literal sunshine and they would be such a beautiful couple

lily aka the only human alive to fluster hyuck

and even THAT doesn’t happen very often

hyuck’s lap = lily’s seat

SO touchy and affectionate but not in the way lily/jeno would be

it’s like constant hand holding, hugging, sitting on each other, leaning on each other, stars in there mf EYES

while they still tease each other and mess around

i have a very specific image in mind of them waking up together, hyuck leaning over her, the biggest smiles on their faces, and then kissing each other

and lily’s just like “hi” with the cutest smile, and then he says it back with the same smile

it might surprise you but hyuck POSSESSIVE

will gatekeep her and not let anyone hug her

always calls her his girlfriend in front of the members

he stands behind her with an arm around the middle of her torso a lot and she’s just absentmindedly playing with his fingers

only a tiny, lil bit obvious in front of czennies because they’re both so affectionate?? and before they dated lily would call him the love of her life?? and keep her face close to his?? this is NORMAL for them

but one of the biggest clues is hyuck being physically unable to not stare at her lips sometimes

they read each other’s tarot nearly every day HAHAH

very romantic as well

she sings him “you are my sunshine” all the time, just stroking his face and staring at him with all of the love in the world

like i said, they still tease the fuck outta each other and roast each other and are at each other’s throats but then they can flip INSTANTLY

he kisses her knuckles and traces her face

he games and she’s falling asleep on his lap

127 squad doesn’t like when they’re being forward because haechannie is the maknae

she loves life cuz more hyuck = more taeil

he will move mountains to make her laugh or see her smile

he’s begging sm for a sexy dance break with the two of them

she’s obsessed with how gorgeous his skin is

the type of boyfriend that notices the tiny little things

he’ll do things/get things for her just because he thought of her or remembered something she said

SLIGHT nsfw below. no smut but. and then some fluff near the end <3

another one that’s a bit wilder

theyre not shy LMAO

steamy intense makeouts like

how is he so good? lily is very satisfied

overall they’re such a fun beautiful HAPPY couple

theyre both so loving and wonderful and there is not one single doubt in anyone’s mind that they love each other fully

jaemin:

literally impossible in any universe

chenle:

lily and chenle have always been two sides of the same coin and he had been waiting for so long

the SMILES

the most beautiful happy smiles at each other ALWAYS because how did they get so lucky?

they were each other’s first proper kiss (canonically, as well)

it’s perfect because they’re best friends and always have been

nothing much changes except the affection and little things because they’re both still best friends

jisung being on all of their dates

he always buys her expensive shit and she hates it so much

she puts on lipstick JUST to kiss his cheek

jisung has walked in on them vibing, on them making out, and yeah he’s sick of it and so happy he only saw them kissing

always sleeping in the same room (usually at his place 👀) but theyre a huge mess when they sleep at night and someone ends up hitting the other because chenle moves too much for her liking

they’re still competitive and of course they still have their alliance

because dating or not, they would fight to the death on that rooftop

chenle literally will kiss every inch of her face because he likes hearing her giggles and he can’t believe he finally got his lily

CUDDLING ALL THE TIME and they’ve fallen asleep on the couch in the dorms and when they’re sleeping HARD the others like to see how many things they can balance on their heads

he will HYPE HER UP ALWAYS

but then say summ like “her face is weird tho” after and unless they’re in front of fans he ends up kissing her after she hits him

when she has to be sexy on stage, he is HERE FOR IT even if the stage is with another person because!! YES his girlfriend is hot, he’s LUCKY

she loves going to his house!! mostly because his family but also

they get to have privacy and be a couple

they’ll hold hands on camera cuz they don’t give a single fuck

they’re definitely outed and have to go public

which just makes their competitive streak and constant roasts WORSE

she loves the sound of his laugh but will yell at him if it hurts her ears

threatens to get one of his predebut photos tattooed on her

a big part of them loving each other is annoying each other and being soft behind the scenes

always together

SLIGHT nsfw below. no smut but. and then some fluff near the end <3

the more intimate aspects of the relationship were really weird at first

but they’re very compatible so it was just fun to them

he WILL honk her boob. has done it in front of the others by accident and jaemin forbid her to see him for a few days

they kinda taught each other how to kiss way before they dated so it was funny when they did it as a couple

peak friends-to-lovers and even czennies can’t help but love then

jisung:

god their shyness is kinda annoying

really confident in private- they talk a lot, they’re very good at just chilling

but lily has to be the one to hold his hand because he’ll get nervous even when he’s so comfy in the relationship

i mean not that the dreamies have time to be in a relationship, but jisung was so SCARED to kiss her and have his first kiss

she thought it was funny

clumsy duo and they tease tf outta each other for it

chenle always being around

they can’t tell who the members are more protective over in the relationship

hugs!!! she loves to backhug him and he thinks it’s cute cuz she’s so tiny

they watch harry potter too much

she has almost convinced him to ride a rollercoaster but ended up failing

he makes fun of her height a lot and then she’ll trip him or something

he’s kinda protective and gets insecure that he’s younger than her sometimes but she just kisses his cheek and tells him to stop worrying

tbh they’re the most innocent, wholesome couple

they wanna go out on dates and they do but catch another member tagging along to babysit them

she gets wine drunk next to him and he can’t drink so he just has this drunk woman on his hands and doesn’t know what to do but honestly she just wants him to cuddle her to sleep

his voice is her favorite sound and she wants him to sing more

whenever anyone says something weird about jisung they both hold up the handcuffs cuz

they’re super weird they can be so confident and then one of them gets flustered and will be a shy baby

trading lines in concerts

lily making cute faces at him, staring at him blankly, winking at him, acting cute to him in front of fans

they share one braincell together and probably accidentally outed themselves by using pet names and like. holding hands on live

and then the OH SHIT face happens

they’ve given the older members heart attacks because he’ll give her a piggyback ride, they’ll hug really tight, or WORSE... they’ll give each other a lil kiss

they’re more innocent by nature but they love kissing and he loves holding her face because her skin is pretty and soft

he wears her perfume on his wrist so he can smell her and smile

the type of boyfriend who is CLUELESS about girl stuff

he wants her to try a different hair color. like a weird one

she refuses

taeyong actually loves them together so much

them dating and being IN LOVE and jisung still gives her cash for her birthday

the “i love you’s” are so. cute. and full. of. LOVE

she is merciless when theyre playing something against each other. she’ll TRY to get him out

usually lily is clingier but when she’s standing and jisung is sitting with his arms around her waist and his head squished to her side it’s so cute

he gets randomly really clingy at times and won’t let go of her

emotional bub will get teary because he loves her so much

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

if it’s not too much to ask... india/china hcs pls? i know u ship it so i’d love to hear what ur opinions are!!

Thank you for asking friend!! It’s never a bother :)

Length Warning: Very, Very Long, A Lot Of Rambling

Preface: I honestly don’t know much in-depth stuff about India-China history (all the “history ramblings” is based on my previous knowledge + Wiki), so I don’t have a lot of grounding in what their relationship is like. Also, when writing their history I realized I still see them as a brotp (so the first part isn’t very shippy) but there are romantic ship headcanons at the end. See this cool post for other hcs!

+++

HISTORY RAMBLINGS

- I guess in Ancient Times, I see them having a friendly trading partner vibe; my personal hc of Ancient China is of someone who builds friendships for convenience, and then starts getting attached with time, so I think this is how his attitude was at first. He and India probably had some vague contact through diplomats and travellers who brought back tales to their own country, and then once trading and influence and religious imports (ex. Buddhism) really kicked off, they started actually interacting with each other (as people, not nations) and over time, that just kicked off into being closer and closer friends until they were basically lovers.

- In Hetalia canon China goes along with Zheng He (Ming Dynasty, early 1400s) on his voyages around the world (the episode with a giraffe), and historically they did make stops at India, where they traded and visited Buddhist temples and stuff; this would be fun to examine in terms of Indchu. I’m sure they had more opportunities to visit each other in person (in contrast to Romechu, the true long-distance relationship) but I’d like to see them just checking in on each other, talking about the news of the day and stuff! Talking about trade and the places they’ve seen; Yao rambling on and on about where he’s headed next, India interjecting time to time about things he’s heard about places far away from them. A moment of peace where they’re just super comfortable and relaxed with each other would be amazing

- Ok fast forward a bit to the 1850s-60s: Qing Dynasty is resting in pieces, the Opium Wars have thoroughly beaten China, the government is unstable from the Boxer Rebellion and there’s a bunch of hate at the ruling people, stuff happens. India has been taken by Britain and it’s Not Fun; these two old men are down in the dumps and being bitter together. I don’t think they’re “dating” or whatever rn because there’s just too much on both of their plates, but they are still close friends and still mutually hate England together. I can see them having tense arguments with each other out of pure stress, complaining about who has it worse: India, who has been made into a colony! *gasp* “My pride has been killed, Yao!” and China, who is basically a colony to 5 nations all at once and also reeling from losing HK to Britain. They know exactly how to hurt each other by this point, but they also know they don’t really mean it, and things usually blow over after they’re in their right minds again.

****Also, Indian sepoys were used by Britain to fight China, and Indian opium was shipped to China as well; I think that might have been a sticking point for a while, but I think Yao would’ve slowly accepted that India was not the one making decisions in the end. 

- The World Wars: India is in the Gallipoli campaign, conscripted by Britain, China is fighting on the side of the British and French but does not gain a single thing from winning, and has also lost the First Sino-Japanese War (I think Hetalia canon says China got his scar from there). Then Japan invades China, and he and India are fighting together in WWII against China’s estranged sibling/brother/vague relation. Both are beaten to the core, still bitter, but they keep reminding each other that they will just have to weather the storm and wait for their moment. This too shall pass. Same mood as the beginning of imperialism, but more tired and more done.

- After India’s Independence and China’s Government Overhaul: 1950s: India was one of the first non-Communist countries to recognize the PRC instead of the old ROC, but I think they started distancing from each other a little while after? There were territorial disputes with Nepal and I think both countries’ governments might have told them to cut it out and be less friendly with each other because they had rather clashing agendas

- Things seem to be relaxing just a bit, but then the Sino-Indian border dispute (1962) happens, and then there are other clashes near the border, and they don’t know if they can trust each other. Additionally, there’s the Sino-Soviet split, and India is getting help from the Soviets, and it makes things more complicated between them. The relationship is on shaky ground right now, and if they meet in person, both are putting on an impersonal facade. Not very friendly. I think they’re still cooling off until at least the late 1970s, when China’s economic reform happens.

- Skipping to Modern Day: they are cool again and are close friends again. However, they know their countries are competing in population, economy, world status/power, but they’re still friends. They know it might end badly, but I think they’ve learned to roll with the good times and savor it; their pride and hearts have been stomped on already so they don’t care anymore and take risks even if they might come out feeling a bit broken. They are buddies, and they might be dating, and they don’t really care about the boundary between friends and lovers. They are comfortable with each other.

- This article, published in 2007 by Harvard Business Review, presents an interesting take on China and India’s relationship, and in particular, their economies: it says that although people think they’re destined to be rivals because of their competing business sectors, they have developed complementary strengths and it’d be foolish not to work together. I think that could somewhat summarize Indchu’s relationship with each other in the hetaliaverse; they complement each other, and even if they might become competitors, it won’t affect their friendship/relationship because they just fit together. They click; it’s not forced friendship or whatever, they just integrate into each other so well (it’s almost like they’re meant to be together).

- There are border skirmishes (ex. the incident in June 2020), but I’m not really sure how that would factor into their relationship? Maybe they’ve gotten over it and they both know the other personification doesn’t like the fighting, and that their government’s opinions come first? Or maybe it’s still unresolved between them, because India has known Yao for a long time and knows what he’s capable of, and Yao knows what a potent force India can be when he wants? Idk. I think the idea of unresolved tension is more accurate, but I also like this ship because it’s soft and /mostly/ pure in modern day and I sometimes really want to ignore historical accuracy

ONTO THE GENERAL SHIP HEADCANONS!

- They argue with each other a lot, basically like an old married couple; their jibes at each other don’t mean anything though. China insists it’s so their wits stay sharp.

- Also they have debates over various academic topics; it’s basically their fun hobby by now. They’re both intellectually matched and read rather voraciously, so it’s a fun challenge (and keeps their wits sharp)

- I mentioned it before but it’s worth bringing up again: they know exactly how to hurt each other with their words; they just don’t get into bad fights often so they don’t need to cut each other to pieces.

- China is the less sentimental one, but they’re both really good at picking out tasteful, meaningful gifts for each other. “Experiences over material items/gifts” doesn’t really appeal to either of them; they’d much rather stay home being cozy than “gifting” each other a week in the Caribbeans or something.

- T e a  l e a v e s (No Teabags unless Strictly Necessary). No coffee, sugar, cream, or milk. Sometimes India jokes about switching over to coffee or drinking tea the British way, and Yao just goes “You’re canceled”, dead seriously.

- They wear each other’s traditional clothing sometimes. Occasionally Yao asks India to wear a hanfu instead of a changshan (men’s equivalent of qipao) because he thinks it’s more traditional (qipao was invented in the 1920s). India has managed to stuff Yao into a qipao at least three times, and has pictures to prove it.

- India likes running his fingers through China’s hair (he says it’s really soft, a comment that makes Yao scoff every time) and he sorta hates his ponytail for that reason alone. Yao knows this, and he tries to make up for it by letting it down more on weekends, when he doesn’t have to look presentable (also India insists Yao looks presentable all the time, another comment that always earns a scoff).

- They teach each other their own dishes. China has been getting in the habit of substituting beef and pork for other things, mainly tofu/chicken/shiitake mushrooms

- They take walks together in the evenings after dinner when they’re in the same place. As long as it’s still light out and the weather’s not too bad, they will do it every day (even if it’s raining, they might just bring an umbrella).

- Their way of showing affection is a) with gifts and b) just talking to each other about anything. It’s their way of winding down for the day and being comfortable with each other; they have long talks about random, silly little things that happened, perhaps a funny (or stupid) meme/joke their siblings sent, or dumb stuff that happened with their boss at a meeting.

- I think they’d call each other nicknames in private. It wouldn’t be something too “sickly sweet” I guess, but something to show they care. They use nicknames sparingly as well, so it doesn’t lose meaning through overuse. (I personally hate nicknames so I’m not giving out any suggestions here, but I think Yao would use something like “亲爱的” for India, basically means “dear/beloved”. Not too flashy or sweet, but still affectionate.)

- China gifts houseplants to India’s apartment/house because he knows India likes them (I think he’s a green thumb). China doesn’t really bother with decorative plants; he prefers to grow spring onions and other low maintenance shit that he can use in his cooking lol he’s all about the practicality

- During ancient times, they had lengthy, invigorating discussions about mathematics, either through letters or in person.

- They aren't really affectionate in public; PDA is limited to hand holding and occasionally a kiss on the cheek. Neither China nor India are the type to “show off” their relationship or their partner.

- Adding onto that, they don’t really announce their relationship to everybody but if you ask them, they’ll tell you. Basically you have to be the one to notice something’s up; they just don’t think it's necessary to share every little bit of information about their lives with people. They're the “secretly married” couple trope; signs of affection are rather subtle but still noticeable because they don’t act that way to other people.

- China forced India to get a Wechat so he can send India 10¥ red packets every week just because he has the app

- Not really a ship headcanon, but these two would throw the best parties??? Like if you want a party that’s really loud and noisy and fun, ask them. They may be old and “not fun” or whatever but they know how to organize large scale events effectively and how to achieve the correct atmosphere, and despite all Yao’s siblings’ trash talk, they usually pull off very stylish, sleek functions/events. Maybe it’s a little tacky here and there but it’s barely noticeable, and everyone is just. Awed.

Yeet that’s it; thank you for reading! This got really long, and I feel like a lot of the headcanons were rather platonic, but yeah! Hope you like it!

[atlasxrose]

As many of the Christmas ones with Xander you want

tw:nsfw, tw: sex mention, tw: singing, tw: dancing, tw: GLEE

🎁   /   our   muses  exchange  gifts  to  one  another .

Atlas was tired, Xander had apparently been away all week and for the first time in months the witch was forced to reacquaint himself with how deafeningly loud Alarick’s snoring was. The wall that divided their rooms practically vibrated, the entire night. But, it was Christmas Eve, and Xander had promised to be back, so after he’d pulled on a heavy sweater, the witch had headed closer to town and towards the vampire’s home. 

There was something different about the place as the oracle approached Xander’s front door, he pulled the key that the vampire had given him out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. There was a warmth when Atlas entered the home that felt almost palpable, was that cookies? Xander stepped around the corner, a bright smile on his face, unusual, but welcome, as the two were quick to embrace. Atlas breathed out a few words, I missed you, I love you, Merry Christmas Xander, as Xander’s arms wound aptly around his back and pulled him close. The vampire’s face buried in his hair, he spoke the same soft words in return as the pair lingered there for a while. 

“Do you wanna see what I made you?” Atlas asked, a smile on his lips, it had been expressly difficult given how dilapidated his old work space in the forest had become, the long hours spent weaving out in the wilderness was now less of an soothing retreat and now more of a hassle. His loom did not fit in Alarick’s cabin and nature had worn away at its once sturdy frame. 

“Another sweater?” Xander quipped, Atlas shook his head, still in the vampire’s arms as he leaned back, Atlas added a heavy roll of his eyes, his hands rested on the back of Xander’s neck. 

“It’s a blanket, actually.”

“Ah great, because I can never have enough blankets.” 

The witch felt his face bright slightly, he enjoyed the labor that went into it. The satisfaction that gift giving gave him. 

“I’m kidding, I’m literally wearing the sweater you gave me. I can’t wait to sleep with it, now c’mon, I want to show you what I got you.” 

Xander took his hand and pulled Atlas deeper into his home, the silver rose-petaled daylight ring that the witch had gifted the vampire previously glinted as they passed through rays of sun that flooded from above. The ring felt cool to touch as Xander gripped his hand and led him through the den and to a back study that, as far as Atlas knew, had mostly gone unused. 

“Ready?” Xander asked, his hand fell from Atlas’ as he reached for the double doors, he looked back with something akin to mischief in his eyes. Perplexed, Atlas merely folded his arms across his chest.

“I suppose.” There was no small part of the oracle that was not concerned, there was every possibility that he was going to hate whatever was through these doors. Atlas braced himself as Xander swung open the doors and all at once the oracle’s breath hitched, a gasp escaped his lips. 

The study had been refurbished, significantly. Dusty shelves had been revitalized with every spellbook and reference guide the vampire had apparently been able to get his hands on. The witch moved to run his fingers along a herbalist’s guide to the native forests of Greece, bestiaries and spellbooks, hand written journals of witches and oracles alike. Shelves of every regent the witch could think of, fresh and powdered, local and imported; there were planters that hung across floor to ceiling windows that allowed for natural light to come through and join the soft rays that filtered through the skylight. Beneath sat a wide-brimmed cauldron, freshly polished and - bronze? Before the windows between planters was a desk, stocked with tools and equipment, items for enchanting, for brewing, for divining. 

Perhaps the most beautiful portion of the room was along the far wall to his left, rows of different materials, and above all a hand crafted loom, the finely polished wood and detail was stunning, all at once Atlas was upon it before he turned towards Xander at the sound of his voice. A clearly satisfied smile on the vampire’s face. 

“I want you to have somewhere you can work,  why not here?”  Xander stepped in, “I love you, and I don’t want you to go, so, stay - stay here, with me.” Atlas threw his arms around the vampire all at once, his lips upon Xander’s as he breathed yes, yes, yes, in between each kiss. 

🍞   /    to  invite  my  muse  to  a  holiday  dinner  with  their  family  .

“You look fine,” Atlas insisted, his family had been making their own clothes for centuries, they absolutely were not going to care about the state of Xander’s holiday attire. Actually, he does look a little too put together.. The oracle shook the thought from his mind, he was only slightly nervous, and the last thing he wanted was for those nerves to rub off on his vampire fiance. 

“Easy for you to say, what am I supposed to tell your father again, I’m thirty-two and holding?” Atlas rolled his eyes. 

“Just be yourself, he’ll love you. They all will, I promise.”

🔌   /   help  hang  lights  or  decorate  with  my  muse.

“This is stupid.” Xander commented as he held the ladder while Atlas climbed it. 

“No, it’s festive.” Atlas corrected. He reached off of the top to hook the last strand over the eavestrough, the witch wobbled a bit and Xander all but hissed. 

“Be careful, just come down.” 

“I’ve almost got it, just... a little more... -” All of a sudden Atlas lost his balance and he was suddenly falling from the top most part of the ladder, he landed in Xander’s arms and heard the ladder clatter to the side beside them. His face red, his arms wound around Xander’s neck, the vampire just shook his head. 

“Can we go in now?”

🎄   /   decorate  and  help  my  muse  with  a  christmas  tree.

Atlas hummed in between verses as carols played over the radio, they had been nearly nonstop since November first and while Xander was not amused, they were presently decorating the Christmas tree together and thus the music was on theme. 

“You have a nice voice,” Xander commented, 

“Thanks, it’s the only one I have.” Atlas offered, the vampire scoffed as the witch continued to go behind Xander and reposition the ornaments he had just hung up. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just... It’s important to space things out so there isn’t any weird vacant spaces.” 

“Right.” Xander shook his head and continued to not adjust his technique for placing ornaments. 

🌿   /   our  muses  catch  themselves  under  a  mistletoe  .  

“Look,” Atlas offered, his hands on Xander’s chest after they’d bumped into each other. One of their friends had a holiday party, and truthfully, neither had really felt like attending but here they were. Being social. being seen, together. The witch pointed above them as the pair swayed lightly to whatever holiday anthem played around them. “mistletoe.”

“Is this why you like the holidays so much?” Xander asked, an inquisitive but playful look in his eyes as Atlas merely shrugged.

“Maybe.” 

Xander kissed him then, strong, certain, less of a formality and more of a promise: we’ll do this again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, too.

💨  /   our  muses  are  trapped  inside  a  cabin  during  a  snow  storm.

The snow had hit suddenly, and hard. The two of them were visiting Atlas’ parents, and while they were enjoying the holidays with the Coven, the two had slipped away to steal a few quiet moments alone, and while they were out and away, a storm rolled in overhead. Out of blind luck, a cabin appeared in the distance, all at once Xander scooped the witch into his arms and sped ahead through the dense snow bank to burst through the cabin door. 

Wind and snow bellowed behind them as their laughter rang through the small structure, their lips pressed together as Atlas kicked the door closed. It’s freezing in here, the oracle smiled as the vampire moved their lips in a heavy tandem. The other’s hands worked away at their clothes as articles were haphazardly discarded about the abandoned cottage. 

I can think of one way to keep warm. 

✨   /   our  muses  watch  the  northern  lights  together .

“So, why the top of the world?”  Xander asked, the pair had traveled about as far North as you could, beyond the closest National park, to a place that the coven had only ever heard whispers about. From within their walled tent, the pair managed to keep warm against the minus forty degrees weather that roared outside in the night air. 

“Just wait.” Atlas promised his head nestled on the delicate curve of Xander’s shoulder, his hand wandered idly across the vampire’s chest as he traced small lines across cool skin. All at once Xander’s eyes went wide, the witch drew his gaze from the ethereal green glow that had been cast across his lovers eyes, to look at the roof of the tent. 

The aurora borealis was close enough to brush the top of their tent, lines of green and gold and pink danced through the walled enclosure. Atlas’ eyes sparkled as he watched with some delight, his head canted to take in Xander’s expression, it was one of bewilderment and wonder, there was a smile, and that was all the oracle longed to see. 

“It’s beautiful.”

NAUGHTY  :

💋   /   give  my  muse  a  hot  steamy  kiss  .

“Xander?” Atlas called out, his home was welcoming, cozy, comforting. It had transformed recently, infused with new life, perhaps a bit of happiness. “Helloooo,” the witch called out again, he went from room to room until the oracle pushed open the bedroom door and all at once he felt Xander’s lips upon his. All at once Atlas groaned as he pushed his hands through the back of Xander’s hair, his lips parted as the vampire moved his lips against his in a fiery tandem. The witch kissed out of need, necessity, out of desire, he emptied himself into the other and continued to pour. Kissing Xander had always been unlike anything else, anyone else, and while the vampire slipped past Atlas’ lips he greeted him warmly, eagerly, hungrily. The oracle remembered every story ever told about Hephaestion and his prowess, his generosity, his willingness to please, and truly, he held nothing back thousands of years later. When Xander at last broke away Atlas was pressed against the door, nothing but his own hot breath between them as he panted, lips suddenly sore. Xander smiled, “I missed you.”

👗   /   my  muse  dresses  up  as  a  sexy  Santa  for  your  muse .

The auditorium lights kicked on and from the stage, Atlas heard the doors swing shut. He felt some nerves as he wrung his hands together just off stage, this was a stupid idea, it had to be stupid, whose idea had this been again? The oracle looked down at the skimpy outfit he’d put together for this number and sighed, he’d spent too many hours hemming this sexy Santa skirt, too many days stitching these knee-high boots to not go through with it. Atlas fixed his hat one last time, the white pom-pom bounced idly on the side of his head as he walked with confidence onto the stage and took center. 

The witch could tell by the look on Xander’s face that the vampire was shocked, good. 

With a smirk he pulled the cropped red and white velvet top a little down so it at least met his upper abdomen before he leaned forward and folded his pleather-gloved hands on his knee. Leaned forward, the opening to Jingle Bell Rock began to filter through over the radio. 

Preferring to sing acoustic, Atlas began on time, his choreography leading him to sway from side to side as he stepped to the beat.

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock,” The witch smiled, he did a short twirl as he pittered across the stage, “Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring, snowin’ and blowin’ up bushels of fun,” the talented tenor breezed across the lyrics, Xander’s stunned expression egging him on as he pun amidst a fake snowstorm. “Not the jingle hop has begun!”

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, jingle bells chime in jingle bell time.” Atlas effortlessly hit the high note as he stepped to the beat and did a broad wave of his arm, he drew it across his field of vision as if beckoning a massive and unseen audience. 

“Dancin’ and prancin’ in Jingle Bell Square, in the frosty air!” Atlas twirled again into a high kick as the tempo increased, “What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away.” He punctuated this with a turn before he slapped his bare thighs, “Jingle bell time is a swell time, to go glidin’ in a one-horse sleigh!”

As if on an invisible sleigh, Atlas held the reigns as he stomped across the stage, his high-heeled boots echoed like a dozen hooves as he walked, “Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin’ feet, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell rock!!!!”

👅   /   my  muse  licks  your  muse .

“Stop.” Xander swatted at the oracle as the witch ran a hand through his hair. The vampire was not amused, his gaze on whatever book he was reading remained fixed before Atlas ran his hand through his hair again. Again, the vampire swatted at Atlas’ hand. “Stop,” Xander empathized, “what has gotten into you lately?” The vampire pressed, his gaze severe as he leveled his eyes on Atlas at last. The witch smiled, grabbed Xander’s head between his hands and pulled his face towards his so that he could run the flat of his tongue across the entire length of the vampire’s face. “Ugh.” Xander objected as he pushed a laughing witch off of him, the hint of a smile on the vampire’s face despite his disgust. “You’re gross.”

“You love me.”

[whostheblondegirlwriting]

Hi! I previously asked if requests were open and kinda got busy so didn’t submit it. I was watching the Gifted interview where Chris says he wants to be a dad. Would you consider writing something where him and the reader are first time parents to baby boy and bump heads with their parents on how to raise the baby? Like all organic or no technology. Thought it would be interesting lol 🙈

Sound Advice

“Uh oh.” You frowned, looking down. “Is that you?”

“Here. I’ll take that.”

You smiled, your chin lifting to watch your darling husband pick up your son from your lap. You shook your head, amused as Chris’ face drew long, his brow rising high and jaw falling open, as he raised his arms to hold him up high in the air, his tiny, onesied feet kicking above him and tiny hands reaching for Chris’ smiling face.

“Did you make a stinky?” he asked. Chris bent his arms, bringing his little boy back down to eye level, his brow wrinkling as he sniffed. “Oof. Yeah, you did.”

“It was your turn anyway,” you told him, on his way out of the living room.

“It was my turn the last two times,” he smirked.

“Third time’s the charm,” you called after him.

You settled back in to the corner of the couch, all cozied up with your legs curled beside you, a blanket over you, and the DIY channel on TV. The January weather in Boston was biting, to say the least. Luckily, the fridge was stocked and you had nothing planned. There was no need to leave the house for the weekend, and the below freezing days and sub-zero nights convinced you you may not actually leave until April, just to be safe.

“All better,” Chris announced, coming back to the room with your son perched on an arm and leaning against his shoulder.

He passed the baby back to you and you settled him back into your lap. Chris disappeared and you went back to watching your show. After a few minutes, you called out, reminding Chris, “You’re missing the show.”

“I know,” he answered from the other room.

You shrugged to yourself and tuned back into Maine Cabin Masters. Chris came back, eventually. He stood in the doorway, looking over the room. A frown flinched in the corner of his mouth and he stepped in to look through the small pile of magazines and your tablet on the coffee table, before you finally asked, “What are you doing?”

“Have you seen that book Ma gave us?” he asked, straightening up to look over the room again. “She was asking about it.”

“It’s in the car,” you told him, your attention down to bouncing the arm of the tiny hand that had latched onto your thumb.

“In the c- That was a week ago. What’d you leave it out there for?”

Your brow stretched up and eyes brightened, looking back at your baby as you danced his hand around on yours and happily cooed, “Because we didn’t feel like reading it, did we?” Your baby’s mostly gummy grin widened to a giggly smile as he thought you were talking to him. “No, we didn’t,” you smiled back.

“Why not?” he asked, a look of confusion on his face and his hands going to his hips.

Your eyes rolled over to see him. “Because I’m tired of reading instruction manuals. Aren’t you?”

There was a hint of resentment in his, “What?”

“Come on, Chris,” you began. “That’s the fifth book she’s given us.” His mouth started to open to say something, but you hurriedly added, “After the baby was born. We could open a library with those and the ones she gave us before.”

His expression softened and he snickered, looking a little embarrassed. “She’s just trying to help,” he told you, coming over to join you on the couch again.

“I know,” you promised, with a warm grin. “And it’s sweet, but…”

“But what?” He sounded like he was bracing himself.

You let out a soft sigh, bracing yourself to say, “But I think we need to have a talk about all the help.”

Chris let out a deep sigh of his own, admitting, “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Do you wanna see my email inbox?” you invited, nodding toward your tablet on the table. “Since Christmas, every week, there’s some article or link about baby food or nutrition. And now the book?”

He nodded. He should have seen it coming. Since mentioning Christmas Day with his family that he had gotten you a couple attachments for your stand up mixer you’d asked for, his mother’s new hobby seemed to be baby food. While you eagerly explained you had wanted the food processor and the strainer to start making some homemade food for your little one, his mother had started making subtle comments about how she had fed her children with jarred food until they were old enough to eat her cooking. His sister even chimed in with a note about convenience and costs versus the mess and time of making your own baby food.

Chris added it to the list of subconsciously pushy motherly advice you two had been getting since you guys announced your pregnancy last year. Babies are exciting and mothers have a wealth of knowledge to share from their experiences and their own mothers. But you’d already been firm with your mom that you would be enrolling your little one in daycare for a couple days a week in a few months. She had insisted it was a waste of money when she could watch him for you, but you told her, it wasn’t just to give you a break but to help him socialize, until you and Chris got around to having baby number two. And Chris had already had to put his foot down about his mother’s frequent and unannounced visits to see the baby.

As if on cue, your phone chimed in a message. With your arms full, Chris reached out to check your phone on the coffee table for you, saying, “It’s your mom. She says to make sure we turn the thermostat up a couple degrees while it’s this cold.”

You both shared a look and Chris typed a quick thank you message in reply for you, as you said, “Between my mom and the thermostat and sleep advice, and yours and all the books…”

“We’re going to be the best parents ever,” he flatly finished for you.

He looked back up at you, when he finished typing, and you both snorted. “God,” you groaned, your head falling back to the couch cushion behind you. “We’re not bad parents, are we?” You picked your head up to look him in the eye and worry, “I mean, we’re figuring it out, right?”

“We’re doing fine,” he assured you, leaning over to put his arm around your shoulders and circle a finger on the baby’s tummy to make him smile and flap his arms down on his hand. “We just gotta take it all with a grain of salt. I mean, hey, we grew up alright, right? They’re just sharing what they know worked best for us. Doesn��t mean letting the little guy cry a little longer or making baby food at home is the wrong way.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “So, we just come off as ungrateful children then, don’t we?” you facetiously decided. “Always doing things our way…”

“Maybe just a little,” he teased with a wink. He took your hand and brought it to his lips to kiss, before tangling his fingers up in yours. “But they’ll see we’re doing alright for ourselves, eventually. Whether we end up turning the thermostat up or reading the books, they’ll be proud.”

@patzammit @princess-evans-addict @feistytravel @marvelouspottering @pleasecallmecaptain @lostinspace33 @saffreelove @shiperton @mxrvelsaos @nomadicpixel @writingbarnes @mycapt-ohcapt @ilovethings-somuch @madamrogers 

[waterchestnut123]

CH 8 | To Catch A Turtle Dove

Fandom: One Piece Setting: Victorian AU Genre: Action, Adventure, Humor, Friendship, Romance. Pairings: Law/Nami Rating: M - Mature (for language, drinking and alcohol, death and some moderate gore, other adult themes)

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Chapter 8: Speculative Reporting

“Widespread Burglaries at Trafalgar Castle Ball”

“The talk of the town this past month has been the unexpected announcement of a ball to be held at Castle Trafalgar in early December for the most influential families in Flevance—an announcement which was met with great surprise given the Lord and Lady’s strident efforts over the years to maintain their privacy. The affair, which took place last Saturday, was expected by many to be the most glamorous and highly anticipated event of the year.

 "However, instead of eager gossip about the extravagant affair or the opening of the castle for the first time in almost a decade, what has captured the attention of the Province in the week following the Trafalgar’s winter gala has instead been a rash of burglaries which occurred during the ball—right under the Lord and Lady’s noses.

 "Initial estimates by authorities and reports from guests—many of whom did not realize they had been the victim of theft until returning home later that night—suggest the thief stole a variety of items ranging from pocket watches and brooches to silverware and billfolds. While the full scale of the burglaries has yet to be tallied, initial estimates suggest the cumulative value of goods stolen to be near 1 million Belli. Lord Trafalgar has assured the victims and the Capitol Inquirer that he is taking every effort to locate the culprit and see them brought to justice; but unfortunately, according to authorities, the trail appears to have gone cold and no leads have yet been found.”

Franky set the paper onto the table with a crinkling rustle as Usopp whistled lowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Nami, for her part, struggled to suppress a smug smirk, opting instead to raise her tankard to her lips as Frank turned to her with a grin and a slap on the shoulder, causing her ale to slosh against her mouth.

“OW! Nice going, Sis!”

“Yeah, Nami,” Usopp chimed in, scratching his goatee as he observed her with something akin to wonder, ”This is… really, really impressive.”

Nami casually flipped her hair over a shoulder, lips quirked despite her attempts to play it cool.

“They don’t call me the Uncapturable Cat Thief for nothing.”

Truthfully—though she hadn’t told anyone, the unexpected twist to the end of the night had been more than simply an embarrassment; it had rattled her confidence. She’d anxiously kept to the bookshop since the ball, too afraid to be seen in public lest the authorities be out searching for her.

It was only after lying low for almost a week that the article had appeared in the paper. She’d learned of it first that morning over breakfast, Robin reading the good news aloud to her at the kitchen table. She was fairly certain she had never heard words as sweet as “the trail appears to have gone cold”, and enthusiastically deemed it safe enough to venture out into public again; and good thing too, as she was beginning to go stir-crazy in their small apartment.

“Hey—how about another round? To celebrate!” Franky enthused, shaking his empty mug.

“Here here!” Usopp agreed with a grin, hoisting his mug in the air. Nami smiled, turning in her seat.

“Sanji-kun!” she hollered towards the kitchen; and as if immediately summoned by her voice, the cook backed through the swinging double doors, a tray with three fresh mugs already balanced on one hand.

“A step ahead of you, my lovely Nami-swan!” he crooned, crossing the short distance to their table by the fire and depositing three filled mugs in front of them, putting the empty ones on his tray.

“Are you sure you can’t join us, Sanji-kun?” Nami inquired, taking up a fresh mug.

“Ah, how I would love to! But unfortunately, I need to prepare for the dinner rush—hungry customers never wait,” he lamented, before adding with sincerity, “Congratulations, though, Nami-San. Your skills never cease to amaze me.”

He offered her a wide smile before turning back for the kitchen, a hand reaching up to his mouth before lowering to the bar counter, butt in hand, sinking the remains of his cigarette into a waiting ashtray.

Usopp reached for the abandoned newspaper, flipping the page as she returned her attention to the table. Franky kicked up his legs as he took a deep swig of his full tankard, turning her way.

“So what was it like, there? Almost nobody’s seen the castle since it was rebuilt. It’s supposed to be the most beautiful building in all of Flevance, built by a team of master craftsmen with the finest materials.”

Nami leaned back in her seat, a smile tugging at her lips. The first thing Sanji had wanted to know about were all the high society ladies dressed up like little taffeta cakes; trust Franky to be interested instead in the architecture.

“It’s the most beautiful and most ridiculously lavish building you could possibly ever imagine,” she said, hands gesticulating as she attempted to convey it’s stunning grandiosity.

“I mean, just the grand staircase alone cost probably as much as the entire last house I stole from. And the ballroom was enormous! Two stories high, with these amazing hardwood floors like a tile mosaic; and huge marble columns, crystal chandeliers the size of my bedroom, a mural across the whole ballroom ceiling… It was… breathtaking, to be honest.”

Franky looked awed and a tad wistful, thumb absently rubbing the handle of his tankard as he stared into space. “I bet Tom-san would have loved to see something like that…”

Franky rarely mentioned his old master, Tom. As far as she knew, he had been killed before Franky finished his apprenticeship to the man on Water Seven, years back, before it sunk into the sea off the exterior coast of Drum. But much like with Robin’s past, she knew better than to pry into what was clearly sensitive territory.

“I bet he would have loved it, too,” she said softly.

“What I wouldn’t give to see it for myself!” he added, mood lifting. “I bet I could learn a thing or two from a masterwork like that!”

“Oh—oh hey guys, check this out!” Usopp enthused, setting the paper onto the table and spreading it flat with his palms. He pointed to a small article on the third page, and as Franky leaned over to look, his expression soured with distaste.

“There’s a rumor the Lord might be courting someone! It says here that he refused a dance from every woman—except for one; and eyewitnesses say he only had eyes for her. ‘Bout time, eh!”

Nami felt her cheeks heat, quickly raising her tankard to her lips to hide her embarrassment. Really! She assumed people would talk, but an article in the paper? And he hardly “only had eyes” for her; she was seen with the guy once, all night—for fifteen minutes! Talk about speculative reporting.

Usopp scratched at his goatee again. “Maybe that’s why they finally opened up the castle…” he mused, then lifted a thoughtful eye to Nami. ”Did you happen to see her, Nami? The article says nobody knows who she is…”

Nami’s face burned hotter. She hardly wanted to admit it was she the article was referring to. Everyone had been singing her praises all day, and she was loath to contradict that praise with the truth of how badly she’d screwed up in the final twenty minutes.

She was, thankfully, saved from having to respond by Franky’s timely interruption.

“Are you reading the Society Page?” he asked with horror, causing Usopp to jerk in his direction with an ill-disguised blush.

“What?” he demanded defensively, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know the talk of the Capitol!”

Franky snorted. “Yeah, if you’re a snooty, undersexed housewife.”

“Oi! There’s a lot of valuable information in the society page—!”

And there they went. Insults and thoroughly unqualified opinions were thrown back and forth, and Nami leaned back in her chair with a relieved sigh. Trust them to forget about Usopp’s question altogether once they became embroiled in a bout of boyish bickering.

She slowly finished her drink as she watched their back-and-forth, Usopp extolling the value of social context provided by the society page’s ‘reporting’, while Franky insisted it was nothing more than a gossip rag for bored housewives. As the last of her ale trickled pleasantly down her throat, she glanced up at the clock over the mantle.

“Alright guys,” she said, interrupting their argument and setting her empty tankard on the tabletop with a thud. “I’ve gotta head out—my second shift starts soon.”

Their boy fight was put on pause and each stood to give her a fierce hug, finding momentary commonality in showering her with yet more congratulations. She met their praise with a smile and appreciative, “Thanks guys”, before turning for the kitchen to bid a busy Sanji quick farewell.

Upon returning to the tavern dining room Usopp and Franky had resumed their argument over the merits of the Society Page, and she laughed lowly as she grabbed her worn tartan cloak from the hook by the door, throwing it breezily over her shoulders. With a quick “See ya later!”, she headed out the door, trading cozy tavern warmth for chill winter afternoon.

Golden sunlight cast long shadows as she navigated the busy streets, late-day crowds and Christmastime shoppers filling the trade district and making her journey back to Robin’s apartment a slow one. She passed the dress shops and tailors and cobblers, young girls oggling the latest silk taffeta holiday designs in the store window. She passed the butcher and green grocery, each advertising holiday turkeys and fresh cranberries respectively. And soon, Geo’s cart came into view and she offered him a cheerful wave as he bagged a customer’s oranges. It was as she passed by that the the bookstore’s awning finally came into view; almost there—and just in time.

As she approached the shopfront, however, her brow furrowed in confusion; for despite the early evening holiday shoppers about, there were no lights on in the store as there should have been. Did Robin close early?

She stepped under the awning and up into the entryway nook, eying a sign tacked to the shop door written in Robin’s precise, elegant handwriting. She cocked her head, gloved fingers touching the note curiously. Ordinarily, Robin wrote in cursive. Nami knew this because she could scarcely read cursive—as much as she could read to begin with. Whenever Robin wrote in her journal or transcribed recipes, she always wrote in that looping, elegant, nonsensical script. And when she sent Nami to the store with a grocery list, or otherwise provided her with a simple written message, it was always penned in clear, precise font instead of her usual cursive.

Just like this sign.

She stared at it closely, slowly deciphering the message word by word: “Closed for the day. Please come back tomorrow.”

Huh. That was… odd. Though she supposed Robin knew she was due to resume her shift shortly—maybe she simply wanted her to know she had the rest of the evening off? Or maybe she was just trying to make her store notices clearer and easier to read for potential customers? There were a lot of children out and about today… Although, that fact alone made it odd that she would close early. The holiday rush was at its peak, after all.

She stepped off the stoop and back out into the street. She supposed it would be easy to find out, as the woman in question was likely right upstairs. Turning, she headed for the narrow, nondescript door to the left of the shopfront. Pulling her key from her pocket, she unlocked the door and pushed it open with with a grating squeal before stepping inside and locking both the door and the sounds of the street behind her.

She climbed the narrow, dingy stairs quickly, stopping at the small landing at the top to flip the keys on her ring and stick the second into the apartment door’s lock. She turned and pushed it open easily, stepping into the apartment’s warmth. The fire was crackling in the living room, a low flame rising from two small logs in the hearth. She pulled her gloves from her hands and her cloak from her shoulders, tossing the winter wear onto a bench by the door. Then, she headed into the living room, calling out.

“Robin? You home?”

Brief silence followed by the clinking of stoneware; then: “In the Kitchen!”

Turning right, she crossed through the living room heading toward Robin’s voice, rubbing her hands to ward off the last of the outdoor chill.

“I saw you closed the shop early?” she queried, stepping into the short hallway; however she didn’t get more than halfway through before the dining nook—and their kitchen table, came into view, causing her to freeze mid-step.

For sitting at the table in her chair beside a politely smiling Robin, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, was none other than Lord Trafalgar.

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[knightofwalpvrgis]

Here’s my much more controversial take on the nature of Harry Potter criticism (hatred), and how it’s come to affect the Fantastic Beasts series.

As I’ve said, I noticed something particularly forced about the nature of the negativity surrounding FB1 back in 2016 - forced hit-pieces that criticize the film but apparently barely comprehended it...regurgitations of the plot not accurately depicting the film at all, showing a lack of attention and active listening among certain audience members. It was insulting, and people kept on looking for excuses to consider the film a disappointment despite the good reviews from the audience and fans, and the good box office performance, not to mention the esteemed accolades from the Academy and BAFTA.

The criticism for FB2 seems motivated by personal feelings based on certain plot points, the same lack of active listening and a determination to blame the film for your lack of superficial enjoyment or comprehension, and determined negativity in the face of completely unwarranted controversy and a bro-y, anti-intelligent rejection of the complexity and thematic maturity of the story. And the latter part is something Harry Potter has always struggled with.

People don’t like dark, thoughtful films in the US. Everything either has to have tons of action and/or tons of humor. Blockbuster four-quadrants even in the eyes of critics, “shouldn’t take themselves too seriously”...and when they do, that’s grounds for panning? For vicious insults? And insinuations that, in fact, it isn’t the film that’s too cerebral for them. It’s the audience that is too cerebral for the film.

But dare you express this sentiment, and you’re simply met with exclamations of “pretentiousness!” and arrogance...which is, of course, ironic and hypocritical.

My point is, I don’t want to see Rowling sell out. Of course there’s allowed to be difference in opinion and we should consider the flaws of every piece, but the Fantastic Beasts films arrived with a seething, unwarranted, determined underbelly of hatred to begin with, and that makes it hard to stomach some of the “criticism” it’s faced and consider it legitimate or professional. Alongside the usual absurd, meaningless imputations of “greed” (yes, every film is essentially a “cash grab”...stop using that buzzword guys, it means nothing) the biggest, most ridiculous criticism I see comes from people who really don’t want to let their condescension of this series go. They still want to treat it like it’s a lighthearted kids series despite that fact that 1) it’s not 2) it hasn’t been for kids in quite a while, for the majority of its run, and has always been quite dark and 3) Fantastic Beasts 1, to prove this, played to an audience of 65% over 25 year olds. FB2 played to an audience of nearly 70% over 25 year olds. And there’s minimal marketing to kids, yet people keep acting like it’s a franchise for kids.

That box office breakdown? The Nicholas Barber and Dani Di Placido reviews who’s entire critique revolves around “it’s too dark for a kids film!”, that go back to Harry Potter era when, film after film, people complained in reviews that it “was darker than any children’s film had the right to be”...the Dana Schwartz tweets and articles that indicate the perfect problem that these types of audiences face as the Fantastic Beasts series progresses...there are adults at the center of these films. They’re actually dark. They’re not child friendly. They’re hardly even marketed as a family film and they play at the box office like adult blockbusters, and in a sense, they are adult fantasies, and that sensibility stretches back to the Harry Potter series.

People like Dana Schwartz LOVE to write articles about how “Harry Potter is only good for small-scale escapism”, and this, in my opinion, is indicative of the problem facing audiences now...they’re forced to realize that in their determination to believe Harry Potter is lighthearted and for kids, they’ve ignored the fact that it is neither lighthearted NOR appropriate for young children. It was a series for teens and this new series is an extension from that original audience. Audiences have spent so long being enchanted by the Harry Potter series for very superficial reasons that have almost nothing to do with the characters or the plot. But they won’t ever admit to that. In their determination to see HP as cozy and quaint and child-friendly, they’ve mentally edited out, censored, and sanitized everything that makes the original series dark and adult...creating a warped, rose-tinted, shallow, conflict-less version of the original story that barely resembles the story. It resembles the version of the story that’s most friendly to their belief that it’s for kids. But, AGAIN, it’s not.

And so we get these warped, confused reactions to the Fantastic Beasts series full of people who are incapable of following a novelistic plot like they did while “reading” (but mostly only watching, and not fully comprehending) the original series. Expectations going into these movies are for lighthearted and kid-friendly content that these films don’t deliver...because Rowling doesn’t write lighthearted and kid-friendly content, for the most part. You have a maddening variety of reactions that mostly consist of: people who selectively attend to the few bits and sequences of lightheartedness and mild humor to keep that rose-tinted, child-friendly view in tact, coming out with a vastly incomplete and inadequate understanding of the plot. Then you have the same people who insist the film is “tonally jumbled” because they expected lightheartedness, and instead got thematic heaviness, darkness, violence, and melancholy, which interferes with their expectations and wants. Then you have the people that complain that the series is “too grimdark”. And because of the thematic riskiness and adult nature of the material, you have people attacking Rowling for being “problematic”, viciously attempting to outsmart her and make her look stupid, and arrogant, inaccurate interpretations of her stories to try to fit a pre-determined criticism.

All in all, I cringe at the idea of the GA and certain critics forcing something like Rowling’s Wizarding World into the space of WB’s new DC franchise. These stories have such depth, detail, and intelligence that people refuse to acknowledge and credit them with, and frankly, Rowling deserves way better than that. I think Rowling should pull this brand away and keep it in literature. Do the theme parks even need to stay open? Force people to read a book. Call off the merchandising, the video games, the films, just write books. Write Fantastic Beasts as a novel series and don’t even allow WB or anyone else to adapt it into films, because the blockbuster GA and the armchair critics should be forced to form another pathway in their brains, and actually invest in a novel. Instead of distracting themselves with silly excuses and endeavors, and reasons to characterize Harry Potter and further Rowling stories as blockbuster schlop along the lines of a superhero series.

To the silly, condescending assholes saying this franchise takes itself too seriously: it’s a series based off of Rowling’s experiences with death, poverty, depression, and abuse, and all of her written works deal with analogues and themes that she feels passionately about. She’s not a corporate filmmaker like George Lucas. And she shouldn’t put up with the abuse, the ignorance, the determined hatred, and the condescension for one second. This is an urban fantasy story about WW2. I suppose Rowling was mistaken for thinking that an audience that still believes her work to be for kids would ever stomach that.

TLDR; I’m aware of the main criticism regarding the film and it’s plot, but my issue came from the over-inflated negativity that’s come at this film for a rather small reason. Because even negative reviewers of the film said that the film was well made. And so my issue lies here: The film, in terms of direction, cinematography, design, acting, score, theme, and world-building has been praised consistently by esteemed critics. And yet we’re calling the film “the worst film of the year”, wishing the franchise ruin, and determinedly construing BO numbers negatively and giving it bad publicity for reasons like 1) “I hate Johnny Depp/J.K. Rowling/David Yates” 2) “I don’t like that the story went this way and did this with these characters” 3) “it was boring/convoluted/too plot-heavy” 4) “it’s too dark”

One of the most egregious RT certified examples:

“The film acted as a kind of reverse-Mirror of Erised - showing me exactly everything that I didn’t want”

-The Mary Sue

These aren’t objective criticisms. Since when do personal expectations and feelings about the direction of the narrative constitute as objective film criticism to decide the word-of-mouth and general publicity surrounding a film?! Even when most concede the film is well made, it’s still being trashed by some, even by the same people who concede this, because...it’s boring and “too much happens”? There are MANY films that are worse made that have just as overstuffed and convoluted a plot that haven’t gotten the bad publicity that this film has because of nothing but franchise good-will.

My stipulation is that a vocal minority of people are being melodramatic and over-inflating their negative reviews because of personal feelings regarding the story and “canon”, just as some are trying to find excuses to avoid crediting the story with the maturity it deserves to be credited with, in the face of an even darker and more aggressively political film.

Does Rowling’s voice, her themes, and her style need emphasizing? I’d encourage people to read everything she’s written to realize that Rowling is not a dewy-eyed, lighthearted woman, if Harry Potter wasn’t dark enough to display that to begin with: in her writing, Rowling is obsessed with exploring themes of death, life, trauma, political corruption, and bigotry. She’s fascinated by the facets of life that are mundane and often ugly, outcasted, or weird. And she loves subversion, twists on tones, archetypes, and genres. She often ruminates, in all of her work, on the dark underbelly of society and human nature, and focuses on our tendency for irrational and despicable violence, self-hatred, discrimination, corruption and power-lust, sadomasochism, murder, torture, rape, you name it. It’s a recurring theme. Harry sacrifices himself to death after the murder, maiming, and torture of his loved ones at the hands of incredibly sadistic and depraved fascist villains who aren’t above killing and harming children, to protect his compatriots and loved ones. Kyrstal Weedon kills herself with her mother’s drugs after being raped by her mother’s drug dealer and tangentially causing the death of her brother after running away from her drug dealing prostitute mother to conceive a child with a teenage boy. Cormoran Strike investigates crimes pertaining to all manner of human evils, including authors that ruminate on pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia, people with amputation fetishes, sexual attraction to murder and abuse, and the Fantastic Beasts series has started a running theme of infant murder and death, vicious abuse, and morally gray acts of violence, some of it righteous and vengeful. Can you think of the last film that killed a baby (or two) in any way? The only film I can think of is the Hard R Darren Aronofsky Thriller, Mother! “But Harry Potter is so lighthearted and fun!”

People need to stop so violently and inaccurately mischaracterizing Rowling’s work as lighthearted simply because they have nostalgic attachment to some of the superficial elements of her original series. Unfortunately, some people don’t like Harry Potter for the story and that’s why they don’t see it as the often dark, horrific, complex, and melancholic story that it ultimately is. And that surface-level plane of attachment can’t sustain any sort of long term interest in further Wizarding World stories, unfortunately. That is why the Fantastic Beasts stories are being treated the way they are. Your superficial, childish interest in only Hogwarts Houses and Quidditch isn’t very substantive, and can’t sustain your interest in something that’s incredibly plot heavy! Rowling is known for giving the reader more. That’s why her books are known for being very long. And that’s why the only major criticism this film is dealing with is - “the story is too convoluted and overstuffed”.

[mylittlejoanie]

Friday Night (Request)

Thanks for the request, @exo-spn! I had so much fun writing this.

Plot: Being Yixing’s secret girlfriend isn’t easy, especially when your friends are his bandmates and know absolutely nothing about your relationship. A night out may change that.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

[Yixing 19:03] Don’t have too much fun without me tonight, baby. I miss you!

[Yixing 19:04] And tell my friends I said hi 😉 “Can you pleeeease hurry up in there? You don’t have all night!” I rolled my eyes and I smiled as I quickly typed out a text, then set my phone down on my bed. I yelled at my friends from inside my room, assuring them I’d be out as soon as I finished braiding my hair. My boyfriend, Yixing, has been in China for weeks promoting his newest movie. I missed him fiercely, but thankfully I had a lot to keep me busy here at home. Not to mention my best friends constantly distracting me, even if they didn’t know why I needed a distraction in the first place. 

Chanyeol and Baekhyun had been my friends for as long as I can remember; since we were little kids and I pushed them on the swings at school. They got signed to the same entertainment company as Yixing when we were in high school; they ended up in the same group, and that’s how I met him. Yixing and I became fast friends; late night phone calls and trips up north to places where the trees were greener led to something more.

In Yixing’s line of work, it is considered highly scandalous to be in a relationship. I wasn’t ready for the public eye, anyhow, so I didn’t mind laying low. I knew I couldn’t possibly give up my privacy and freedom when I was hardly able to see him. So we stayed a secret from the public… and from his bandmates. This was easier said than done. I couldn’t count how many times Baek had walked in on me giggling during a phone call, and Yeol always had to ask who I was sending my selfies to. I’m fairly certain they thought that I was dating 30 different men, because I always came up with a different story every time I got caught. It didn’t matter, if it meant keeping my relationship with Yixing safe and sound.

I finished applying the most glittery eyeshadow I owned and walked on the door, only to find Chanyeol and Baek anxiously shuffling around, their eyes never leaving the ground as I did so. I put my hand on my hip in frustration and shouted at them, shocking them into looking at me. 

“What? Do I have something on my face? Do I have a rip in my pants? Why are you both acting so… weird?”

Both of them blushed as if on cue. “You look great, we swear! It’s just.. you’re like the little sister”- Baekhyun interrupted Chanyeol’s sincere compliment with a barb. “More like the little sister we never wanted or asked for. You look perfect, great, wonderful, yeah yeah yeah. Now can we please leave? I want to get to the bar before we have to push through a massive crowd to get a damn shot of whiskey.”

We made it to the bar right on time, despite Baekhyun’s constant mutterings under his breath that we were “so late”. We grabbed a drink, then a shot, then another shot. We danced with strangers, bought rounds of shots for everyone around us, and laughed all night long. Eventually, my feet began to sting from dancing, and I was itching to slip off my heels and sit down. I found a cozy corner area, and the three of us sat down, practically out of breath from our escapades on the dance floor.

I hadn’t noticed my phone buzzing again, and again, and again. I finally checked my phone to several texts, and a phone call.

[Yixing: 22:45] Jagiya, before you even look at the articles I need you to know something

[Yixing, 23:15] Baby

[Yixing, 23:52] BABY????

[Yixing, 24:30] BABY I’M SOOOO SORRY, IT ISN’T WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE I SWEAR!!!!!!!!

By this point, I was confused and so flustered that I spilled a shot of tequila down the front of my shirt. This got Chanyeol’s attention; when he looked my way, I was furiously punching my cell phone screen, googling my own boyfriend’s name to see what the hell he was talking about. 

“Film Star Zhang Yixing Seen Out On The Town With Gorgeous Co-Star”

I scanned the article, scrolling as quickly as I could to find the evidence.

And I saw my boyfriend, arms linked with his absolutely stunning costar, handing her a glass of wine, laughing with her. Drunken tears prickled my eyes as I remembered him saying he didn’t have any serious plans that night, and I began to fear the worst. After all of this time, had the distance between us finally gotten to him? We had worked so hard, for so long… but I wasn’t there, so I guess it made sense for him to seek the attention of his costar. She was right there, after all.

Baekhyun noticed my sniffling and stared at me intensely, anger furrowing his brow. “Little one, who the fuck is making you cry? Who do I have to punch?” He grabbed my phone out of his hand, and all of the color left his face as he read the headline on my screen.

“Yixing…. out…. you…. what? WHAT?” He stood up from the booth and stared at me, voice raised. “Do you LIKE Yixing?”

I huffed as I realized my secret was completely out of the open. If only I could control my damn tears next time. “Baek… I more than like him. I love him. We’ve been together practically since debut, but I was scared to say anything because I knew he would go solo eventually, and China, and I was just so scared…” Tears fell harder, and I broke out into full on sobs. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I was just scared it would ruin what I have with both of you, and I was afraid he would be mad at me if I told you, but now I guess we’re over and I am just. So. SAD!” I put my head in my arms on the table and sobbed so loudly that I was practically screaming, and I became incensed when I heard Chanyeol’s loud laughter.

“You’re our best friend, and so is he. Why would that change anything? Wouldn’t that just make everything better?” I looked up when I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I realized that he was right. Why HAD we insisted on keeping something so amazing a secret? It had been exhausting, and I would have been stupid to ignore how much lighter the weight on my shoulders felt. Baek gently dabbed my tissues with a bar napkin and handed my phone back to me. 

“I probably shouldn’t be encouraging you to drunk dial your boyfriend, but I know Yixing. I’ve known for a long, long time that there was someone special in his life, and I know he must love you dearly. Please, call him. Let him explain everything to you.” I pouted and whined that they need to be on my side, but I still made my way to the entrance and found a quiet place outside to dial Yixing.

My heart pounded a rapid beat in my chest as I listened to the dial tone. I was about to hang up when I heard a click indicating Yixing had finally answered his phone.

“Listen, baby-” he paused when he heard my overly loud sobbing, and he raised his voice in order to be heard over my racket. “Baby, I love you. I told you I didn’t have any serious plans for the night, and I didn’t. I went out with the entire cast for my new movie to celebrate the end of filming, but of course the photogs didn’t want to take pictures of my costar with her fiance - they clearly think that pictures of us will create more drama.

“But baby, I love you so much. So, so so much. I wish it had been you with me instead.” I stifled a happy laugh at this, knowing that he was probably pacing back and forth with worry as he said this. “You really do? She’s just so beautiful…”

Yixing scoffed over the phone and began talking at a rapid rate. “No one could ever be as beautiful as you! You’re beautiful when you wake up and rub your eyes with your grumpy face, you’re beautiful when you make pancakes at 2 am, and you’re especially beautiful when you cry outside of a club because of your dumb boyfriend.” I couldn’t hold back the laughter this time, and I could practically hear his smile through the phone.

“Yixing… they know. I started crying, and Baek took my phone, and then I told them, and then I cried some more…” 

Yixing laughed once again and continued to speak. “You’ve always been so emotional, and that’s just part of why I love you. But Chanyeol has known about us for two years now.” I frowned, trying to bury my desire to punch Park Chanyeol for just a moment while I finished up this conversation with my love. 

“Babe, thank you for being so honest with me, but I’m drunk, I’ve been sobbing, and I have a bone to pick with your ““best friends”“ so if you don’t mind me, I’ll be going now… love you miss you bye!” I hung up before Yixing could even reply to me, knowing I’d have a voicemail with his goodbye message on it in two minutes. I was so lucky to have a boyfriend like Yixing…

but I still had to deal with my two asshole best friends. “Secret, sure, not when those two have been pretending not to know for years. What else do they know?” I stomped my way back inside, hoping those two would still be sitting right where I had left them before. Those two…..

[edourado]

Kastle + soulmate AU

Fix it fic time!

Ok. Here we go. This was fun to write, and man, it got big. 20 pages long. 

It might be a little different than the usual “Soulmate AU” kinds of stuff we see. Here, it’s more like an abstract concept. A feeling.

Anyway. Here it goes. 

You

It was the darndest thing.

The first time he saw her, Maria was pregnant. He had a little boy on the way and was taking his girl for a walk, stroller, bottle, extra diapers, dog and everything in tow.

“Frank”, his wife had said, from her spot on the bed. “You have a lot going on there”.

“We’ll be good. You just take a nap.” Frank winked and walked out of the apartment.

He didn’t exactly know why Max pulled and pulled on his leash towards that particular park. The one they liked was on the opposite direction, bigger, there was that coffee he liked, the spot on the grass Max liked to lie down in the sun or the shade, whatever, and the nice playground Lisa would play in one day.

Nevertheless, Max pulled, and pulled, and Frank had too much in his hands to fight the dog, so he just accepted, going towards the park they were not that familiar with.

He could hear the music those kids were always playing there already when Lisa dropped her toy and look at him from inside her stroller.

“Dada”, she called, in that baby voice he just loved with all his heart, little hands reaching out for him.

“One second, baby, daddy’s gonna pick you up in a second.”

They were almost there, it would be much easier to pick her up while parked.

“Dada”, she insisted and Frank smiled down at her, delighted when she smiled back, big and bright.

She knew how to say “daddy”. Knew how to say “mommy”, “grandma”, “grandpa”, “water”, “doggie”, “kitty”, her own name, “dino”, for some reason, and a bunch of other words. But she kept calling him “dada” when she wanted something, that first word to ever come out of her mouth, already aware that it pulled on his heart strings, he was incapable of denying her of anything when she said that.

“Ok, here we go”, he said when they entered the park and he found an empty bench and sat down. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He picked his daughter up, placing a kiss on her head, sitting down on the bench with her little arms around his neck, tiny feet on his thigh as she stood up, looking at all the dogs running behind him, giggling.

“Go ahead, buddy”, he told Max, removing his leash, watching as he pranced over to the other dogs, doing some recon.

He had been sitting there with Lisa for maybe five minutes, making faces and noises to make her laugh, when Max came back, a scarf in his mouth.

“Where did you get that?” he asked and the pitbull blinked at him. When Frank reached for it, he moved his head, out of Frank’s reach. “Max, stop. Give me that.”

Max turned around, wagging his tail, and Frank looked at the direction he was turned.

Holy shit.

There was a woman running - well, not really running, she was in heels - towards them, her coat tight around her, blond hair flying behind and around her face. She was beautiful, holy, holy shit.

Frank was not a stranger to beautiful women. His wife was a 10, there was no doubt there, and the amount of women who smiled and approached him every time he was out with the baby was insane, but this one. He blinked when she smiled at him, a little out of breath.

“Hi”, she said, and he felt lighter, somehow. “That’ mine, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sure”, he shook himself. “I’m sorry. Max, come on, give it back.”

The dog walked to her and let go of the scarf when she reached her hand, throwing his weight on her legs after, rubbing his head on her hand like a damn cat, which was strange. Max was never violent, he was as docile as he was when he was a pup, but this was not common, for him to get so cozy with a stranger, just like that.

“I’m sorry, he never does that”, Frank said, standing up, Lisa turning around and looking at Max.

“It’s ok, it’s probably my fault. I was playing with him over there”, she pointed to a bench a few feet away.

“I hope it’s not ruined. I can, I don’t know, get it dry cleaned for you.”

“Oh, no, don’t  be silly, it’s ok. He’s very, very sweet. Max, is it?”

“Yes. I’m Frank, by the way.”

She looked up from Max and to him. Damn it, he was used to bright eyes. Maria’s green ones were part of the reason he fell for her, his daughter has them, but these lady’s electric blues are something.

“I’m Karen”, she said, offering her hand for him to shake. “And who’s this beautiful lady?”

Smart kid, Lisa. She always knows when people are talking about her. She blinked and smiled at the woman - Karen.

“Go ahead, baby”, Frank encouraged, tickling her belly. “Tell her your name.”

“Lisa!”

Karen let out a laugh that punched Frank in the gut and waved her hand. “Well, hello, Lisa! Nice to meet you!”

“Hello!”

“Oh, she’s just the sweetest.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not so sweet when she’s screeching at two in the morning.”

Was he flirting with this woman?

She looked back at him and raised her brows, that smile ever present, moving a strand of hair out of her face and yes, yes he was flirting. Shit.

“I bet.”

She ended up sitting next to him on the bench, asking all kinds of questions about owning a pitbull.

“There was a robbery on the building next to mine a few weeks ago”, she explained when he asked why she was interested. “I think I’d feel safer with a dog. Not to mention, it would be good company, I think.”

Meaning she was single.

Which did not matter, he told himself. He was married, happily married, thank you very much.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Very loyal breed.”

He told her all about the perks and the responsibilities of being a dog guardian, shaking his head at how much of a fool Max was making of himself, resting his head on her knee, bringing sticks for her to throw, lying down at her feet.

The dog was positively infatuated.

After maybe ten minutes, Lisa put one little hand on each of his cheeks, calling his attention.

“Someone’s hungry”, he said, smiling at the reason he got up every morning.

“I actually should go, too.”

They both got up and Lisa, out of nowhere, threw her weight towards Karen, arms reaching for her.

“Do you wanna pick her up?” Frank asked while Karen smiled big, big, big at his daughter.

“Oh”, she said, her face contorting in some kind of struggled look. “I don’t know if I should. I’ve been outside all day, my hands are probably too dirty…”

“Up”, Lisa said, wiggling her fingers to her, and Frank raised his brows when Karen looked at him.

“Go ahead.”

Which was insane, this woman is a stranger, how the hell does he know she would never hurt Lisa? Still, he knows.

With a murmured “ok”, Karen reached out and placed her hands under Lisa’s arms, taking her from Frank and adjusting her in her arms.

“Oh, my, but you are such a beauty, aren’t you?” and then, to Frank. “You’re in trouble, mister. This one’s gonna be a knock out.”

“Yeah, I figured that the moment she first opened her eyes.”

“This never happens”, she said, bouncing the giggly girl. “I’m not a big hit with babies, usually.” 

“You probably remind her of her mother. She’s blonde, too.”

Frank picked Max’s collar up and asked if Karen knew about some place with good coffee around.

And he knew there was a nice bakery a block away, owned by three Cuban sisters, with excellent coffee. He lived in this neighborhood, for crying out loud. Why was he so keen on making conversation with this woman?

“You’re happily married, Frank!” his conscience told him.

“Oh, I’m kinda new to the neighborhood”, she admitted. “I’ve been living off Starbucks, so far.”

“Nah, that can’t be. Come on, I know a good place. If”, he added, quickly. “That’s ok with you?”

Again, one more time, probably ten times too many, she smiled at him.

“Lead the way.”

.:.

Karen was sitting in her preferred table in that nice Cuban bakery she learned to love, her latte brewed to perfection, her sugary pastry sitting on it’s plate, her book opened in front of her. She would have to thank Frank, if she ever saw him again.

And boy, she hoped she would.

She has been trying to snuff that cozy feeling inside her since she saw the ring around his finger, ten seconds after they met. A married man, with a beautiful child, another on the way, there’s nothing there for her. And she should not be entertaining the “what if he wasn’t married” thoughts that would not leave her alone. It should have passed, by now, it’s been two weeks. He probably didn’t even remember her.

Her book was opened at the same page for twenty minutes, now, because she would start reading, but her thoughts would wander, straight to him.

Get it together, Karen.

After she shook herself and forced her mind to stay focused on the story, two pages have been turned when someone blocked her light.

“Didn’t think you’d steal my table when I told you about this place.”

Oh, shit. She looked up, already knowing it was him, that deep voice different from any other she had ever heard (the things it did to her insides were new, too).

“Oh, hi!”

“Do you have to be so enthusiastic? Calm down, woman”, she thought to herself.

The sight of her was something almost… Poetic. It’s not just that he was handsome in that rugged, manly, hypnotic, exhilarating way. It was that strange sensation that flared up inside of her, like a force, a warmth, a certainty.

This man was supposed to be hers.  

“Hey yourself. So you like the place?”

“Oh, it’s the best! I love it here!”

“Good morning, Frankie”, said one of the sisters that owned the bakery, a beautiful woman, in her late forties, arriving with a cup for him and a fresh one for Karen, with her heavy Cuban accent. “Today, the coffee is on the house. You brought us a great, great custumer. She is writing article about us!”

Frank raised his brows and smiled with just one side of his mouth, looking from Cecilia to Karen and oh, my God, please stop looking so good. Please, please.

“That right?”

While shrugging and smiling back at him, Karen wonders if she’s imagining it, the look he throws her way is not very… Innocent.

“I needed a story. Theirs is just very, very interesting.”

After thanking Cecilia, he asked if he could join her and she nods, careful not to look too happy about it.

“Of course. Its, apparently, your table?”

The way he scrunches his nose after taking a sip of his coffee is too charming.

“It’s the one I like to sit on when I’m here.”

“Back of the place, which allows a clear views of the entrance, nobody can sit behind you, near the window, but with a wall that can block the view…” she analyses. “Let me guess: cop?”   

He drops his head to one side and looks at her through squinted eyes, that side smirk in place.

“Are you profiling me?”

Karen  tries her best not to smile, but shrugs. “I’m a reporter. I guess it’s a habit. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. And no, not a cop.”

She waited for him to provide his profession, raising her brows and he didn’t.

“Are you gonna keep me in suspense?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s good at profiling people?”

Ok. There’s no way she’s imagining it, now. He’s flirting with her. And, before she can stop herself, Karen blinks slowly and picks her fresh cup of latte from the table, looking straight in his eyes, dropping her voice a bit.

“Ok. Challenge accepted.” 

She guesses wrong once more and he interrupts, asking if he has read anything of hers, and she refrains from telling him where she works.

“If I have to guess, so have you.”

They sit there for a few minutes, talking, it’s so easy to talk to him, there’s a feeling inside her that is different from everything she has ever felt before. Like she should have a string tied around her ankle to keep her from floating away. She’s light, carefree.

“So, no Lisa and Max today?” she asked an hour later, when they were both full of caffeine and the bakery was starting to get too crowded, the usual quiet of a Saturday morning giving place to the buzz of the couple of hours before lunch. He opened the door for her after they waved goodbye to Cecilia and they walked side by side, enjoying the sun.

“No, she’s with Maria. That’s my wife.”

And that fact stung more, way more, one hundred percent more than it should have.

“They’re having this ‘girls weekend’ or whatever. They’re with my mother in law in Connecticut until Monday. And Max is at his weekly bath appointment.”

“And now you’re feeling lonely, counting down the hours until they get back.”

She was trying to normalize his marriage. Because it was normal. More than normal, almost.

Frank pushed his elbow against her arm and she laughed.

“Stop doing that, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? Huh. Are you sure you’re not in the army?”

She looked at him, but he kept looking ahead. His mouth did curve in a smirk, though.

“I was in the army.”

“I knew it.”

They walked around for almost an hour. She went with him to pick Max up, told him that, as it turns out, her building has a “no pets” rule, so she couldn’t get a dog after all.

“You should… You know… Move” he suggested, too flirty, way too flirty, smiling, and there it was again, that light, bubbly feeling inside her, along with the one that made her feel like she had swallowed a magnet and he had the other end in his pocket.

Unlike the movies and magazine articles suggested, Karen had not moved to New York looking for love. To be away from her parents, yes, away from the shadow of her incredible, amazing brother, who she loved to death, but was incredibly tough act to follow, yes. To run from the narrow mindset of the people of her hometown, yes.

The real reason, however, was the work. She had taken the job in two seconds, hoping to create a life of her own in the city, away from the pressure of her conservative, traditional family. Let them gossip about her lack of a husband behind her back and not in her presence, when they could offer unsolicited advice and words of “comfort”.

Thank God they weren’t here to watch as she became more and more infatuated with a married stranger with that kind of charm that would have her parents shuddering and throwing the “bad boy” cliche in her face, that same one she made a point to run from all her life.

The sad part was, when her friends asked her type, she could not describe it, because she hadn’t really met anyone, ever, who was exactly it. Not a character, not a famous person, not even someone she had dreamed up.

So far, after meeting him twice, she was pretty sure that Frank was it. Her type. Completely her type. Physically and in every other way that mattered.

And, of course, he was married with two kids and a dog.

Fantastic.

“Are you an assassin?” she asked, only half joking, while they walked and he let out a laugh. It would be kind of great if he was. That meant she could go on and forget about him because he was dangerous and a criminal, and she was not in the business of fixing men.

“Do I look like an assassin?” he asked, looking at her.

“I don’t really know what assassins look like”, she said. “I just picture you with a gun, that’s it.”

“So you think I’m the violent kind.”

“I didn’t say that. Not everyone that can carry a gun is violent.”

“True.”

Eleven thirty came along and she told him she had to go. Karen didn’t know if she should hope she imagined the slight look of disappointment that crossed his face for a second.

“I’ll see you around, Frank.”

“See you, ma’am.”

Shaking her head and smiling, she got into the cab and closed the door.

“CIA spy?” she guessed through the rolled down window and he smiled at her.

“Close. But no.”

And then the driver took off into traffic and she was left feeling like she just had the most intense date of her life, smiling like a love sick teenager, her heart pounding, the brightness of the day seeming to dull a little.

But that was just the tinted car windows. Right?

.:.

He figures out where she works almost a month later, when he walks into the bakery and Sonia, the youngest of the sisters, shows him the article.

“It was, uh… Como se dice… Published, today. Ay, I’m so excited!”

He picked up the Bulletin copy and sat down to read it with his usual cup of coffee.

“Thank God for the Cubans”, the title read and he had to chuckle.

It was a nice piece about embracing immigrants, discovering independent business in one’s neighborhood, learning from the personal history of others and rejoicing in the fact that they could enjoy the food of other cultures. It was also a jab at the conservatives that thought anything non-American was not worth their time. Frank loved it.

And, right there under the title, her full name. Karen Page.

They had not exchanged last names, and he had been wondering about hers.

He was having an inner struggle, trying to convince himself that he should not look her up online. He wasn’t on social media, and, even if he was, he was married, married, happily married, why was he looking women up online anyway?

It lasted less than an hour, his resolve. He walked out of the bakery, newspaper folded under his arm and got into his car, heading to work.

“Morning, boss”, said his assistant, already holding a stack of files in his arms. “You have a meeting with Director Fury at ten.”

“Thanks, Ben. Those for me?”

“Yes, sir, I need your signature on these”, he said, putting a stack directly in front of his chair. “And you need to read these”. The other pile was placed to his right, but the picture of Maria and Lisa. “Do you need anything?”

“Not for now, Ben, thanks”, Frank said, taking his coat off and sitting on his desk. He really disliked desk work, but the promotion paid well, and it’s not like he didn’t get to go out in the field. It was just less frequent.  

When he sat down, Frank removed his gun from his holster, and it reminded him of Karen, telling him he looked like someone that carried a weapon.

He let out a sigh and started his computer up.

The name “Karen Page” was the first thing he typed that day. He spent a good five minutes looking at the few pictures of her, smiling, those blue eyes that seemed photoshopped making him feel guilty.

Guilty because of that notion that kept repeating itself inside his head, no matter how many times he shook it off.

She was meant to be his.

And then he closed the tab and decided not to think about her for the rest of the day.

This little attraction had gone long enough. 

.:.

It sounded like an excuse, but she really didn’t have time to think about dating. There was so much on her plate at work, and she kept accepting more, how is she going to think about going on dates and partying with the few friends she did have?

When she wasn’t working, she was exhausted, trying to keep her place clean enough to live in.

“This one it gonna be it, I’m telling you”, said Alissa, after reading Karen’s newest interview.

“You like it?”

“Honey. Get ready for a new office and a fatter paycheck. You’re gonna get that editor spot.”

“Oh, my God, no, don’t jinx it!” she said, getting the flash-drive back from her friend and coworker.

“Karen. Come on. You sat with the freaking king of Wakanda, T’Challa himself, and got one of the most candid interviews I have ever seen him give someone in America, ever. This is it. Your ticket to stardom.” 

“So you think Ellison will like it?”

“Babe, he’s gonna have to fight some sharks to keep you after this is published, you just wait.”

Karen smiled, sending a silent prayer to a God she wasn’t really sure she believed in that Alissa was right. Not that she didn’t like her job, but, after two years, she was ready for something more. And a bigger pay wouldn’t hurt, either.

She didn’t have to wonder for long. The same day the interview was published, she got calls from the New York Times, The Washington Post and, maybe the best one, Trish Talk.

It was local, it was not as big and international as the other two, but she was a fan. Trish Walker was one of the most honest journalists out there, and Karen would be delighted if she got to work with her.

It would hurt to leave the Bulletin, especially leaving Ellison’s guidance, but, if Trish offered her a job, it would be very hard to say no.

End he fought for her, Ellison. Did what he could, offered some stuff he couldn’t, but, in the end, Trish wanted her too much. And Karen wanted that job. More independence, more creative room, less corporate bullshit. A much, much bigger salary.

Two months later, she was getting a tour of the station, a producer walking her around, showing how everything worked and introducing her to her new colleagues.

“This is your office, we hope you like it.”

“Oh, it’s great”, she said, trying not to look overwhelmed at all the space she had for herself, now.

“Trish is down the hall from you. She’s coming back from Budapest today, I think she’ll stop by to say hi. Anyway. If you need anything, Karen, my door is open”, said the elegant, older woman.

“Thank you, so much.”

“Welcome to the team”, and then she left, closing her door, letting Karen alone so she could make herself at home in her new office.

Trish did come back, an hour or two later, while she was finishing coming up with an email, trying to set up an interview with whoever was in charge of Shield these days.

“Let’s get lunch”, Trish said after hugging her and expressing how happy she was to work with Karen. “I’m starving.”

Lunch ended up taking the whole afternoon. They ate and talked and Trish told her about an idea for a big piece, asking for her opinion. Karen felt important, validated.

“Anyway. Welcome to the team!” Trish said when her car stopped on the curb. “I’m so excited to work with you. We’re gonna tear this city apart, you and me.”

Karen walked back to her place in a daze of happiness. On the way, she walked pass the Cuban bakery and waved at Cece.

It never failed. Walking past that place always, always reminded her of her mysterious friend, Frank, whose last name she didn’t even know, so she couldn’t even look him up. She could always ask the sisters, but, Karen figures, best if she doesn’t know. Why does she want to look up a married man, anyway?

Thinking that it had been almost three months since she saw him last, Karen took a deep breath, unwilling to admit that she missed him, but doing it anyway, to herself, shaking the thought away, along with the feeling of contentment that came every time she remembered his face.

.:.

Frank stood there on the sidewalk, holding his daughter’s hand, looking inside the big window that showed him the inside of the bakery.

There she was, after, what, almost two years? Frank had, honestly, thought that the image he had of her was not accurate, but there she was, proving him wrong.

He hadn’t looked her up again. He already felt too guilty over feeling so attracted to her, that crazy attraction he had never felt in his life before, but when things started to get rocky between him and Maria and he started to fantasize about this virtual stranger’s smile and voice and eyes and a bunch of other things, he decided to not feed his mind’s eye.

It hadn’t worked. His marriage was going down the drain, and she, Karen, kept popping up in his mind, at odd periods of time. Sometimes he would spend weeks without thinking about her, sometimes he would see her everywhere he looked, sometimes he would miss her enough to consider looking her phone up and calling her.

What he would say, he didn’t know.

“Come on, daddy!” Said Lisa, pulling him when the light turned, and he had to take his eyes from the woman he had been daydreaming (and night dreaming, if he was being completely honest with himself) about for two years, now. “I want a pastelito!” said Lisa, pulling him with all the strenght a three year old could muster, holding her dinosaur toy on her other hand.

They walked in and she ran to the counter to look up at the pastries through the display window.

“Stay close, baby”, he told her, turning his head towards Karen again, his heart starting to beat up a samba inside his chest when he found her looking at him.

Smiling at her - because he couldn’t help it - he took a glance at Lisa again, who was now behind the counter, in Elisa’s - the third sister - arms. The woman smiled at him and he pointed towards the back and she nodded.

“You mean to tell me” he started, trying to compose himself and not stutter or trip on his own feet. “That we’ve been sharing a table all this time, and I can’t even brag about it?”

Her answering smile was, he was glad to see, probably as excited as his. She beamed up at him, closing her book, raising her shoulders and then dropping them again.

“Hi, Frank”, she said, and it was like a gallon of warm water was poured on top of him. There it was, right on cue: the feeling that everything was right in the world, there was nothing that could touch him. He hadn’t imagined it.  

“Hello, ma’am.” 

“Am I occupying your table again?” she asked, a coy move of her face, and he wanted to ask her to do it again.

“If you have a spot for me, I’ll let it slide.”

Karen pointed to the vacant chair.

“Be my guest.”

He sat down and they looked at each other for five whole seconds before she blinked, smiling big again.

“I haven’t seen you in… What…”

“Two years, now”, he provided, happy to notice she hasn’t changed her perfume.

“Two years? Wow.”

“You’ve been up to a lot, huh?” he blurted out, mentally kicking himself when she looked at him, a question in her her eyes. “I’m a regular reader of yours.”

She raised her brows, surprised.

“Are you?”

They talked about her job, she told him about the Trish Talk offer after her interview with King T’Challa, her trips abroad covering other, bigger stories, and he gobbled up every word she said, feeling like a fuse had been fixed inside him.

“Daddy, I got a pastelito!” His daughter said, suddenly right there by his side, pulling on his sleeve and he turned to her, smiling at the big treat she showed him.

“Wow! That’s a big one, princess!”

“Wait a minute”, Karen said while he picked her up and sat her on his leg. “Don’t tell me this young woman is Lisa!”

His daughter blinked up at her and Frank rushed to make an introduction.

“Honey, this is Karen, a friend of daddy’s.”

“Hello!” she said, always so polite and open, he loved that about her. “I’m Lisa.”

“Oh, my goodness, you’re so big! The last time I saw you, you were tiny!”

To his surprise, Lisa loved to know they have met before, and started showering Karen with questions about every topic she could come up with.

“And how uh… How’s… The new baby?” Karen asked after answering all of Lisa’s questions.

“Frank Jr”, he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “He’s great, almost two, now.”

He showed her a picture of him on his phone and the face she made, of absolute fondness, not the fake but polite kind he learned to be used to, made him want to pull her chair closer to his.

“Oh, Frank, he’s just precious. This is very late, but congratulations!”

Again, as if they had just seen each other yesterday, they fell into easy conversation, like they had every single time, and Frank thought that it wasn’t so wrong to admit, given that he would not be married for much longer: he had the biggest crush on this woman.

Except that word felt wrong. It felt… Lacking. He was not a writer, like her, but if he had to describe it, it felt like a spell. Like something out of this world, or something musicians came up with to sell records. It felt impossible.

“Now, you know what’s very unfair?” she asked, supporting an elbow on the table and resting her face on her knuckles and his eyes wandered down her wrist, to her elbow and then back. “You know all of these things about me, you read my stories and you watch my interviews, and I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

“Daddy’s a special agent”, Lisa provided, not raising her eyes from the game she was playing on his phone. “At Field.”

Karen looked at her, surprised, and Frank let out a breath.

“Well, so much for being mysterious”, he breathed out and Karen smiled at him while Lisa lifted her face from the phone, looking up at him, her cheeks dusted with sugar from the pastelito she had eaten.

“I’m sorry, daddy, was that a secret?”, she asked in what she imagined was a whisper, but it was as loud as her normal voice.

“No, princess”, he replied, dusting the sugar off her face, kissing her forehead. “And it’s Shield.”

She didn’t care. Went back to her game and left the conversation to be picked up by the adults.

“Is that true?” Karen asked.

“Yes, ma’am. You’re looking at the Director of Operations of the New York division.”

Karen chuckled and shook her head, her eyes falling from his.

“What?”

“I was just at Shield the other day”, she said, her voice different, now, lower. Intimate, almost. “I had a meeting with Director Coulson.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“That was you?”

“You- You knew?”

“I knew he was meeting a journalist, didn’t know which”. He felt his mouth curve in a smile. “He used my office for it. I was in Chicago, for a meeting.”

It wasn’t a meeting. It was a recon mission in Washington, but that was classified.

Karen’s eyes were conspiratorial on his.

“Sorry I missed you.”

“Yeah”, he said, after a second. “Me too.”

He didn’t tell her about his divorce. It felt, for some reason, too early, he didn’t want her to think he was insinuating something.

This time, when they parted ways, he had her phone and she had his, but nothing set for when they would see each other again.

But he was already thinking about an excuse to call her when she turned around to walk away.

.:.

The next time she heard from him, she was going to bed, and her phone vibrated on her bedside table.

“Just listened to your interview with the British MP”, read the text from Frank Castle and Karen’s heart beat a little faster inside her chest.

“And?” she replied.

“Did you keep his skin or did you make shoes out of it? The man was destroyed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

They kept the easy back and forth for almost an hour, until, finally he asked if he was going to see her at the bakery the next morning - a Saturday.

She thought about his wife, and if he was just arranging a coffee with a friend or a coffee date with a woman.

And she thought about how he acted earlier that week. It was strange, he didn’t say anything about it, but he didn’t… Feel married.

Deciding fast, she typed her reply and hit send.

“You bet.”

.:.

When his skin touched hers for the first time, he shivered all over.

After their morning of coffee and easy conversation, they walked towards the park where they had first met, Max leading the way. Casually, she asked about his wife, and he was so happy she did, because that meant she was curious, that meant she wanted to know about it.

He told her about the divorce and she actually blushed.

“Oh, Frank, I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t know.”

“It’s ok.”

As they walked, he told her about the struggles, about how confusing it was to love someone like he and Maria loved each other, but not being in love with each other anymore.

“Does that make sense?” he asked and she shrugged.

“I can’t really help you there, I’ve never been married.”

He wanted to ask if she had ever been in love, but it felt too soon. Somehow.

“I’m actually looking for an apartment”, he went on. “If you know about any good places, let me know.”

“Well”, she said, turning to him, placing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and he wanted to do that for her. “I’m moving, myself. Found a new place.”

“So you think I should get your old one?” he teased.

“No”, she smiled. “I mean in my new building. I guess there’s a few units vacant.”

Once again, he looked at her and she sustained it. He could hear his heart beating inside him.

“Yeah?”

She nodded.

“My old apartment doesn’t allow dogs, remember?”

Frank hummed an agreement, dropping his eyes from hers, looking at her lips instead.

“I’m moving next Friday”, she said, looking towards her shoes. “I could use a hand, actually. And you could see the building, see if it’s a good fit for you, the kids and Max here.”

“You got it, Miss Page”, he said after a beat.

When she hailed a cab, he wanted to ask her to stay and walk a little bit longer. But she had lunch with her parents, they were visiting from her hometown in Vermont.  

“Wish me luck”, she said before opening the door.

“Good luck”, he replied, stepping closer, pulling her by her waist to a hug. It felt like a hugging type of goodbye.

His cheek touched hers and he felt as if he had put a fork in an outlet, but it was pleasant, a good kind of shock, the kind that one could easily become addicted to.

“I’ll see you, Frank”, she said in his ear, looking at him that way, that wonderful way, and then turning around to get in the car.

“Holy shit”, he breathed to himself as she drove away, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the dazed feeling.

He had to kiss this woman. 

.:.

He showed up at nine in the morning of the moving day with coffee.

Soon, Karen was watching as he took leadership of the four movers putting her furniture inside the truck, musing that he was bossy, with a certain edge to him. It made her feel good inside.

On lunch time, they ordered take out for everyone, and the men thanked him when Frank asked if they liked Chinese. He payed for everything.

“You don’t have to do that, Frank.”

“I want to”, he said, very close to her face, after standing between her and the counter where her purse sat.

She showed him the common areas of the building after the movers job was done and she had payed them. It was significantly better than her previous building. She could afford it, now.

“You might’ve just gained a new neighbor, ma’am.”

She felt something purr inside her every time he called her that.

It was night, now, and he stayed, putting her furniture together while she read manuals and handed him tools.

“Shouldn’t your boyfriend be helping you with this stuff?” he asked and she smiled.

Smooth.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“No?”, he asked, side smile on his lips, the wires of her TV on his left hand. “Who was that guy on the phone a few hours ago, then?”

This was getting pretty serious, she thought, smiling coyly.

“Former boyfriend”, Karen said. “Current friend.”

He finished sorting out the cables and plugging her TV, but she watched his face closely while he mulled over that information.

“Stupid man”, was his conclusion, and she had to laugh. “Alright, it should work. Give it a try.”

She pressed the button on the remote and the TV turned on, the cable channels were ok. She breathed out a victory “yes” and he clapped once, already moving to the next task.

At two in the morning, she had wifi, a working tv, functioning kitchen, all her furniture was put together, all that needed to be sort out now were the many boxes with all her trinkets and clothes and decoration.

“Thank you, a million times, Frank, you’re a life savior”, she said when he picked up his coat, ready to leave. “I’ll talk to the landlord tomorrow, see if I can get an application for you.”

“Alright”, he said, walking towards the door, turning around towards her when he reached it, looking in her eyes that way he did. “If you need anything, just holla.”

She wanted to ask “anything?”, because there were a few things she could see herself needing from him tonight, but she just pressed her lips together and nodded.

“Night, Karen.”

“Goodnight, Frank.”

He stood there with a hand on the door knob, looking at her, and she felt as if he could see everything, straight into her soul.

That magnet she felt like she had swallowed came to life inside her, and she took a step towards him at the same time he took one towards her. His hand was on the back of her neck and then his mouth was on top of hers, and she was shivering violently, hands closing in fists around the fabric of his shirt, opening her mouth to his, melting when he moaned, guiding her face, swiping her tongue against hers, bringing her closer, holding her against him.

Was it always supposed to feel like this, kissing someone? Because this was completely new. Never in her life has Karen experienced this kind of sensation, this kind of physical connection while being kissed, it had never felt this amazing.

Dropping his coat, he held her with both hands, pressing her against him, a hand on her hair and she was not disappointed. That kind of kiss she had come to think was just something she would experience in her dreams, where one is almost brutally handled but, at the same time, with care and a very particular kind of urgency, was there. She had it, finally.

Frank really was the personification of her type of man, that same one she could not explain to anyone.

They spent God knows how long like that, kissing each other with a hunger that betrayed just how long they both have been waiting for this, and she felt like something inside her was finally working right.

It’s him, accused a part of her brain.

When she detached her mouth from his, she was gasping, her lips were tingling, she was vibrating from the inside, her skin felt electric. Karen felt him smiling against her face, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek before closing his hand around her jaw, turning her to him again, and she went willingly.

Slowing down, he pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“I should go”, he said, and she lifted a hand to run the tip of her fingers on his lips.

“Ok”, she said, because she understood that this might be a bit complicated for him, what with his divorce being in the early stages.

“Ok”, he echoed, burying his face in the curve of her neck, tightening his arms around her and she did the same, hugging him back, hands roaming over his back in what she hoped was a soothing caress. “Ok, I’m going.”

He kissed her again while turning the key on the door, opening it to the empty hallway outside her new apartment. It was Karen’s turn to pull him back to her when he made to walk away, pressing a big one on him, nibbling on his lower lip lightly, saving the taste of him in her mind.

She smiled when he turned around, towards the elevator, shook his head vigorously and ran a hand on his face, walking away and pressing the button.

Frank stood there waiting for the elevator and she leaned on the door, watching him. When he looked her way after a few seconds, she smiled and chewed on her lower lip, sustaining his look.

Her breathing came harder again when he turned back towards her and took big, sure steps back to her door, grabbing her face in his big hand and kissing her again, stepping inside and closing the door behind them. Karen wrapped her arms around him, opening her mouth to his, letting out a whimpering when his hand slid from her back and his fingers gripped her butt.

Nothing had, ever before, felt as right as this.

.:.

He had been happy when he married Maria. He had really learned what love meant when Lisa was born, and again when he first held Frank Jr. in his arms for the first time.

Frank was no stranger to love, that’s not the point here. What was new to him was this sense of… Completion.

She’s not a quiet sleeper. Karen will start the night on her side, hugging the extra pillow to her, blond hair swept away from her face. By morning, the pillow would be on the floor, the covers would be tangled around her and Frank’s feet would be cold.

But he would not trade the nights by her side by anything.

She’s sleeping on her stomach one morning and, to his surprise, he has a decent portion of the covers to himself. Turning to his right, Frank runs a hand up and down her back and she stirs, groaning.

He pulls her to him while she is still asleep, kissing the back of her head, turning her around and hugging her to his chest, breathing deep, every part of him relaxing.

“You’re the part that’s been missing of my soul”, he whispers against her hair, out of nowhere, knowing, deep inside his chest, in his skin and his bones, that  he had found her. The absolute, only, perfect love of his life. She was it. She was it.

She was it.

Later, much later, when night is falling again, he feels her lips on his forehead and he wakes back up, alert, looking down at the boy sleeping in his arm, quietly.

“Maybe we should put this one to bed?” she asks, softly, caressing his face, walking away to get her coat off. Frank walks to the kid’s bedroom, where Lisa is passed out in her bed, dinosaur toys scared all around her, and places Frankie in his crib.

Walking back to the living room after covering Lisa and leaving a nightlight for them, Frank finds her biting on an apple in the kitchen. Turning her to him, he hugs her and hides his face in her neck, and she caresses his back.

When he raises his head to kiss her, it feels like the world is righting itself around them. It happens every time.

“Happy anniversary”, she whispers against his mouth, with a smile, and he groans.

“Damnit. I was hoping you would forget.”

She frowns, mocking, and runs her hands on his face.

“Forget the day I met the love of life? You must be crazy, Mr. Castle.”

They stood there in the kitchen, holding each other, feeling like the world slows down as they do.

“I love you”, she whispers, her heart beating against his while he holds her.

“I love you”, he whispers back.

They were it.

It was the darndest thing.

[topmixtrends]

NEARLY A MONTH after her firing from the White House, Omarosa Manigault Newman appeared on Celebrity Big Brother to embark on a “total Trump detox.” In the two and a half weeks she was on the CBS spinoff show, the former reality TV star discussed her time working for President Trump, a man she once considered a friend, mentor, and fellow trafficker in showmanship.

She recounted being “haunted by [his] tweets every single day,” insisted Vice President Mike Pence was the person to keep an eye on, and claimed she joined the Trump Administration because she “felt like she was serving [her] country, not him.”

But Omarosa’s tell-all Unhinged: An Insider’s Account of the Trump White House offers less patriotic reasons for her decision to join the “Trump Train” in July 2016. She writes that the former businessman “had asked [her] to support” his presidential campaign, an offer she couldn’t refuse because of the gratitude she felt toward him for casting her on the NBC reality TV show, The Apprentice, in 2003. The relationship, she says, was “symbiotic.” When the first season premiered, it launched both of their careers as national shock jocks, eager to secure high ratings at any cost on the reality TV circuit. With his reputation as a straight-talking “real estate maverick” from New York, and her status as an eccentric villain who could get him “attention and headlines,” the duo, with the guidance of reality TV producer Mark Burnett, helped Donald Trump go from being a failed real-estate mogul representing the worst of the ’80s, to a legitimate businessman equipped with marketable catchphrases and a brazen charisma which would later capture the hearts of American voters. 

When she lays out her journey from the Westlake projects in Youngstown, Ohio, to college, the Clinton White House, reality television, and finally the Trump White House, you can’t help but marvel at the sheer variety of her life experiences, and her relentless determination to realize the “American Dream” on her own terms. While the idea of achieving immense wealth through sweat and grit is possibly the most harmful of America’s founding lies, it doesn’t stop Omarosa from talking about her hardships with bootstraps language. It’s both an extraordinary and gloomy testament to what marginalized people are forced to survive, notwithstanding depression, poverty, and prejudice.

Grief takes center stage in several passages of Unhinged. In Omarosa’s world, mourning is messy, compassionate, callous, selfish, and self-serving. At her brother’s funeral in October 2011, she writes that the National Enquirer sent a black woman journalist to pose as a griever, only for her to take Omarosa’s eulogy, and present it as a reported article. It’s an immoral stunt which Omarosa acknowledges and responds to with a lawsuit against the tabloid. The only problem was David Pecker, the owner of the National Enquirer, had a cozy relationship with her then-former boss, Donald Trump. In a move that could only exist in Trump-Omarosaland, the self-styled mogul negotiates for his protégé to be the West Coast editor of the tabloid, in exchange for the lawsuit being dropped. What would seem an unforgivable breach of trust to most becomes another business deal for Trump, and a résumé-builder for Omarosa.

Before The Apprentice began shooting in the fall of 2003, Omarosa states that she read “every Trump magazine profile and interview,” and watched “videos of his TV interviews” with the purpose of turning herself into “a female version of him.” She uses the same disciplined mimicry in Unhinged, parroting the playground insults both used by and lobbed against her former boss. She calls the president “Twitter Fingers,” brings up his obsession with daily tanning sessions, and decides his love of “Big Macs and fried chicken” have left him “obviously obese.” She also alludes to the diagnoses made about Trump’s mental health by professionals and non-professionals alike, often highlighting her concern for his sanity.

These remarks may be truthful and humorous to some, depending on how many times you can laugh at “orange-in-chief” or “cheeto dust” appearing on your timeline. But they don’t present the reader with the sort of confidential information you’d assume close proximity to the most powerful man in the world would yield. For all Omarosa’s methodical scheming, her attempts to solicit support from the same liberal media she was more than happy to antagonize are sloppy and desperate. After finding herself exiled from Trumplandia, she appears to be on a mission to find a sympathetic ear she can use for her elaborate public redemption.

When Omarosa writes that the discovery of the alleged N-word tape would be the “last straw” for her, you feel insulted at how brazenly she’s willing to undermine the reader’s intelligence to salvage her own image. By the time she claims to have heard the tape, there’s been too much said and done for her to pretend that Trump’s bigotry was her “blind spot.” She’s also proven that she doesn’t mind leveraging her unique relationship with the commander-in-chief to rebuff evidence of his prejudice. When six alumni of color from The Apprentice speak out against the then-presidential hopeful right before the New York primaries, she goes on the offensive. She books several interviews on cable news channels, writing that her “strategy was to say how much Trump had supported” her. So in other words, he had black friends. This just goes to show that if there’s anything Omarosa knows how to invoke or minimize when it’s convenient for her, it’s race.

Omarosa isn’t convincing anyone of her supposed naïveté and ignorance about Trump’s racism either. We find her stumbling her way through a litany of Trump’s “racially charged” offenses, some of which include birthing the birther movement, pitting races against each other on The Apprentice, referring to Haiti as a “shithole country,” hiring both Steve Bannon and Jeff Sessions, calling Mexicans “drug dealers” and “rapists,” and claiming there were “fine people on both sides” in the wake of Charlottesville. She gives racism an array of spicy euphemisms like “provocative,” “inflammatory,” “controversial,” and “inappropriate,” sometimes preferring its academic, elegant cousin, “racial,” when Trump’s remarks veer too far even from the type of prejudice white people can tolerate from drunk relatives during the holidays.

When she does go into detail about her day-to-day activities at the White House, she can’t resist portraying herself as a humble servant of the American people, looking to advance “diversity” in a government adored by the likes of Klu Klux Klan grand wizard David Duke. There’s no question Omarosa took her position in the administration seriously, a reflection of her own self-seriousness to be sure, but this account doesn’t seem like an honest recollection of what she actually did on the job. If she’s not telling inflated tales about putting out fires, she’s either anticipating or creating them. And when she mentions being worried about Trump’s ability to process complex information, or the establishment vultures encircling the Oval Office, it doesn’t conjure up any of the shock or concern she seems to want from the reader. Perhaps these statements are so in line with what we expect from the Trump administration, we can only greet Omarosa’s list of complaints with an eye roll and a told-you-so.

In the prologue and epilogue, she goes back to her unceremonious sacking by Trump’s chief of staff, General John Kelly, in the Situation Room. The ordeal is admittedly disturbing to read as she recounts being held in the top-secret room without access to her belongings, or any counsel. Yet it’s difficult to pity her or feel surprised. This is an administration led by a narcissist who’d already set the terms of engagement, long before Omarosa decided to join his cast of villains, liars, and corporate titans treating the planet’s future like a game of truth or dare.

Unhinged fails to depict its author as a brave whistleblower revealing impeachment-worthy secrets on the Trump presidency. She doesn’t provide us with a persuasive enough reason for her decision to remain loyal to him, nor does she reckon with how much damage her support of a morally bankrupt administration has inflicted on the communities she professes to care about. And when it’s finally convenient for her to call Trump a bigot, she’s already dug up her own grave so well, she might as well officiate the rest of her funeral.

What Unhinged does reveal is Omarosa’s knack for making her ambition, however ugly or severe, as exhilarating to watch as a horror movie. Like her former colleagues who went on mea culpa tours after being voted off the White House, she’s managed to capture the attention of the public, albeit briefly, through a dedicated performance of whatever version of herself she’s playing that day.

¤

Khanya Khondlo Mtshali is a freelance writer and critic. Follow her @kublakhanya.

The post The Convenient Villain appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2FjrDB8

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The ‘Casting Couch’ Euphemism Lets Us Pretend Hollywood’s All Right

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The ‘Casting Couch’ Euphemism Lets Us Pretend Hollywood’s All Right

The very phrase seems designed to prevent us from thinking too hard about what it means. Casting couch. It describes the setting instead of the act, the furniture instead of the sexual extortion and violence. It’s alliterative, a pair of plosives dancing off the tongue in tandem. The idea of the “couch” gives the whole institution a touch of domestic comfort. It’s hard to get enraged about something that sounds so cozy, so sweet.

For many years, we’ve preferred not to think too hard about what the casting couch actually means, save as a relic of Hollywood’s seamy past. In the wake of numerous allegations of sexual assault and harassment against prominent film executive Harvey Weinstein, news outlets are plastered with new accusations and old industry reports of lecherous producers. Many of these crimes ― Weinstein’s and otherwise ― were open secrets, or even reported on in mainstream outlets, for decades.

The source of our current surprise isn’t really new information; it’s how carefully we’ve protected ourselves from absorbing that information. Last week, Slate published an article diving into the history of reporting on the casting couch. Repeated exposes and individual reports of sexual assault, Slate found, did little to dislodge the perennial media framing of “the casting couch” as a fading myth.

At least in part, that’s thanks to the mythology of the casting couch, a polite, sanitized euphemism that obscures a host of ugly realities ― and has been doing so since the early days of Hollywood.

“It’s not an explicitly risque term. The word ‘casting’ and the word ‘couch’ are innocent terms,” Fred Shapiro, editor of the authoritative Yale Book of Quotations, told HuffPost. Despite its wholesome components, the phrase manages to be quite evocative. “It doesn’t, I think require a lot of explanation,” Shapiro said. “Particularly in entertainment circles, if the phenomenon was going on, people would probably understand what it meant right away.”

The exact origins of the casting couch remain somewhat murky, though it’s clear the phrase and the practice have been around for a very long time. In an etymological investigation at The Atlantic, Ben Zimmer found descriptions of the practice on Broadway during the early 20th century; powerful producer Lee Shubert was known to audition chorus girls in a private chamber containing a couch. As Hollywood’s film industry burgeoned, moguls including Darryl Zanuck, Harry Cohn and Louis B. Mayer were notorious for demanding sex from aspiring actresses. Zanuck and Cohn were also rumored to have actual couches installed in their offices for this express purpose. By the 1920s and ’30s, the phrase itself was circulating. Barry Popik found the term in a 1929 novel entitled Hangover: A Novel of Broadway Manners. A 1924 stag movie (an early pornographic film) called “The Casting Couch” may have predated that, though Zimmer points out that the title may have been bestowed later.

While sexual abuse of subordinate women by powerful men takes place in every industry, only entertainment fields benefit from the euphemism of “the casting couch.” By and large, we’ve settled on “sexual harassment,” though there are general euphemisms like “slept her way to the top.” Nothing can match “casting couch” for its glibness and ability to encapsulate an entire sector’s sexual misdeeds.

Simply the fact that Hollywood has its own special phrase for the phenomenon implies a meaningful distinction ― that casting couch antics are a separate issue from run-of-the-mill workplace harassment. It swathes the process in an aura of alien glamour. Sure, groping would seem inappropriate during an interview for a sales management position, but Hollywood, we understand, must operate by its own rules to allow for creative genius to work. Even casting isn’t just interviewing, but a mysterious alchemical process driven by intuition and inspiration.

Most of us want the film world to be different from the workplace mundanity we experience. We’ve bought into the fantasy element of Tinseltown, the home of “La La Land” and “A Star Is Born,” and we don’t want to give up the dream of a mythical place where a young woman can hop off a bus from the Midwest and become a star. Casting might be the most vital part of this Cinderella fantasy: It’s the magical step that transforms a girl with a dream into a starlet. And who wants to imagine that the fairy tale isn’t a lie, that Cinderella actually hates the prince but married him to become royalty?

The sharpest cruelty of the casting couch is that it preys on our fantasies of Hollywood, but also on our distrust of ambitious women. We thirst for that moment when an agent catches sight of us on the street and insists we have the “it” factor, but we feel nothing but disgust for women who grasp for fame. (See: the mass loathing directed at Anne Hathaway, an actress who seems to try a little too hard, and the conditional love of Jennifer Lawrence, predicated on her ability to appear natural and unstudied.) A casting couch conjures up both hope and judgment ― it’s the place where your wildest dreams might be realized, and also the place where an undeserving woman might purchase stardom with sex.

The sharpest cruelty of the casting couch is that it preys on our fantasies of Hollywood, but also on our distrust of ambitious women.

Despite the cultural stigma against using sex as currency, we’re quick to believe that actresses would willingly have sex for roles. There’s a long-standing slippage between our ideas of actresses and sex workers. Until the late 19th century, their careers were viewed with similar disdain. “Because they worked outside the home and occasionally emphasized their attractiveness and sexuality in performances,” wrote Noah Berlatsky in 2015, “actresses on the stage were also perceived to be disreputable, publicly available women—whether or not they actually sold sex for money.” The casting couch is deeply entangled with this idea, that actresses are sexual performers and that filmmakers must try out the goods in order to cast an actress who can make America (that is, straight American men) fall in love.

The link between sex work and acting shouldn’t matter, of course; sex workers and actresses do not forfeit, through their choice of profession, the right to turn down sex. But it provides a foothold for rationalization: She wanted it, she does it all the time, she asked for it, she deserved it. Our minds jump quickly from the idea of a female performer to the loaded assumption that she would be willing to do anything, especially for fame.

And yet, more often than not, the casting couch is also dismissed as a fiction. Perhaps it’s the quaint specificity of the metaphor, which conjures images of a cigar-chomping producer coaxing an ingenue onto a couch in his private office, offering a role in exchange for a blowjob, or perhaps it’s just because we’ve reflexively ignored evidence of its reality for so long. Regardless, the common assumption is that it’s not real. ”‘Casting Couch’: Fiction or Fact?” read a 1975 Variety headline found by Slate.

A 1995 book compiled by Michael Viner and Terrie Maxine Frankel, Tales From the Casting Couch, is a prime example of this flippant assumption. It’s a book of anecdotes from actors and industry people about casting experiences ― some traumatic, some funny, some frankly dull ― that largely uses the term for a transgressive laugh. When working on the book, wrote Frankel in the introduction, they heard criticism of the title from members of the Casting Society of America who believed it “perpetuates a Hollywood myth they have been saddled with since the first want-to-be’s stepped off the bus from Iowa and found themselves lured into unsavory situations with unfulfilled promises of stardom in exchange for sexual favors.” In this odd framing, it’s the poor casting agents who are victims of a smear by unscrupulous, weak-willed nobodies who don’t exist anyway.

“These seedy stories,” Frankel continues, “are rare.” (Given the torrential onslaught of allegations against Weinstein, this strains belief.) But in fact, Frankel and Viner hardly seem troubled by the idea of such “seedy stories.” An entire chapter of the book deals with anecdotes about inappropriate advances. The stories are presented without editorial comment, save for section headings like “Ready, Willing, and Wacky! Who says sex isn’t funny? The following titillating tales will arouse your libido, kick start your kundelini energy, and make you laugh.” The chapter is entitled, “SEX, SEX, SEX!” 

The casting couch, in popular imagination, perfectly blends “it never happens” with “of course it happens, and who cares” ― and either way it’s the victims who shoulder the burden. If women try to draw attention to the phenomenon on a broader scale, they’re naive to have fallen for a fiction. If newcomers to the industry are shocked by it, they’re naive not to have expected it. (“Welcome to Hollywood, sweetheart.”) If they fall victim, they’re both naive and greedy, dumb enough to ruin their reputations in the name of a shortcut to fame.

Hollywood schmucks like Zanuck, Cohn, and Mayer didn’t keep their antics secret. Biographies and film histories often make mention of their strings of “affairs” and, of course, their fondness for the casting couch. Mayer, noted The New York Times in 1984, was “notorious for his endeavors on the casting couch.” Zanuck was “famously ‘in conference’ with an endless succession of aspiring actresses between 4 and 4.30 every afternoon.” In 2010, the Daily Express called Cohn “one of the original kings of the casting couch.”

These are crimes hiding in plain sight, draped over with the discreet gauze of cliché. “Casting couch” sounds gentle; “he extorted sex from vulnerable women” does not. The difference is purely semantic, but it works. And it enabled us to ignore the words of the many women of Hollywood who weren’t silent ― for decades.  

A phrase may seem like a small thing, but it can be powerful. Euphemizing “keeps us from having to face what we’re up to,” Ralph Keyes, the author of Euphemania, told Time in 2011. “David Lloyd George — he was Prime Minister of Britain during World War I — once said that if we ever spoke plainly and clearly about what was going on on the battlefields, the public would demand that we bring an end to war.”

The reason euphemisms like “the casting couch” survive isn’t because of people like Weinstein and Zanuck. It’s because of the rest of us, people who want permission to gloss over the problem and claim, later, that we had no idea anything was wrong. Sure, we knew about enhanced interrogation techniques, but we’d never stand for torture. Seriously: One 2010 study found public support for “harsh interrogation,” but minimal support for specific techniques like electric shocks and waterboarding. No wonder the Bush administration scrambled to rename torture with bland phrases like enhanced interrogation: Like the lecherous kings of Hollywood, they just needed to offer the public a couple words that would give everyone permission to look away.

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