#of course this seems to be opposite to what many landlords want. they prefer to not even notice the person paying to live in their house

[markwateneymemorialcrater]

Nothing confronts you with your own prejudices like trying to find a new roommate through a classified ad.

[saturatedworld]

The Drumbeat of War

A final rumble of thunder and Chizuru is soaked with rain. The sky clears. The storm departs, its invitation delivered. He shrugs. “Well then.”

“War!” shouts a lamia slithering out from the now roofless cottage. “It’s finally arrived at my lil’ old home. Maybe the bigger ‘Kings will recognise me as a real full-fledged royal serpent if I can defend it.” The golden-haired youth clings on the drenched man. “You will help me, won’t you? This land you stand on doesn’t come cheap.”

“No, Tiny, I already paid the price, don’t try that now. Remember, Robin doesn’t like greedy landlords,” says Chizuru – the Fingerking gasps. “Beside, the stormcloud said we will be on the side of London – I think it’s best if we act as a neutral party. And personally, I…” He trails off. No further words come from him, but he frowns. War…

“Chizuru-han?” Aleksei, dragging his hundreds of veils along the wet ground, asks, “This doesn’t seem to be within our purview. Do you think we can refuse it?”

“Aleksei, I…” He sighs. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to carelessly refuse Parabolan powers, and we might get caught up in it anyway.”

A man arrives at the scene. He looks like Chizuru. He walks like Chizuru. He smells like Chizuru. The only difference is how he still has both of his eyes. Aleksei flinches at the new arrival. When Chizuru himself notices and stares at his double, the second Chizuru offers a deep bow toward the group. “Hello, my apologies for the lack of calling card! I came rushing when I saw the terrible weather all the way from the Chessboard.”

Tiny hisses. “Which Chessboard?”

“None of your business, little one.” He answers with the smile of a fox. He notices the veiled man whispering to his husband. “Now, if I may introduce myself, I am you.”

“You are my reflection,” replies Chizuru.

“That is one way to put it.”

“You are myself who becomes alive on a chessboard – in a game of struggles for intelligence and power.”

“Another way to put it – did you just hear that from your husband?”

A pause, then a single phrase: “I hate you.”

The reflection shrugs. “I hate you too.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I feel compelled to fill what my other self lacks.”

“What I lack? Me? I’d prefer you gone from my sight.”

“Rich, coming from you. Well, you see, I agree! I didn’t hide from you for this long for no reason. But I’ll always be in you. I didn’t come from nothing.”

“It would be better if you weren’t in me. You’ve caused me many regrets I still hold today.”

“And leave your people with no capable leader? Don’t be ridiculous.”

As the bickering continues, Aleksei bits his lip. Is this what it’s like in his husband’s head, with his melancholic airs filtered out? He only thought that telling Chizuru about his reflection would help smooth over the conversation. He steps forward. “Okay, Chizuru-han… both, you should take a step back and—”

“Quiet, Aleksei!” “Silence, Alyosha!”

“Wait, why do you get to call him that? That’s not fair.”

“Ha? Not my fault that you are so awkward you can’t even ask your own husband about his name.”

“I’m respecting his boundary! He doesn’t even know much about himself yet.”

“Me? I’ve been calling my Alyosha that since long.”

“Your Alyosha?!”

“The one that went missing since your Alyosha lingered on this side for too long! He’s terribly shy, don’t you know?”

“Your— Well, of course I know! He can’t do much without his cover identities, but we are working on changing that.”

“...So this is what Chizuru-han thinks of me,” says Aleksei to himself.

“Sounds like he thinks you’re a helpless wallflower of some kind,” replies Tiny.

“Anyway, we are getting sidetracked too far,” says the reflection at last. “Back on topic, you have heard from the stormcloud, right? The wars of Parabola are heading toward this direction. Now be honest, do you actually wish to be involved?”

“I think of all people, you’d know the answer to that without me saying it.”

“And that’s why I’m here. You, my peace-loving self, tired of bloodshed, may stick to diplomatic and strategic works. I shall take over the reign – defend the fort and lead the campaigns. Meanwhile you can stay in this nice little cottage—” He pauses as he remembers what the storm did to the area, and makes gestures with his hand. “It will be nice again very soon, and you can keep it as a safe resting space in your fight for our cause, as it has always been.”

“...Right.” Chizuru nods; his head feels heavy. “I know you – I’ve been you. I don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you too.”

“But you’re myself who is best at this work. You won’t… you won’t sacrifice people needlessly, right?”

“‘Need’ is something that will be defined as we go, but yes.”

“I will trust that our values are not too different, so without… well, what makes me me, you should be able to reach decisions faster, and I hope that will also lead to less casualties on both sides—”

“Both sides?” The reflection scoffs, “Come on, now. This is war.”

“Yeah, d__n those savage cats!”

“Tiny, again, we will be a neutral party.”

“Yes, but I’m a Fingerking.”

“Okay, but what is this for you?” Chizuru asks his reflection again, ignoring the serpent. “What do you want, suddenly showing up now?”

The reflection shrugs again. “Well, as I said earlier, I just feel compelled to help you toward your ideal, even if my very nature is the opposite of it. I can do what you normally lack the will for. Like it or not, I’ve helped in keeping you around for this long.”

“You don’t want anything else? This sounds too good to be true.”

“What? I’m not some kind of malicious spirit that causes damage without rhyme or reason. You know it’s not in our nature to.”

“It’s exactly because it’s not in our nature that I’m concerned.”

“You got me there. Well, you said I’m you who become alive on the chessboard, right? That’s correct, and with that I’m also the part of you who was born a ruler – the king of one chessboard, if you will. And I think, in order to become an effective ruler, one needs a semblance of power. Are you following me so far?”

“Regretfully.”

“I wish to fulfill my calling as a king.”

“Do you know how much I wish to shed that shell?”

“I do. But I’m your reflection. I will be the opposite of your desire in some manner, and we complete each other that way.”

“Aleksei?” Chizuru turns toward his husband and advisor. “What do you think?”

“...I’ve heard a saying in my stay in this land: one ought to be responsible for their reflection, what your reflection does will be accounted as yours.” A sudden breeze; Aleksei’s veils flutter. He continues, “I’ve never met mine, though.”

“Wise,” says Tiny.

“Alyosha is right. You won’t be able to escape the war completely; I’m still an extension of you, after all,” says the reflection. “Actually I was expecting you to check on me at some point. That’s what I would do.”

“...Right. Right. I understand now.” Chizuru sighs. “I don’t like the idea of relying on… on you, but I will take the offer. I have enough on my plate in the Is already, and I never wanted to be part of the conflicts in this land to begin with, so…”

Chizuru trails off, but his reflection doesn’t need him to complete his words to know. “Understood. Our feelings about our methods may differ, but I won’t betray you.”

With that concluded, his fox-like smile returns to his face. “Well, thank you for your time! I’m glad it turned out to be a productive conversation.”

“If I may ask…” Aleksei raises his voice again, “Are you still looking for your Alyosha?”

That one question was enough to melt the air around the reflection into a familiar melancholy. “Perhaps I am.” He turns and walks away.

The second storm is finally gone, and Tiny has left too, both their amusement and cosy cottage no more. With just him and Aleksei left, Chizuru is finally able to relax. He leans on his husband’s shoulder, whispering, “Tired.”

“Yes. But our cottage is gone.”

“I want to go home. To London. Eat Vera’s cooking.”

“Okay. I hope our mirror is safe.”

“I want to see Camellia.”

“Okay.”

“We will get dragged into this war anyway, right? Just like today.”

“Unfortunately, we probably will.”

“Stay with me.”

“Of course.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Storybrooke Noir

AU-gust Day Twenty-Four: Private Detectives AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: None (with rumbelle in the background)

Rated: T

Summary: In Prohibition Era Storybrooke, private investigator Graham Humbert receives an interesting new case. 

Note: This is one of the first ideas I ever had for OUAT fanfic. Small parts of the story are told in noir-detective-style first person from Graham’s POV, most of it is third person.

Storybrooke Noir

As soon as I saw the identity of my visitor, I knew that my next case was going to be an interesting one. Regina Mills, it’s safe to say, runs Storybrooke. Nothing happens here without her say. If she was coming to me for help, then I knew that the situation was very delicate indeed. 

Graham could see that Regina Mills was the person behind his office door. Her outline was very distinctive. She was a fan of interestingly-shaped hats, and this one was definitely the most interesting that he had seen.

He opened the door and ushered her inside.

“What can I do for you, Miss Mills?”

“I need your skills, Mr Humbert.” She placed the brown envelope that she was carrying down onto the desk. “I have a case for you, and if you solve it to my satisfaction then I can promise you a very lucrative reward.”

“I have a standard rate, Miss Mills.”

“I know.” Regina’s smile was hungry and leonine, and it made Graham want to take a step back. Whilst he didn’t know what was in the envelope, he received the distinct impression that Regina was on the hunt, and whoever her target was, she was going to employ Graham to do the hunting. “But I’m certain that I can make any extra effort that you go to worth your while.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. Regina must be desperate if she was coming to him for help in the first place, and even more so if she was trying to sweet talk him like this.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Mills. What’s the nature of the job?” He took the envelope and opened it. A grainy photograph fell out; he recognised it as the work of Sidney Glass, Storybrooke’s local newshound. The picture showed a young woman with light hair standing on Storybrooke’s main street.

“I don’t like it when new people arrive in Storybrooke unannounced and start snooping around,” Regina said. “Her name is Emma Swan and she arrived in furtive circumstances in the middle of the night. I want to know who she is, where she’s from, why she’s here and what she intends to do now she’s got here. More importantly, I want to know when she’s leaving. If she can leave any sooner than that, then again, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

Graham nodded. Whilst he was not usually in the business of scaring people out of town – Regina had more than enough people at her beck and call to be able to do that herself – he would certainly look into the case. He wasn’t picky when it came to his earnings and who he took them from.

With his fee negotiated, Graham sat back, looking at the photograph that Regina had left with him and beginning to make notes.

It was time for a trip to the Spinning Wheel.

The Spinning Wheel Speakeasy is a good place to come for information. It’s owned, as most places in Storybrooke are, by Mr Gold. No-one knows his first name, and some people have speculated that he doesn’t actually have one. Gold knows everything that happens in the town, including the things that Regina doesn’t know about, and he’s always willing to share - for a price, of course. He’s the only person in town who can go toe to toe with Regina and be confident of victory, and I’m glad I’m on the right side of him.

If he couldn’t be persuaded to part with his knowledge of Emma Swan, maybe his girl Belle could help.

The Spinning Wheel was located in the basement of Storybrooke library, and Graham had to admit that being surrounded by old books and dusty periodicals gave the place an air of class that most establishments of its ilk couldn’t boast. 

Belle was sitting behind the library issue desk when Graham entered, although he knew full well that she was not expecting any patrons to be checking out books at this hour. She had been Gold’s doorkeeper for as long as anyone could remember, preferring the quiet of the library to the noise down below. They made for an odd couple, the bookish librarian and the menacing landlord and moonshiner of the shadows, but no-one who saw them together could deny that Gold was completely devoted to her and vice versa. Woe betide anyone who tried to use Belle as leverage to get to Gold. He could be very creative with that cane of his when he wanted to be, and Graham had seen him in action more than once. Keith Nottingham had learned to stay away after that beating.

“Hello Mr Humbert.” Belle greeted him with a smile as he came into the dimly lit building. “Are you here for business or pleasure tonight?”

“Business, I’m afraid. Is Gold in tonight? I’m hoping that he can help me with my latest case.”

Belle nodded, coming out from behind the issue desk and going over to unlock the rickety elevator in the corner. Graham followed her. 

“He’s in, but I don’t know that he’s feeling all that altruistic. You’d better be prepared to dig deep.”

“I’m sure he’ll be interested when I tell him it’s an opportunity to get one over on Her Majesty.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Things must be serious if she’s seeking independent help. I’d noticed that she seemed a little jumpier these past few days. What’s got into her?”

“Scared of losing her crown as always.” Graham thought it would be best to play his cards close to his chest for the moment. If this Swan character was dangerous, then it really wouldn’t do to be putting Belle in harm’s way. 

She came down the elevator with him, and the doors opened onto the Spinning Wheel. It was doing good trade tonight, with most of its small tables occupied. Graham recognised David Nolan by the little stage, gazing moon-eyed at the singer. His soft spot for Mary Margaret Blanchard was an open secret in the town - much to Mrs Nolan’s chagrin.

Belle led the way across the smoky room to where Gold was sitting with one of his associates. Jefferson Milliner was considered eccentric at best and downright insane at worst, but he and Gold got on like a house on fire. Graham wasn’t sure what the implications were for Gold’s own mental state as a result. 

Gold smiled warmly as Belle approached, his entire demeanour softening with her mere presence. He held out a hand to her and kissed her knuckles when she took it. 

“Who have we here, sweetheart? I see that the great detective has decided to pay us a visit.”

“Evening Mr Gold, Mr Milliner. I’m looking for some information about a recent new arrival in Storybrooke. I know that nothing in town goes unnoticed here.”

Gold grinned. “Let me guess. Her Majesty wants you to dig up any dirt you can on her so that she can be safe in the knowledge that she’s under no threat from Bostonian interlopers on secret missions.”

Graham laughed. “So, you know she’s from Boston and she’s here on a secret mission, which is more than me.”

“Aye. Any more will cost you.”

“How much?”

Gold gave the matter some thought. 

“I’m feeling generous tonight with the news of Regina’s discomfiture. Get yourself a drink and sit down with us, and I’ll tell you what I know. Will you join us, my dear?”

Belle declined, returning to the library above, and with liquor procured, Graham took a seat. He had to admit, Gold sold the good stuff; there was none of your bathtub rotgut at the Spinning Wheel. 

“So,” Gold began. “What do you already know?”

“Her name is Emma Swan and she arrived two days ago in the small hours. That’s as much as Regina knows and as much as I know.”

“She’s boarding at Widow Lucas’s and she’s intending to stay a week. She seems the transient type. Looking for something, I would imagine, although I can’t say what just yet. She was in here last night; it seems that Ruby Lucas clued her in. Belle judged her to be safe, and I trust Belle’s judgement.” Gold paused. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that she was one of your lot. Private eye.”

Graham shrugged. “It’s possible.”

He drained his drink and thanked Gold, going back over to the elevator. It was time to start digging. 

Gold had given me a good lead, and what he had said about Swan possibly being a PI like myself was interesting. I wondered what she could be investigating here in Storybrooke; we don’t get many people coming in and out. 

Widow Lucas was my next point of call. She takes in the few boarders who come to Storybrooke, some of whom stay permanently. It’s not exactly a vacation destination. She’s known to most as Granny, and she takes no nonsense from anyone.

“I know why you’re here.” Graham had barely got through the door of the inn before Granny had sized him up. He wasn’t exactly surprised. She had a sixth sense for things like that. 

“I’m sure that you do, Widow Lucas.” 

“She’s in the parlour,” Granny continued. “I think she’s expecting you as much as I am.”

Graham made his way through to the parlour, and sure enough, Miss Swan was sitting there. 

“Evening, Miss.”

“Good evening. Widow Lucas told me to expect you. Apparently Miss Mills isn’t too keen on outsiders coming into her domain.”

Graham had to laugh at the succinct summation of the situation. “Indeed not.” 

Miss Swan indicated for him to take a seat opposite her as Granny bustled in with some coffee. 

“It’s all right, Mr Humbert. I’m not staying long. My interest in Storybrooke is purely professional. In much the same way as yours, in fact.”

“Yes. Mr Gold thought that it might be.” 

“He’s a shrewd man. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but he’s definitely clever, I’ll give him that much, and he’s got good liquor.”

They drank their coffee in silence for a while, and Graham studied Miss Swan, pondering her reasons and motives, and what a private investigator was doing coming to Storybrooke.

“What brings you to our town, then, Miss Swan?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Miss Swan just laughed. “Well, I think that’s for me to know and you to find out, Mr Humbert. That’s what you’re being paid to do, after all.”

Graham couldn’t fault her logic, and he smiled. The next few days whilst Miss Swan was in town were going to be very interesting indeed…

[polarispluie]

With Fire

Eliott leads a normal life, he attends school, works on his films, attempts to cook for himself. It’s all pretty boring until the new neighbor knocks on his door.

Or: Eliott has a boring life until he gains a really cute neighbor that’s terrified of spiders.

Eliott would say his life is pretty uneventful. He wakes up at 6:30 in the morning every day, he showers, gets dressed and makes himself toast (slathered in butter or Nutella depending on the day) he goes back into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, gathers his things then heads out the door for class.

Class is the same every day, the students get feedback from the professor for the work they’ve done so far, then decide if they want to film or edit for the rest of the time. Eliott always decides to edit, preferring to film at home or set up spontaneous shoots in random locations he walks by when out.

After class, he walks home and attempts to make himself lunch (which almost always ends up with him having to order takeout). He watches tv or works on his projects for the rest of the day until his eyes are heavy and his brain is sluggish and he heads off to bed.

With this routine, Eliott would definitely say that his life is borderline boring.

Until today.

It’s 10 in the morning on a Saturday when Eliott is woken up to scraping noises coming from the wall next to his bed. He checks his phone, sees the time and groans. Call him lazy or a sloth all you want, he wakes up before 7 every day of the week, he deserves to sleep until at least 11:30 on weekends; anything before that is ungodly.

With all the noise going on in the apartment next door, Eliott decides that he won’t be getting any more sleep- much to his dismay. He stretches and sits up, grabbing his phone and getting a text from the landlord saying that there’s a new tenant and they’ll be moving in so pardon the noise.

Eliott scoffs, tosses his phone back into the pillow and heaves himself out of bed.

The rest of the day goes on like normal, apart from the constant noise in the background. Eliott can hear boxes being set down and furniture being arranged as he works on the couch. It’s all normal until he hears a muffled scream.

He jumps a little bit at the sound, waiting to hear anything else. When no other sounds come from the wall, he goes back to work. It takes about fifteen seconds until there’s a knock at his door. He sighs and gets up, stretching and heading over to the door.

When he opens it, a young guy is standing there, his blue eyes and hair wild, sweat dripping down his temples, his face a bit red. Eliott raises an eyebrow a bit, waiting for the other to speak up.

“Uh- hi, I’m Lucas. I’m moving in next door and- fuck. Okay, this is really lame but there’s a fucking huge spider in my kitchen and it’s only me here and can you just come over and kill it, I’m so sorry.” Lucas quickly rambles off. He’s tapping his finger against his thigh, looking desperate for Eliott to say yes.

Eliott studies him for a second before smiling and nodding, “Yeah, sure. Lead the way.” He follows Lucas into the apartment left of his and steps into the kitchen. He examines the space before turning to Lucas with his head tilted, “Where did you see it?”

Lucas points to the sink area and backs up to the opposite wall, staring at the spot his finger leads to. Eliott nods and walks over to the sink, ready to squash the eight-legged arachnid for his neighbor. He looks in the sink until he zeroes in on what he was looking for, his eyes squinting.

Eliott usually never laughs at people. He’s a decent person and understands that people have different reasons to be scared of things. Being scared of spiders is one of the most popular fears a person can have so he gets it. What he doesn’t get, however, is how Lucas made it seem like this was the biggest spider in the world. It was in the corner of the sink and about the size of a dime, barely noticeable if you weren’t actively looking for it.

Eliott sucks in a breath to stop himself from laughing, lip quivering as he reaches into the sink and cups the insect into his hands. He turned around to a horrified Lucas who was shaking his head with comically wide eyes. “Get that thing out of here, oh my god, get that thing out now.”

Eliott lets out a laugh and walks over to the living room window, putting his hand to the wall and watching the spider scurry off. He turns back around and smiles at Lucas, “Well, no more spiders to come and eat you in your sleep.”

“That’s an actual fear of mine. Don’t even joke about that.” Lucas narrows his eyes at Eliott, the latter letting out a shocked laugh.

“You realize that’s not possible, right?”

“I’m aware.” Lucas rolls his eyes, a small smile stretching out on his lips, “Anyways, yeah, hi. I’m Lucas and I’m your new neighbor that’s extremely terrified of spiders.”

Eliott smiles at him before answering, “Hi, I’m Eliott and I’m the neighbor that just saved you from being attacked by an extremely terrifying spider.” Lucas laughed, giving a quick thanks to Eliott before shaking his hand.

“I don’t have much but I can get you something to drink if you’d like?” Lucas walks over to the fridge and opens it to reveal water, soda, and sparkling water (Really? Who drinks sparkling water?). Lucas pulls out water for himself and gestures to the drinks.

Eliott sends him a small smile but shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I have a project due soon that I have to get back to.”

Lucas closes the fridge and nods his head, “Yeah, okay, thanks for- you know.” He scrunches up his nose and scratches the back of his neck.

“No problem, if you need saving again you know where to find me.” Lucas laughs and leads him to the front door, opening it and sending his neighbor off with a wave.

So it goes on like this for a while. At any random point of the day, Eliott will be interrupted by frantic knocks on his door. It always opens to reveal a panicked, red-faced Lucas.

Eliott notices that eight times out of ten, the spider (which he never kills because that’s cruel) is hardly worth freaking out about. He never mentions that to Lucas of course, too fond of the boy to invalidate him.

Throughout the ten spiders that Eliott has taken out of the apartment (Lucas has lived here for a month, Eliott has no idea how or why there’s been so many) the two gradually became closer. After Eliott removes the arachnid, Lucas always offers him a drink.

“Lucas, for the twentieth time no I don’t want sparkling water.”

“But Eliott, I’ve had it for so long.”

“You don’t even like sparkling water.”

“Which is why you have to drink it.”

“Why do you even have it if you don’t like it?”

“What if someone comes over and they do?”

“Tell them to leave. They’re not human. Besides, you didn’t have to buy a whole case of it.”

“Don’t question me.”

Eliott laughs and rolls his eyes. He watches Lucas fondly as he continues ranting about sparkling water and why it (and everyone who enjoys it) should be thrown into the Seine. He knows that somewhere along the way, he started to like Lucas. It was inevitable. He’s funny and kind and chaotic and fucking pretty.

He doesn’t notice Lucas trying to get his attention until there’s a hand waving two inches from his nose. “Hello? I’m trying to have a serious discussion here.”

Eliott blinks a couple of times and gives Lucas a warm smile. “Sorry, it’s just really cute when you go off on a tangent.” Lucas opens his mouth a bit and closes it again, his neck turning a bit pink as he squints at Eliott.

“Shut up.” It’s meant to come out intimidating, but Lucas’ voice is barely above a whisper. Eliott shrugs and leans back into the couch as if to say I’m just telling the truth. Lucas huffs and flops back into the cushions, pulling his phone out and pulling it close to his face.

Eliott stretches his arms above his head and lets out a groan before slapping his hands onto his knees and getting up. “Well, I gotta go. This fucking assignment is killing me and I’m gonna gouge my eyes out if I don’t finish it soon.”

Lucas nods and tosses his phone to the side, not even bothering to turn it off first. He sits up and holds out his hand for Eliott’s help. Eliott grabs onto his hand and quickly hoists him up onto his feet. Lucas stumbles and falls into Eliott’s chest, scrambling away as soon as possible with an even pinker face.

Eliott smiles down at him and leans a bit closer, Lucas breath hitching at the proximity. Lucas’ eyes flicker down for a second before returning his gaze to Eliott’s eye, lips slightly parting. His eyes slip shut as Eliott goes to close the distance between them before pulling back and bopping his nose, “That project really needs finishing. I’ll see myself out.”

Eliott stands there long enough to see Lucas’ dazed eyes open and hear him exhale a soft, shaky breath before spinning on his heel and walking out of the apartment.

He doesn’t see Lucas that much after that and when he does, it’s in passing. He always gives a bright smile to his neighbor, reveling in the way Lucas looks away with a more colored face than a few seconds prior. It’s not until the following week that he gets to talk to him again.

Eliott has a rare day where he’s not doing anything in particular and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He turns on the tv for a good ten minutes before realizing that nothing is on. He looks over his DVDs before realizing that god he’s sick of films right now so he goes to the couch and scrolls on his phone before getting bored of that.

He decides that he’ll go and get something from a cafe, not wanting to make an attempt at cooking that will just end up in the garbage. He slips some jeans and his shoes on, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything and heads out the door. He just about closes his door before he hears a commotion coming from his left.

“Yann, I swear to fucking god if you don’t kill this spider.” Lucas’ voice is desperate as he pulls on a tall, dark-skinned guy’s arm. The guy, Yann, is looking at Lucas with an exasperated expression; clearly having gone through this with his friend many times before.

“Lucas, it’s on the ceiling. I know I’m taller than you but come on, it’s impossible to get.” Lucas makes a noise of protest and tries to pull him back into the apartment but Yann plants his feet on the ground and leans back, making it hard for Lucas to move him.

Lucas glares at him before letting go of his wrist, sending Yann to the floor with a gasp, “That’s what you get, bitch.”

Yann flips him off as he rubs his arm, “God, you’re so fucking dramatic. Just get your boyfriend next door to do it, maybe you’ll actually get a kiss this time so you can stop being a whiny bitch.”

Eliott makes a noise at the back of his throat which causes the two others in the hall to snap their heads in his direction. Lucas’ eyes widened and he lets out a squeak, Yann looks confused looking between the two until realization washes over his features and he quickly gets to his feet.

“Hi. Eliott? I’m Yann.” he looks over Eliott’s face before nodding and looking at Lucas, “You’re right, he’s cute.”

Lucas made a noise before hitting Yann’s arm, “Please, please. Shut up.” Yann shrugs and smiles back at Eliott.

“Well, I have work, nice meeting you Eliott. See ya.” Yann pats Lucas’ cheek, dodges a swipe directed at his head and heads down the hall to the stairs.

Eliott’s left with confusion and his cute neighbor scratching the tip of his nose. He steps closer until Lucas looks up and him, raising his eyebrows, “Cute? Is that all I am?” Lucas scoffs and mumbles a shut up, “Well, guess I’ll have to show you that I’m more than a pretty face. Are you free on Friday?”

Lucas' mouth falls agape before he nods slowly, “Yeah, Friday is good.” Eliott flashes a smile and rubs his nose against Lucas’ before pulling back and tapping his finger to the end of it.

“Now, where’s this spider?” He glides into Lucas’ apartment before the other can say anything, ready to extract any and every spider in the building to make Lucas happy.

[anitabyars]

“How is this book both adorable and sexy? The Trouble with Christmas is a big city meets small town, opposite attract hilarious romance full of holiday shenanigans, family, love and sigh-worthy moments. It's one of the must-reads of 2019! I absolutely loved it!" --Naima Simone, USA Today bestselling author

The Trouble with Christmas, an all-new opposites attract romance from USA Today bestselling author Amy Andrews, is available now!

All Suzanne St. Michelle wants is an over-the-top, eggnog-induced holiday with her best friend in Credence, Colorado. But when her hoity-toity parents insist she come home for Christmas in New York, she blurts out that her sexy landlord is actually her boyfriend and she can’t leave him—Joshy loves Christmas. The more twinkle lights the better.

Rancher Joshua Grady does not love Christmas. Or company, or chatty women. Unfortunately for him, the chattiest woman ever has rented the cottage on his ranch, invited her rich, art-scene parents, and now insists he play “fake rancher boyfriend” in a production of the Hokiest Christmas Ever. And somehow…she gets him to agree.

Apparently, he’ll do anything to get his quiet life back. At least there’s mistletoe every two feet—and kissing Suzy is surprisingly easy. But in the midst of acres of tinsel, far too many tacky Christmas sweaters, and a tree that can be seen from space, he’s starting to want what he lost when he was a kid—a family. Too bad it’s with a woman heading back to New York before the ball drops…

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Excerpt

Grady barely felt the chill as he stripped off his freezing, sodden shirt in the equally freezing concrete shell of the mudroom. The silence was distracting. Too distracting, and he could think of little else. The last three mornings, he’d gone about his chores serenaded by chanting monks. Which was strange but…whatever. It didn’t bother him or the animals, and it gave his ranch hands something to laugh about.

Except now there was no music. And that was bothering him, because he suddenly realized he was thinking about her—something he’d been trying not to do. Had her power gone out? Was she sick? Had she fallen in the cottage and smacked her head on the stone floor? Had some kind of seizure? Was she unconscious? Had she decided to up and leave?

Yeah, right…he should be so lucky.

Grady shook his head, growling to himself as he flicked off the running faucet and plunged his hands into the steaming-hot sink of water, washing off the caked-on muck from his hands and arms and chest courtesy of a calf that had gotten itself bogged in a freezing quagmire caused by recent rain and melting almost-frozen ground.

He’d managed to rope it out with the help of two of his hands, its plaintive mooing and the distress of its mother keeping everyone focused on the job but somehow, when they were almost there, he’d managed to lose his balance and fall into the frigid mud.

His hands had laughed their asses off as they’d dragged his out of the muck.

The hot water felt good on his chilled skin as he picked up the cake of soap and lathered his arms and chest and neck. He needed a real shower, of course, but he’d learned a long time ago to wash up before he went inside. The plumbing in the mudroom was way more forgiving than the more delicate pipes inside the cabin.

Thankfully his jeans weren’t as mucky. Ordinarily he’d have stripped them off in the mudroom, too, and walked from the barn to the cabin in his underwear—isolated living did have its advantages—but he wasn’t about to do that with Suzanne St. Michellenearby.

And great…just great. He was thinking about her again.

He obviously wasn’t getting laid enough. Just how long hadit been since he’d been with a woman? Well over a year ago. Probably closer to two. Because that had to be it, that had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about the curvy New Yorker even though she’d stayed on her turf exactly as he had demanded.

Reaching with one hand for the fresh towel that hung over the hook above the sink, he pulled the plug with the other, then proceeded to towel dry. At least up until he heard a faint gasp and spun around to find the woman on his mind standing just inside the doorway, her curves hidden in a huge red coat, that green knitted cap pulled down low over her forehead and ears.

His hands paused mid drying the back of his neck. The room wasn’t big, maybe five feet by five feet, which meant she was way closer to him than he was comfortable with, given his state of undress.

“Oh…I’m…sorry.” Her breath misted into the frigid air as her voice faltered. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

Her eyes fell to his chest, zeroed in on the nickel-size scar just beneath his right collarbone courtesy of some shrapnel, before straying to his pecs and abs for what seemed like forever, the awkward silence stretching. Normally Grady wouldn’t bother filling it because silences were where he felt most comfortable and the other person generally rushed in to fill them up. But Suzanne wasn’t bothering, either.

At least not with her mouth anyway.

Her eyes were a different story. They were having an entire conversation as they roved all over his chest. She was looking at him like he was a slice of one of Annie’s pies, and Christ if that wasn’t like a bullet straight to his dick. The kind of friendly fire he could do without.

Fucking hell. He didn’t want to be pie. Not this woman’s. Not any woman’s. He wanted to be…tofu. Nobody lusted after tofu.

“Had some trouble with a calf.” Grady felt like an explanation might help the situation, but he still felt like an idiot making small talk.

“Was it being born?” She pulled her gaze from his abs to his eyes. “Did you have to stick your hand up inside and drag it out? I saw that on a documentary once and couldn’t believe how messy it was. And how calm the mother was. I mean, I’m not sure I’d be okay to just stand there while someone stuck their entire arm up my hoo-ha, right?”

She hesitated for a moment like she’d done the first day they’d met, like she wasn’t sure this was a topic for polite conversation. But her mouth had already committed, so she jutted her chin and went for it.

“I know it has to be done and, let’s face it, a calf is much bigger than a man’s arm—”

Her gaze dropped to his arms via the scar, his chest, and his belly button. She was looking at him like pie again. Annie’s pecan pie with melted butter. Sweet and savory all at once. An orgasm for the tongue.

Not tofu. Plain, tasteless, orgasmlessTofu.

“Even yours,” she continued, forcing her gaze back to his face, and it took Grady a moment to pick up the thread of her ramblings. She shuddered. “But no thank you. I mean, seriously, females of all species really do get a raw deal. I bet you if the males had to push out disproportionately bigger babies through the passage provided for the process, they’d have invented some kind of handy zipper system a long time ago. Some dude would have patented the bejesus out of it.”

She stopped abruptly, snapping her lips closed as if her mouth had finally received the frantic shut the fuck upmessages from her brain. Her cheeks looked pink, but then so did her nose, so it was probably just the nippy December weather.

Grady stared at her, not only at the amount of words she’d spoken but at the content of her monologue. “We…” He spoke because it felt like his turn, but he didn’t even know what to do about cows with zippers. “We don’t calve in winter.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded briskly, her cheeks definitely growing pinker now. “That makes sense. Who wants to be cold and in pain, right?”

She gave a funny little half smile that ended quickly and awkwardly. Then they just stood and stared at each other for several beats longer than was normal or even comfortable, their warm breaths misting into the air.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her red coat, she said, “I hope it’s okay to have a look around?”

Grady gave a brief, terse nod. “Just don’t go too far or go near the animals.” Last thing he needed was to rescue some damn fool city slicker who’d wandered off and gotten herself lost.

She nodded absently as her gaze drifted again, licking over his chest, lingering on the scar. He should be freezing, half-naked in a room that was little more than an icebox, but with her looking at him like she was trying to commit every line and chest hair to memory, he only felt hot.

Really fucking hot. Melted butter on pecan pie hot.

“I hope—” Her voice sounded a little uneven, and she cleared her throat. “I hope my music hasn’t been disturbing you the last few days.”

He wasn’t sure why she was making small talk—although it was preferable to incessant observations about cow hoo-has and zippers. Nor was he sure why he was standing ramrod straight in front of her, thinking about pie when he should be grabbing the spare shirt he kept in the cupboard above the washbasin and getting decent.

But up had been down since the moment she’d arrived.

“It’s fine,” he dismissed. It hadn’t been the music that had been disturbing him, that was for sure.

She nodded again, glancing around the room briefly before settling her eyes back on his chest. “Well…I guess I’ll…” She didn’t finish the sentence as her gaze once again zeroed in on the scar, and her lips rolled together in contemplation. “Do you mind—?” She stepped forward and raised her hand tentatively.

When he didn’t move because he was paralyzed by the realization she was actually going to touch him, she became bolder, stepping in closer again as her fingers made contact. She was so close now, he could smell her. Coffee and snickerdoodles? And something sharp, maybe chemical. Paint, he supposed.

“Is it a bullet wound?”

Grady flinched as she touched the scar, her fingers like icicles as they sunk into the small indentation. He closed his eyes as heat bloomed from the center, spreading like a ripple, burning like a furnace down the length of his body.

Blood pulsed hard and thick, everywhere. Damn it, she might as well be wrapping that cold hand around the throbbing hardness pressing into the zipper of his fly. It was probably forty degrees in this concrete box, but it felt like a sauna, and it was an easy 120 inside his boxers.

He swallowed. “It’s from…shrapnel.”

He had no idea why he wasn’t stepping back. He should step back. He should have said, Yes, I do mind, told her it was none of her business. He should be finding a shirt.

Find a fucking shirt, idiot.

“Did it hurt?”

Surprised by the question, he glanced down to find the bulky knit of her hat a whisker away from brushing the underside of his chin. “Like a bastard.”

She looked up and they were close—her mouth was close—her fingers a balm to the old wound that still made his shoulder ache on cold winter mornings. His heart thumped like a jungle drum and god almighty, it was hot enough in here to grow bananas.

“Was it bad? Did you bleed a lot?”

His throat was dry as the concrete beneath his feet. “It bled some.” Then, finally getting his shit together, he took a step back, and her hand slid away.

If his distancing bothered her, she didn’t show it, just simply said, “Thank you for your service.”

Grady didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say to this standard platitude. He appreciated the sentiment, but he’d just been doing his job. So he nodded, his pulse reverberating like a dinner gong in his ears, as she slowly backed out of the room and disappeared from sight.

Reaching for the sink, Grady gripped the curved edge in both his hands and hunched over, dropping his head down between his shoulder blades and taking some deep steadying breaths.

January could not come soon enough.

About Amy Andrews

Amy is an Aussie author of hot contemporary romance who believes in multiple orgasms, mighty wangs and happily ever afters. She’s been penning them for over twenty years and has 70+ books to her name.

As well as unforgettable characters and great sex you’ll also be treated to some laughs and a dollop of quirk because Amy doesn’t seem to know how to write a book without a bit of both. You might also cry a little because there’s nothing she loves more than a laughy-criey book!

She also loves sunsets and rainbows, unicorns and mermaids, booze and travel. And her home that overlooks the ocean. She may also happen to believe she was a Roman goddess in her past life because its the only thing that explains her adoration for all things Italy.

Connect with Amy

Instagram:@amyandrewsbooks http://bit.ly/2Z7Ss28

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AmyAndrewsAuthor/

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Website: http://amyandrews.com.au/

My Review

5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Christmas Romance Gold!

OH SO GOOD!! This is Christmas Gold! It deserves all the stars and more. I was immediately hooked, by this opposites attract story and I didn’t want this to end. Filled with so many LOL moments, tacky Christmas sweaters, x-rated Christmas cookies, over-the-top Christmas decorations, and a fake romance with a-hot-surly rancher, that was an erotic author’s wet dream. I think the cover captures Joshua perfectly, a seriously hot rancher with a subdued confidence.

I was totally taken by Joshua Grady, all sexy-broody-looming-silent-hunk of a rancher with his quiet, solitary life. But every December is extremely difficult for him, as he has to deal with the anniversary, and the loss of his parents and high school sweetheart.

So when Suzanne St. Michelle a artsy, curvy, talkative woman arrives much to his dislike, to stay a month in the cabin next to his ranch, he has no intentions of being friendly. Suzanne is there to find her muse and to paint the scenery that is all around her. But one look at Joshua and her muse is all about painting him. You could cut the sexual tension between them with a knife. The heat is electric between them. She shook him to his core with her constant chatter, and womanly curves. Spine tingling heat!

But when Suzanne tells her parents a big white lie, that she is spending Christmas with her new boyfriend Joshy, who loved all things Christmas and had decorated his place for her. Her parents are on their way to meet him. Now Suzanne just had to get Josh to play along. He knew she was trouble, he just thought he could resist her. Their banter is hilarious. And their times together will touch your soul.

Get ready to get your Christmas spirit on. You don’t want to miss this one! Oh how I LOVE an Amy Andrews’ story and this is her best yet!

[bts-svt-mx]

Maid For You (Part 6) Taehyung x Reader (M)

Author: bts-svt-mx

Taehyung x Reader

Rating: Fluff, angst, very very slight smut, mention of family death

Tags: Enemies to Lovers AU, slight smut, Idol! Taehyung, Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok, mentions of other members

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (M), 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Word Count: 5,100

Description: Wanting to get out of your parents house and experience what the world had to offer is way more expensive than people tell you it will be. So when your glamorous “manager to the stars” cousin Hoseok hooks you up with a  job as the live-in maid for a hillside, massive mansion, you feel as though life might actually be looking up. That is until the mansion’s absentee high profile celebrity owner surprises you by moving back in leaving you to wonder if this mansion is big enough for you and his huge ego. 

Previously...

This time you’re sure you hear it. You would know that voice and that tone anywhere but you hoped that maybe just maybe he wasn’t talking to you. You don’t see the source of the yell so you turn your gaze once more back to Jungkook and lean in again before-

“Y/N!”

Ah, shit.

Chapter 6:

As if parting the red sea, the crowd separates in front of you to let the pink and blonde haired drunk burst through. The scene only gains a few looks of confusion from party goers, which is surprising. For the most part, everyone still continues on with their own dancing. Does Taehyung normally have outbursts like this during his parties?

Seeing as majority of the crowd was someone famous or related to a famous person in some way, it would make sense that none of them thought a celebrity yelling was out of the ordinary.

Taehyung comes charging his way through the pathway made for him making a beeline towards you and Jungkook. His right foot catches on something, making him stumble a little bit over his own feet as he gets closer to you. You don’t know whether to laugh or run away from the crazed looking, clearly drunk pop star.

“Where did it go?!” His voice booms once again making you turn away back into Jungkook’s embrace as you start to pull him the opposite direction. If he didn’t see you, you could just slip away with Jungkook and-

“Y/N, WHERE DID IT GO?” Groaning, you’re ripped away from Jungkook’s hold by Taehyung’s strong force. His grasp didn’t really hurt but it was enough to fully separate you from Jungkook.

Well obviously you’re not going to be taking Jungkook back to your room any time soon.

This could have been your night. You could have finally really let loose and actually might have even got some with Jungkook. But of course, Taehyung had to ruin it just like he ruined so many other things for you in the short time you’ve known him.

Something seems off with him tonight as your eyes meet each others’. Seriously, what is up with this kid? Face to face with Taehyung, he searches for any kind of recognition in your features. Anything to show him that you remember who he even is.

You’re about to ask Taehyung what the hell he’s talking about when you notice his anger morph into panic and his eyes turning glossy with tears.  

The strong grip on your arm finally loosens. “You have to help me, Y/N.. I- I can’t find it..”

He’s close enough to you now where he doesn’t have to shout over the music and he brings his hand to his forehead wiping away some non-existent sweat. Crazy as he might seem right now, he still manages to look hot.  How is that even possible?

But never mind that. What was he talking about? Find what?

This was a different Taehyung than any version of him you’ve known previously. He actually seemed sincere in his worry and desperation to find whatever he had lost.

Something in his face and his body language sobered you up. One minute you were getting down and dirty with Jungkook on the dance floor about to take him back to your room, the next you’re met with your distraught... Boss? Landlord? Supervisor? Well, whatever the hell he was, he was practically having a conniption in front of you.

“Taehyung, what do you mean? Where did what go? Is.. this a joke?” You swear if this was another one of those stupid, sick jokes he likes to make you were going to punch him repeatedly in his pretty little face.

“The rooster! Y/N, I can’t find it!” On the verge of hyperventilation, Taehyung runs a shaky hand through his hair, looking side to side as if he’s accusing everyone in this whole mansion of theft. “I just- I saw it earlier today and now I can’t find it. Y/n I need that rooster. It’s... It’s all I have left,”

All he has left? It seemed like he was either about to have a panic attack or was currently having one and it made you actually kind of worried for him. Before you know it, your mothering instincts kick in as you reach out your hand and caress his arm, offering slow strokes of comfort. If Taehyung realizes that you’re touching him, willingly touching him for the first time ever, he makes no move of acknowledging it. But he doesn’t move away from your touch either.

The alcohol was still making things a little fuzzy but you rack your brain for what he means. Rooster? Like an actual live rooster? Or was it-

Then it hits you.

You turn back towards Jungkook who’s frozen in place with probably the biggest blue balls in history. With one hand still on Taehyung’s arm to make sure he doesn’t run away from you like a lost child, you give Jungkook a sympathetic look and try to shout over the music. “I’m so sorry! Call me!”

You take Jungkook’s nod and small smile as confirmation before hauling the drunken Taehyung out of the main party area towards your wing of the mansion. Pulling him by his shirt as you hear his muffled sobs from behind you. God, why are celebrities so dramatic?

It takes you a good 10 minutes, but finally you’re back to the entrance of the guest wing. The security men look mildly alarmed at the fact that you are basically dragging a miserable Taehyung back to your room but you give them a slight smile and mouth another apology before you step inside the wing and come to a stop outside of your bedroom door.

You had locked the door to your actual bedroom for extra safety from the raging party outside so you fish out the key to your door from your bra where you had kept it safely hidden. Surprisingly, Taehyung doesn’t eye you or your chest like he normally would have even though it’s right in front him and you’re literally sticking your hand into your bra.

His eyes are just trained to the floor, his mouth twisted into a childlike frown, and you think you see another tear fall onto the marble below your feet.

He must be really messed up over this to not be trying to make some sexual comment to you or even look at you for that matter. You sort of missed the cocky and rude Taehyung you were used to now that this broken down, drunk version of him was standing next to you.

Enough of this. You grab Taehyung by the shoulders and shake him, forcing him to look up. His puppy dog, bloodshot eyes look back at you, making your heart flip in a weird way you’ve never felt for him before.

“Taehyung I need you to calm down and sober up. I moved the rooster into my room. I just-” You search his face looking for something, though you’re not quite sure what you’re looking for. But you realize he’s stopped crying and his eyes soften quite a bit while looking into yours.  “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at it and with all of the parties... I just didn’t want anyone to break it.”

The rest of his features seem to relax a little bit but he still looks hesitant as though he thinks you might be playing a trick on him. “I know I set up those rules that you can’t come into my room, but I’ll take you in there just this one time so you can see that the rooster is there. Plus, I think you need to sit down and drink a glass of water or something. You’re kind of a mess.” You eye his disheveled blonde/pink hair and tear stained cheeks. He’s never shown himself to be such a mess in front of you before. Always put together looking like a freshly showered runway model. It’s a stark contrast to the messy boy in front of you now.

“In more ways than one.” You say as you chuckle a little. Even Taehyung smiles weakly at that,  slowly nodding his head in agreement and wiping his face as he waits patiently for you to unlock your door. Wow, Taehyung actually finding you funny? He must really be out of it.

The door easily swings open revealing your room before the two of you. Your room is completely the opposite to Taehyung’s not only in terms of size, but also in that the style of the room actually fits the look of the home as opposed to Taehyung’s dark, woody, lion’s den.

You never really cared too much for the style of the home now that you think of it. It was most definitely beautiful, but a little bit too clinical and sterile, like a very modern doctor’s office. You preferred the wooded and comforting look of Taehyung’s room. But it was your home and so you did what you could to make it that way. Hanging up some of your own decorations and even painting the white walls a little bit with the skills you had learned in your painting class. Of course you had asked Hoseok for permission before you knew Taehyung was the owner of the mansion.

Taehyung slowly enters the room behind you, looking around at what belongings you have placed in there to make this room more your home. You move to your closet, trying to ignore the blush that creeps up at the fact that you definitely did not clean up in here before you left to go to the party.  Clothes and other items were scattered on the floor and there was literally a light pink lacey bra hanging from your vanity that Taehyung was standing right next to at this very moment.

You were the maid so one would expect your room to be clean, but all of your cleaning efforts were spent on the rest of the mansion and no one really came in here anyway so the only reason to keep it clean was for yourself. In fact, the only visitor had been Hodu and now, evidently, Taehyung.

Most of the shelves in your massive closet were empty since you really didn’t own too many clothes. But as of this afternoon, one of those previously empty shelves now held the rooster in question.

Carefully, you lift the cool ceramic off the shelf and take in its ugly red and olive colors and intricate patterns. It doesn’t seem to be anything too expensive. Hand painted, maybe something you could buy for $30-40 at a flea market. Nothing compared to the hundreds of thousand dollar artworks throughout this home. So why did it matter so much to him?

The first day you met Taehyung, a lot of things happened, but while he was antagonizing you in the kitchen, you happened to notice his weird affinity for the rooster that held its position next to the sleek knife rack on the counter. From time to time in the weeks following that incident, you had caught Taehyung looking at it a couple of times. It was the only thing in the house that you had seen Taehyung clean himself. Never his dirty plates or scuff marks on the tile, no, that was my job to do that. He would only ever clean that rooster.

It never made sense to you, but you made a subconscious note to self over the time you had spent living in his house that the rooster meant something to him. So you cleaned around it, never touching it or moving it until you realized how crazy the weekly parties were and had found a few small broken things around the mansion, not wanting the rooster to share the same fate.

As you emerge from your closet you find Taehyung sitting on the foot of your bed, his head resting downwards on his hands clearly still a little bit stressed. A small sigh and a pang of sadness flows through you. The sight of him looking so defeated shouldn’t have been affecting you in any way. Especially when the boy had been nothing but mean and degrading towards you pretty much since the moment you met. But your days of loving Taehyung “the Idol” brought back the feeling of wanting to protect him. Wanting to make him feel better.

And well, he hadn’t said anything rude to you tonight. Yet.

“Taehyung?” You call out softly, not really knowing how to get his attention but not wanting to startle him in his fragile state. His gaze instantly flicks up to you then to the ceramic rooster in your hands. His eyes widen so far, it’s as if he’s looking at his most prized possession in the entire world.

The bed creaks and you almost back up out of instinct as he rushes towards you to take the rooster gently from your hold.

Immediately, Taehyung takes the head off of the rooster, which doubles as the top to the ceramic jar and to your surprise, his long fingers pull out a note.

A handwritten note from the looks of it. On slightly brown tinted paper and neatly folded in half. The paper looked a little worn, like the note on it was written a while ago, but it was still in good condition.

Upon seeing the note, Taehyung’s whole body goes slack, the tension slipping away from him all at once. He looks so weak and if he falls over there’s no doubt the rooster will shatter, defeating the whole point of this little trip to your room.

So you react in a second, shooting your hand out to catch his arm to make sure he doesn’t just straight up topple over. You’re really going to have to take care of him all night, huh?

You lead his heavy body that’s still clutching the rooster and note back over to the foot of your bed, guiding him to sit him back down.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back,” You command, placing your hands out in front of you in a ‘stay’ motion like you would with a dog.

Taehyung’s drunkenness is still very apparent, and you’re afraid to leave him unsupervised for longer than a few minutes so you rush quickly to the mini kitchen in your wing outside of your bedroom ignoring the security men this time, grab a glass of ice water, and step back into your room. You trade him the glass of water for the rooster and set the ceramic bird on the desk across from the bed.

Thankfully Taehyung begins to chug down the water you handed him with the note still clutched in his other hand. He better not throw up on your bed or you’ll be billing him tomorrow morning for damage to your room and for your babysitting activities for the last 20 minutes.

The only sound in the room is Taehyung’s loud gulping. Drinking his water like he’s been stranded in the desert for two days.

Well, where do you go from here? Taehyung ruined your chances with Jungkook tonight. And it’s already almost 3:00 am anyways so there’s really no use in going back out to the party when it should be winding down within the next hour or so.

It’s been a long night and truthfully, you really just wanted to go to sleep and wallow in your bad luck with guys. But how do you kick someone out who basically just had an emotional breakdown in front of you?

You don’t, that’s the answer.

So you just sit there awkwardly, with the distant light sound of party music still playing in the great hall. A reminder of why you are here alone together in your room in the first place.

You really want to ask him what the rooster and the note meant. The question had been burning in your mind since the first time you saw him take extra care of it.

You couldn’t help it, you have always been and always will be a nosy person. But Taehyung didn’t seem to reveal too much about his personal life.

Alright, so you just gotta make small talk. You know how to do that right? Just bring up the weather or some random thing like that and hope it leads you to a real conversation where maybe you can find something in common. Anything would be better than this silence.

But before you can stop yourself, the real question that’s been on the tip of your tongue slips out. “So what’s the big deal about the rooster?”

Immediately you wince and squeeze your eyes tight in regret. Oh god, why did you ask that? Who were you to pry into his emotional breakdown? Especially when this is the first time you have had an interaction with him that didn’t involve some kind of insult.

You were an over sharer for sure and usually weren’t afraid to talk about your own life, but Taehyung had never revealed anything remotely personal to you and to be quite frank, you still didn’t really even know him. What your relationship was.. It definitely wasn’t friends.. You weren’t sure if you were even acquaintances at this point.

Taehyung doesn’t make any moves in reaction to your question. He just keeps staring at the almost empty glass of water you gave him in his right hand with the note still in his left.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” You let out quickly, training your eyes to the floor. Ugh, you wish you weren’t in this room with him. You wish you could just run away and not talk about this incident ever again. Maybe he wouldn’t remember this tomorrow judging by how drunk he was just a half an hour earlier. But there wasn’t anywhere for you to go now.

Taehyung drinks the last of the water and sets the glass down on the floor in between you two. You fully expect him to just get up and leave now. Just walk right out with his rooster without so much as a thank you like he normally would have before this weird incident had ever started.

But that’s not what he does.

“It isn’t so much about the rooster as it is about the letter.” His low voice surprises you and causes you to flinch once again.

Is.. Is he actually answering you?

“It’s the last memory I have of my grandmother,” His gaze is still on the paper but he continues on with his words slowly.  

“She practically raised me, supported me, took me to school and singing lessons. And after I got famous, she stood by my side keeping me grounded. She was my number one fan.” A fond smile flashes across his face and his shoulders relax like he’s finally letting go of whatever stress he had bottled up. His words come out slow, like he’s trying to figure out the right way to explain himself.

“Growing up, my parents had to work full time. At times, they even had to work 2 or 3 jobs to provide for me, my brother, and my sister. I love them to death of course, but it was my grandmother who was always there every step of the way. She was old though, and she got sick frequently. Eventually her body just, gave out on her... She passed away at the beginning of this year...” The emotion in his words was raw and the way his voice broke at some points made it seem like he was trying to hold back his tears.

It was like you weren’t even there. Like you were watching a movie unfold right in front of you and you were the only person who bought a ticket.  

And your heart ached. For Taehyung and his grandmother, yes, but also for your own grandmother, who had passed away just a couple of months ago right after you moved into the mansion. What you wouldn’t give to see her smile one last time. To feel her arms around you in her weak, but somehow still strong hugs.

You wanted to apologize to him for some reason, to tell him that you knew the feeling of great loss similar to his.

But you didn’t get the chance to express your condolences to him, as Taehyung’s voice started again abruptly. With a grunt from clearing his throat and a slight sniffle he moved on in his story.

“And then there was the house fire. Almost all of her things gone in an instant. And with it, all of our memories we made together. Everything gone except for this ugly rooster she planned on giving me for my 24th birthday,” Taehyung finally looks up and you follow his gaze to look at the rooster on the desk in front of you. “It was an inside joke between us. It wasn’t anything fancy, nothing extravagant like some presents people feel obligated to give me.

“With a lifestyle like mine where I can buy anything I could ever want, presents are difficult to buy for me. Usually I tell people to not even bother. But she still tried to give me a gift for my birthday every year, and for my 24th she had settled on this dumb, god awful looking rooster we came across at a flea market many years ago.” Taehyung laughs a little bit at the memory.

“She had given it to my parents to give to me one of the last times she got sick. I think she knew her time was coming.” His long, skinny fingers fiddle with the note in his hand. “I didn’t know about the letter inside until after she passed. And since I knew she wanted to give this to me on my 24th birthday, I made a vow to her at her funeral to not to read the letter until then. I keep it in the rooster to keep it safe and to remind me of my promise to her.”

Taehyung rises from his spot and heads over to place the note back in the body of the rooster and places the top back in its original position.  His sudden movement takes you out of your focus on his story. You were entranced. By his smooth, rich voice uttering every word but also by the fact that you couldn’t believe he was telling you so much about himself. It was a miracle that he was sitting there with you, a girl he supposedly dislikes very much, explaining a very personal story willingly.

All you wanted to hear was more of his experiences, troubles, highs, lows, just stories about his life. To say Taehyung was a mystery would be an understatement, and his story about his grandma seemed to be just the beginning of whatever he has hidden underneath his cool facade. It was weird that he would chose now to be so open with you, but honestly, you were really glad he was. 

Suddenly, worry fills you that if you even move an inch, it would spook him into stopping his narrative. So you stay as still as you can, head only moving to follow his form around the room as he talked.

“And when I thought it was gone..” He continues, sitting back down next to you at the foot of your bed, but closer this time. Close enough where the whole right side of his body was flush against your left.  

“I don’t know, I-I freaked out. I just kept thinking, I’ll never get to read that letter she wrote to me. My only existing, living memory of her was gone and I couldn’t fulfill my promise I had made to her.”

Finally, after 15 minutes of Taehyung avoiding your gaze, his eyes now fall on you once again. The chocolate brown orbs seeming hesitant and a little bit afraid.  “What good am I if I can’t keep a simple promise to the person I loved the most? What good is my word? What kind of person would I be? I couldn’t live without reading it. Without seeing her handwriting one more time and reading her words. I would never forgive myself if I lost it.”

He pauses for a moment, looking back down at his twiddling thumbs on his lap. “And worse, I feel like she would never forgive me.”

His last words get caught in his throat and you don’t know if it was the sadness in his eyes or the events of the night that made you do it but you arms were suddenly wrapped tightly around Taehyung’s lean torso, your face pressed into his neck so close you could feel his heart rate skyrocket.

The hug is tense at first. Clearly because Taehyung is just as surprised as you are that your gangly arms are suddenly attached to him with no intention of letting go. He’s frozen in place and if you could see his face right now, you’re sure it would be an expression of shock painting his handsome features.

But you could care less about what he wants right now because he needs this hug. You need this hug.

What he had just told you… That kind of emotion. It drains you if you keep it in. It weighs you down more and more until you’re stuck with a pocket full of rocks, drowning at the bottom of the ocean. And it was evident by how he looked at you earlier, that he was waiting for you to judge him, or call him out for being weak in some way. He had probably never told this to anyone before.

“Of course she would forgive you, Taehyung. Family will always forgive you,” And while you don’t know if that’s true or not, your words seem to be the flame that melts Taehyung’s frozen body as he finally relaxes into you. Well, as much as he can seeing as you’re twisted in a weird way from your positioning sitting on the foot of the bed.

He pulls you tighter into the embrace with both of arms firmly wrapped around you. And it’s actually… Nice. Yeah, this is nice.

You stay like that for while. Just holding each other. His head in the crook of your neck, yours in his too. You can feel his pulse gradually starts to slow and he smells so familiar. Like he did on the first day you met him and like his room the day he tried to gift you that stupid costume. But this time his lavender, woody cologne didn’t intimidate you. It comforted you.  

Your hand comes up to absentmindedly caress the back of his head. “I’m sorry for your loss Taehyung. I really am. I’m sure she would be very proud of the man you are today.”

At your words, Taehyung pulls back a little, loosening his hold on you slightly to come face to face with you. He’s so close, closer to you than he’s ever been before. You can feel his breath on your lips and can see the warmth in his chocolate brown eyes looking back at you as though he had never actually truly seen you before.

As they scan your face, his eyes flicker down to your lips and panic sets in as you realize what he’s about to do. You can sense it in the air. Feel it in the way his hands start to fall into the curve of you waist.

He tilts his head closer and his eyes flutter closed just as the ghost of his lips barely touch yours.

Oh no, oh god. Were you ready for this? Taehyung might not be as drunk as he was earlier, and you might feel sober now but you had been drinking too.

What if this was just some pity kiss? What if he was only doing this because you were actually being nice to each other for once?

The emotions between you two were so high right now, it was hard to tell if any of this was real, or if any of this would actually mean something after tonight.

Taehyung had finally opened up to you. And he had actually shared something with you that he had to trust you would keep to yourself. You had reached a new level of trust in your weird little relationship. The wall between the two of you was finally beginning to break down and now you might ruin the potential to actually have a good relationship with Taehyung for what? A kiss? And who knows where that would lead from there.

You were more than just a one night stand with Taehyung. You both deserved more than a drunken hookup.

No. You couldn’t do this. Not to him and definitely not to yourself.

Out of reflex, your leg shoots out in front of you coming into direct contact with the water glass Taehyung had set down a few minutes prior causing it to topple, over colliding with the marble floor. The clanking of the glass echoes through the room.

As if a spell had suddenly been broken, the two of you shoot apart to opposite sides of the bed away from the source of the crash. You had been so occupied with Taehyung’s story, and yours and his emotions that you forgot he put that stupid glass in between you two earlier.

But you were thankful for it nonetheless because it snapped both of you out of the haze you were in, putting you back into perspective of where you were and why you were here and the many, many reasons not to kiss him.

Taehyung clears his throat and stands up quickly, picking up the cup from next to his feet. “Umm, sorry. I should- I should go,”

He sets the glass down on the desk and grabs the rooster carefully. “It’s been a long night and it’s late.”  

“Yeah, no. You’re right,” Your voice sounds calm and nonchalant but your brain keeps yelling No! Stay! Stay! “I should probably go to bed anyways. I’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do tomorrow,”

At your words, Taehyung’s brow raises in confusion as though he forgot there was a raging party outside and you were the one to have to clean it all up. His blonde/pink hair moves in front of his eyes as he nods his head in understanding.

“Right, I’ll leave you to it then... Goodnight, Y/N.” The door to your room creaks slightly as he opens it and slips halfway out before turning to you once again. His eyes land directly on yours for the last time. “And, thank you,”

You nod your head slightly and try to ignore that stupid feeling blooming once again inside of you. “You’re welcome, Taehyung,”

With the rooster safely in his arms, the door to your room shuts behind him.

<-- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter -->

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #047

“whoever wants to be beautiful needs to suffer”

When was the last time you climbed over a fence? Not since I was a kid, I think. Not doing anything illegal, the fence was on our property. Does your pet wear a collar? Of course. Well, except my snake, but that's kinda a given, haha. What is the first thing on your Christmas Wishlist? To get the tattoo with Sara's handwriting covered with a tribute design to my late dog Teddy. What would you do if your mom/dad saw a hickey on you? Be embarrassed but probably say nothing. I'm old enough to do what I want in my own bedroom. What goal are you working on this month? Losing weight. I'm honestly terrified to weigh myself since my appetite has started to creep back, though... Like I haven't been eating a LOT, but more than I was when my appetite was non-existent. What could you say is your biggest time waster? These stupid surveys, for real. When was the last time that you were asked out somewhere, and you declined? Dad asked me at Ryder's bday party if I'd like to go with them to a football game; I said no just because of how poorly I handle heat, and NEVERMIND the walking/going up the steps... If you’re listening to music, name a lyric from the song. "Eitelkeit is nie bescheiden" = "vanity is never modest" in English. It's a remix of "Zick Zack" and by god this version's also an absolute banger alskdjfalk;wejlawje Are you a sound sleeper? This your first survey ya read of mine, buck-o? In your opinion, which is more attractive, nice biceps or washboard abs? Uh I think I'm maybe more attracted to nice arms, idk. I'm not personally attracted to either at an extreme. How do you feel about bands that use pyrotechnics in live concerts? Rammstein is literally THE BAND that uses pyrotechnics like absolute madmen, so I legally have to support it, lmao. On a serious note though, be trained and qualified before messing with that shit. Why do you hate your ex? I don't. Does anybody hate you? Probably. Trust issues? I've got 'em, but I've actually come to notice that while they're very severe with some people, especially men, there are certain types of people I will trust VERY fast, mostly maternal women. If you were pregnant, who would you tell first? Mom in a panic or Girt, idk. I never wanna find out. Do you think that you’re good enough for the one you like? Nope. Did you speak to your father today? No. What is your father’s middle name? John. When was the last time you had alcohol? A very long time; I'm on some meds that react poorly with alcohol in the system, so. Last person of the opposite sex you gave a hug to? My nephew. Have you ever met anyone who claimed to be a witch? One of my half-sisters does. What’s the weirdest thing in your body that you can crack? Idk. Do you know anyone with asthma? My mom. Have you ever been involved in a custody battle before? No. Who was the best kisser you’ve ever dated? Jason or Girt, idk. Have any of your siblings ever had a crush on your significant other? Quite certain no. Are your siblings nice the majority of the time? Yes. Any other names your parents planned to give you? I seem to remember "Kathryn" being an option, but I'm not sure. Are you healthy? No. Like I'm not terribly ill, but my mental state isn't at all good and my body is FAR from the picture of health, too. Number of jeans in your closet: Literally zero. I haven't worn jeans since like, high school. Rihanna or Lady GaGa? Gaga. Which was the last book that really captivated you? The Handmaid's Tale. Do you prefer nail polish with sparkles in it, or matte colors? I don't wear any, but if I did, I'd choose matte. Have you ever had a teacher you got really close with? Oh yes, many. One is literally our landlord now and I think uh... bends the rules just so Mom and I have a house. Can you actually picture yourself getting married/having kids, or is that something that seems too distant in the future to imagine? Married, yes. Kids, no. I am just so NOT "together" enough to where the image of being a mom, never mind a good one, seems realistic. When’s the last time you spent time with your cousins? Many, many, many years. None of my cousins live anywhere near here. What’s your younger sibling’s name? Nicole. Do you have an idea of what kind of profession you’d like to have? Ideally, something artistic. Do you ever pick up your house phone? We haven't had a house phone in WELL over a decade. Is your sister a slut? None of them are. Do you ever think about what went wrong in your first relationship? Of course I do. That relationship changed my life. Him leaving literally traumatized me. If you had to get a piercing (not ears) what would you get? I want my nostril re-pierced. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be? Being taken, I wouldn't. I'm not gonna entertain the thought if I wasn't bc I would HOPE I still wouldn't. I take intimacy too seriously for that. If you woke up naked next to the last person you texted what would you say? That's my mother, I am absolutely not thinking of that. Ever been kissed under fireworks? No. How would you react if a doctor told you that you were infertile? I'd be fucking ecstatic. I feel kinda bad saying that, like I know a lot of people would kill to be fertile, but noooooooot me. Do you get along with your best friend’s parents? His mom is a lovely woman, but his dad passed many years ago. Honestly though, I uh, don't really like most of what I know of his father. Not because he seemed mean, just... not pleasant, either. Have you ever been in a relationship where you didn’t get along with the person’s parents? No. How many people of the opposite sex have you said "I love you" to? Two, romantically. The person you fell the hardest for says they never felt anything for you. What do you say? "You're full of shit." Who was the last person to tell you that they find you attractive? Girt. What was the last compliment you paid to someone of the opposite sex? I called my boyfriend handsome like... yesterday or so? How often do you listen to music? Music has been like... my life for two months or so now. I'm basically always listening to it. Have you ever wanted your significant other to get rid of a friend? No. Is the person you last texted single? Yes. Have you ever seen the last person you kissed without their shirt on? Yes. Is the last person you kissed mad at you? I don't see why he would be. Has the person you like ever made you upset? Yes. Scenario: If you were getting unwanted attention by some creeper, would the person you like stand up for you? He absolutely would. Does the person you like, know that you like them? He's very well aware, yes. When angry, do you get loud or quiet? Usually deathly quiet, but not always. Have you ever been in a secret relationship? We weren't an official couple, but yes. Have you ever danced in front of your mirror naked? Hunny I would rather die lmao. Are your grandparents still alive? No. Ever been in a car accident? Yes. I am thankful beyond all words that Mom's driving skill saved us from flipping over. If you got married to the last person you kissed would you be happy? I want to one day, so yes. Do you like any of Justin Bieber’s songs? I know literally none besides "Baby," and god knows I hated that fucking song. Do you believe saving your virginity for marriage or no? I'm not going to, but if you want to, cool. When you were a kid, did you ever like Barney? I did. Not at much as my older sister, though. When was the last time you kissed someone? It's been a few weeks. He's been busy, tired, and now sick. What’s the capital of wherever you live? Raleigh. Did you have any beer this past week? Beer is never, ever going in my mouth. It was my dad's drink of choice as an alcoholic and I don't even like smelling it. Have you ever had champagne? Did you like it? No. Do you like to cuddle? If I'm not hot, yes. Do you think you’ve changed over the past year? I feel I've matured some. When was the last time you talked to your grandmother? Maybe around like... two years ago or so when I last saw her when she and her shithead son stopped at a hotel to see us for a bit. She was in horrible condition. Ash's kids were supposed to meet her that day, but everyone decided against it when we saw JUST how basically already dead my grandmother was. The kids, Aubree especially, would have been very confused and scared, not understanding what was wrong with her. Have you ever phoned a sex hot line? LKJASLKDJFALK;WEJDLKAWJE OH MY GOOOOOOOOD GUYS when my sister and I + our neighbor were in our prank call phase as kids we accidentally called one SCREAMS Do you sleep with the door open or closed? Open. I have a cat; he never lets that door be shut, lol. Have you ever caught a friend cheating on their bf/gf? My SISTER'S friend, but she wasn't really mine. That was SO fuckin awkward, like I was just chilling on the computer I believe and then here these two are making out on the couch lmao When was the last time you saw your grandpa? Maternal: not since I was a baby, too young to even remember. Paternal: young child, also don't remember him. The last time you had sex, was it in their bed or yours? I've only ever been sexual with him in mine, I haven't even seen his room lmao. List one of your fears: Pregnancy. I've actually come to notice an even better umbrella fear is what I interpret as body horror, which to me, includes pregnancy because the stomach just... isn't supposed to look like that. I just don't like when something is abnormal with the body. Has anyone ever drunk called/texted you? Uh possibly, but I don't believe so. Do you know anyone who drinks a lot? Yes. When someone says “we need to talk” what runs through your mind? I immediately go through the mental list of all things potentially wrong I've done since birth lmao Have you ever lived with your girlfriend/boyfriend? Not my current bf. I kinda-sorta lived with an ex for a time, but I wasn't listed as an actual resident even though I technically should have been with how frequently I was there, to the point my dog even "moved" there with me. What do you think your significant other/crush likes the most about you? Hell if I know. What are your plans for tomorrow? I don't know. I'm really hoping to see Girt, but I don't know if he has work and if he's gonna be feeling well. Does your significant other/crush have any close female friends? If so, how do you feel about that? Have you ever felt jealous of them? I actually don't know, but I never hear him *talk* about other female friends. I'd be fine with him having them though. Have your parents ever told you stories about the day you were born? I just know there was an ice storm and that Mom was induced because I was pretty late. How long have you been using Tumblr? Many years, but to varying frequencies. Most recently I didn't touch my main blog for like... around a year or so, but now I use it regularly again because the Rammstein fanbase is pretty poppin', haha. Who was the last person that you introduced to your family? Holy cow, I don't think I've introduced a new person to someone in my family since Tyler to Mom. Your period is a few days late… are you worried? Bro my period is WILDLY late because of med changes and stuff, and I'm not at all worried because being pregnant is physically impossible for me rn. I worry about it for the future though, just because I am SUCH a worry-wart and off-sync menstruating is not at all rare for me. Do you know all the words to the last song you listened to? BIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA Does your significant other/crush like chocolate? Sure, but he doesn't eat it a lot. He's really particular about eating healthy. Can your significant other/crush sing? He's a wonderful singer, yeah. Have you ever seen your father cry? I've seen him tear up only once in my life, talking to Mom about his mom's funeral. Who was the last person you added as a friend on Facebook? How do you know that person? Chelsey, my brother's wife. I haven't actually met her, but she seems like a lovely woman.

[walkmeblowbyblow]

Some Kind of Love [Jack Lowden fic]

Summary: “I can’t do this alone.”

Warnings: Pregnancy scare; mentions of sex and depression; all kinds of adult fears, really

Word count: ~3,500

Disclaimer: None of this really happened.

A/N: Probably not the most cheerful fic I’ve written, but sometimes you’ve just gotta angst.

(x)

Other fics of mine w/ this pairing:

The Kind of Trouble that You Enjoy pt. I // pt. II

Thawing

First-footing

Eilidh may have been a tad too optimistic when she thought that this year was off on a good start.

There’s been talk at work – apparently they’re letting people go. It’s all very hush-hush; officially they’re calling it restructuring. Either way, Eilidh quickly notices that it’s the youngest staff that’s being axed.

And one morning sees Eilidh sitting in the HR office. The woman sitting opposite her is the same one who interviewed her for this job two years ago. Eilidh sits there with her knee jittering and her palms sweating, pinned under the woman’s stare.

“We can only extend your contract for the next three months, Eilidh. After that, we’ll have to reconsider your position in the company. We may do away with it completely.”

“O-okay?” Eilidh says quietly. “So… what happens to me?”

The HR person draws a deep breath, avoids her eyes. “That’s still very much up in the air, I’m afraid. That’s all we can say for the time being. But it would probably be for the best if you started preparing for a life after this company.”

Right. That’s it then.

Eilidh shuffles out of the office, her legs like lead and her head filled with white noise.

That’s how the rest of her day passes. She only texts Rebecca once she’s in the safety of her flat, because putting her situation into words will bring her to tears.

After Rebecca, it’s Jack’s turn. She types the message with a tear-blurred vision, teardrop or two splashing against the phone screen.

Their answers arrive simultaneously. She reads Rebecca’s first.

“Aw shit. I’m so sorry Eilidh.”

Jack’s message is pretty much the same, but with an added question: “What are you going to do?”

That’s the thing, isn’t it?

“Find another job. What else can I do?”

But it will be much more easily said than done.

* * *

Three months later, when her lay-off day rolls in, Eilidh is still in the same predicament; none of her job applications have led to anything apart from a couple of interviews. On the first day of her unemployment, Eilidh knows she should be doing something productive. She wakes up late, makes a cup of tea – and waits. For what? She doesn’t even know.

She should be sending out more applications; unemployment is not an option. She knows that well enough, even without being told that time after time by her parents, her friends, and, well, pretty much everyone. What sustains her through that week is Jack coming over for a visit over the weekend.

She goes to meet him at the train station. He embraces her on the platform, and she feels much more of a person again.

“So how’s job hunting?” Jack asks her when they’re having brunch at a café.

“Oh, you know,” she says, shrugging dismissively and stirring a cup of tea. “Honestly? It’s shite. Total shite.”

Jack gives a compassionate chortle. “Yeah, I can imagine. How’s your finances, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you got enough money to live on?”

“Yeah,” Eilidh says. “Well, my shitty landlord just upped my rent, but I’ll manage. I’ve got savings.”

“For how long?”

She doesn’t immediately answer, preferring to busy herself with prodding the teabag in the teacup.

“I’ll help you out if you need it,” Jack says.

“No. I don’t want that,” Eilidh answers firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be financially dependent on you.”

“But what else are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she snaps. “Apply for benefits, I guess, like normal people do.”

“No need to bite my head off,” Jack says. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know. It’s just…” she sighs. “This sucks.”

“So are you going to let me help you or not?”

She gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No. I’ll manage.”

Sighing, Jack sits back in his chair. “All right.” His tone is neutral; he isn’t going to press the issue.

They drop the subject for the rest of the weekend, only discussing it when she invites it into discussion. And the weekend is as lovely as ever – even more so, in a way, since she knows she won’t have to go back to work and reality on Monday. Those Monday mornings were always the worst – like climbing out of a plane wreck.

Eilidh allows herself to enjoy these idle moments with Jack, when they’re out on a walk, or cooking dinner, or draped across the sofa, their limbs entwined. It doesn’t detract from the sex either. She almost expected it to, seeing as she’s been feeling under the weather for so many weeks now, but she finds it impossible to be sad in Jack’s company.

Not only that.

By now, Jack has become so skilled with her that she can’t help but enjoy it; her orgasm is a near-guaranteed event.

And when they’re snuggled up afterwards, be it on the sofa or in bed, she loves breathing in the scent of his old t-shirt, loves to comb his tousled blond hair with her fingers, loves to hear about his life – though this time it’s accompanied by a prickle of envy: why do some people have their life together while others don’t?

Jack is both filming and considering his next project.

“I might have to go to Europe to film that one, though,” he tells her.

“You should go. I know you want to,” she replies.

“You think so?” Jack asks.

“I would definitely go if I were you.”

“It’s two months.”

She gives a laugh. “That’s like, no time at all.”

Jack turns to her, though they’re so close that he can’t see her properly.

“You want me to go?”

“Yeah.”

“You won’t get lonely?”

She gives another laugh. “No. Why would I?”

But she knows that Jack is actually referring to her frail state of mind.

“I’ll be fine,” she says firmly. “Just because I’m unemployed doesn’t mean…”

“All right, all right,” Jack says, patting her thigh. “I’ll go if you want to get rid of me so badly.”

“Good,” she replies, grinning.

“And you’ll promise me to take care of yourself, yeah?” Jack mutters into her hair.

“Mmm.”

“Good girl.”

* * *

Unfortunately, Eilidh comes to find that she can’t keep that promise. Spring gives way to summer, and Eilidh has felt like a waste of space for a very long time, spending days doing nothing productive, being on benefit, getting rejected time and time again. It’s been weeks since she last applied for a job. The steady stream of rejections has worn her down, and the simple task of googling jobs is enough to send her into an anxiety attack.

She has had less contact with Jack than normally; occasionally she wonders if Jack is deliberately steering clear of her. They’ve never had a proper argument before, but they were pretty damn close that time when Jack offered to support her. Perhaps she’s wounded his pride? Or perhaps she’s just reading too much into things and Jack is actually just busy?

The worst part is, she can’t shake the feeling that Jack could do so much better than her. Generally, she believes that all women are too good for men, but her self-confidence has taken so many blows recently that she finds it insurmountable to believe in her own worth.

She’s looking forward to Jack finishing his current film and getting some time off – to spend their first summer together – but there’s a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her not to expect anything.

At least she’s still got her friends.

Her friends understand, to an extent. On the first warm day of the spring, they’re out having a picnic, and it’s the first time her friends don’t even bother asking Eilidh about her situation. She prefers it that way.

Though Eilidh wishes she’d told her friends not to ask her about Jack either.

“So how’s Jack been doing?” Rebecca says when they’re lounging in the sun and eating.

“Oh, he’ll be ready with another film soon,” Eilidh tells her.

“Do you know if he’s coming here in the summer?”

“I hope so,” Eilidh answers.

“Got any plans for the summer?” Rebecca says.

“Me? Hah! If only. Thanks for buying me all this food,” she says to Rebecca, stuffing yet another garlic bread into her mouth.

“Hah, no problem,” Rebecca says.

“I feel like all I do these days is eat.”

“Maybe you’re just hungry, you know?”

“Even though I’m not doing anything?” Eilidh says.

“Nothing wrong with eating, love.”

“Oh shit.”

Rebecca looks up at her, frowning. “What is it?”

“No, it’s just…” Eilidh begins, her pulse suddenly quick and erratic. “Shit.”

“You’re spooking me, Eilidh. What is it?”

She collapses on her back on the blanket. Their friends are out on the lawn, but she still lowers her voice.

“Guess whose period is late?”

“No way, Eilidh,” Rebecca says.

“Yeah.”

“How late are you?”

“Well…” She does some quick arithmetic, her gut sinking. “I was due… two weeks after we last met with Jack, but… it’s been over a month.”

Rebecca says gingerly, “And you’ve been… safe all this time?”

“Yeah.”

They could’ve been safer if she went on the pill, but seeing as she only meets Jack once a month or so it hasn’t seemed worth it. She’s heard all the horror stories: Tamsin telling her that she’d never been as depressed in her life as when she was on the pill.

“Okay, Eilidh, you know what we’re going to do, right? We’re going to go to the pharmacy and buy you a pregnancy test. Then you’re going to go home and do it tonight,” Rebecca says. “Eilidh?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replies, her voice coming from somewhere outside her body.

Great, this is exactly what she needed: a trip to a clinic where they’ll take the fetus out of her.

She suddenly feels cold, even though the sun is shining down on them; she’s started to tremble. The tears come unbidden.

“Eilidh…”

Rebecca helps her up, embraces her.

“It’ll be all right.”

“How d’you know?” Eilidh asks defiantly through her sobs.

“Because we’ll be there to help you.”

But who ‘we’? She’s not going to tell Jack, is she?

Of course she is. But is it right to inform him now that he’s trapped down in London and she’s up in Edinburgh, making decisions about life and death on her own? She would hate being in Jack’s shoes. It’d be kinder not to let him know.

But Jack has to shoulder half the responsibility; Eilidh didn’t knock herself up, after all.

When nobody’s paying particular attention to her, she takes her phone and messages Jack.

“I didn’t want to bother you with this, but jsyk i’m late.”

It occurs to her as soon as she’s sent the message that it probably doesn’t mean much to Jack.

“Late?”

“My period is late. i’ll call you later.”

She doesn't wait for his reply; she can’t bring herself to.

Once the food in their bellies has settled, she and Rebecca join the others in a game of croquet. They stay in the park till sunset and pack up when the evening grows chilly. As they take their leave, Rebecca gives Eilidh’s hand a squeeze.

As if Eilidh could forget.

“Wanna walk home with me, Rebecca?” she asks, her tone meaningful.

Rebecca catches it. “Yeah, sure.”

And as soon as they part company with the rest of their friends, they head to the nearest pharmacy.

“Keep talking to me,” Eilidh mutters to Rebecca as they enter. “I don’t want the staff to come and ask me questions.”

“Okay.”

Eilidh quickly makes her purchase. Of course, the staff has no way of knowing whether pregnancy is something Eilidh has wished for or not, but she feels mortified as she stands there, paying for the kit.

“Well done,” Rebecca says as they leave the pharmacy. “Do you think you’ll manage now?”

“Um…” Eilidh hesitates. “Could you… I don’t really feel like being alone when…”

Rebecca’s face softens with compassion.

“Of course.”

And so they set off to Eilidh’s place together.

* * *

She’s left the pregnancy kit sitting on the bathroom sink. They’re killing time by unpacking the picnic basket. Rebecca is sorting through the leftover food while Eilidh washes the dishes.

The sun has set outside, its smell still lingering on Eilidh’s skin and hair. So unfair that she couldn’t properly enjoy a day like this. So unfair that she probably won’t be able to enjoy the coming summer at all, if the test turns out positive. Eilidh can’t help but wonder how easy it would be for her to take this as a sign – maybe she’s not meant to work anymore? Maybe she’s meant to settle down with Jack and become a mother and a housewife?

She feels a lump in her throat and tries to swallow it.

No. That’s ridiculous. None of this was supposed to happen.

“How many minutes has it been?” she asks.

“Must be over five now.”

“Okay,” Eilidh says breathlessly, and strides back to the bathroom, feeling separate from her body.

With a lurch in her stomach, she grabs the kit and forces herself to look at it.

“God!” she yelps.

“What is it?” Rebecca calls, racing over.

“False alarm,” Eilidh tells her.

“Oh, thank God!”

She flings her arms around Eilidh.

“See, it was nothing to worry about.”

“Mmm. I better call Jack,” she says.

“Yeah. I think I’ll best be off then, it’s getting late,” Rebecca says, withdrawing from the hug. “Take care, okay?”

Eilidh nods. She can’t describe how grateful she is to Rebecca.

It’s a few minutes past midnight when she taps Jack’s name on her phone. It rings a couple of times before he answers, and she imagines the phone vibrating on Jack’s bed, his hand urgently grabbing it.

“Aye?”

Her throat has gone dry. “It was a false alarm.”

There’s a long exhalation on the other end. “Right. Well… Glad that’s cleared up. You all right, Eilidh?”

She shrugs, though that doesn’t do much good.

“I am now.” Then she adds, “Or maybe I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I think it’s stress that caused it. I just… I feel so… tired.”

Her eyes have begun to prickle. She can’t let the tears into her voice; she mustn't upset Jack.

Such bullshit, all of this.

“Why’s that, love?” Jack asks, worried.

“It’s just… all this.”

There’s a brief silence.

“Would you mind if I came over next weekend?” he says.

“Mind? Of course not,” she replies, bewildered by the suggestion.

“I’ll be over then. I’m worried about you, Eilidh. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They say goodnight, and somehow, when Eilidh lowers her phone, she doesn't feel any better than she did before the call. Perhaps it’s the weight of the night that’s settled on her, but, sitting alone in her flat, her head fills with desolate thoughts.

Jack will leave her soon. She knows that much.

She hugs her knees. The smell of sunshine has rubbed off her skin, along with the memories of tonight – all the laughter and Rebecca’s words of comfort. Eilidh has always been this alone and always will be.

That night, when she finally falls asleep, she dreams about the child. It’s a girl, though you couldn’t tell by the way she’s dressed. Eilidh just knows.

The girl is tottering about on the lawn, in the same park that Eilidh and her friends were that day. Somebody kicks a football in her direction, and she goes running after it. The ball reaches all the way up to her pudgy knees. Her hair is pale blond, so much so that it looks like a halo when sunlight touches it.

Eilidh hears Jack’s voice calling after the toddler – and that is when Eilidh wakes, finds herself in her bed and remembers – there is no child.

* * *

The following days, her communication with Jack is business-like and brief. It helps that Jack is doing 14-hour days on set without his phone. At most, they wish each other goodnight and she asks him about his day – though seeing as he isn’t allowed to talk about whatever happens on set, that topic is quickly sapped too. And anytime he tries to ask her about her day, she shuts down. It’s not like she ever lived the most exciting of lives, especially compared to Jack, but these days she feels like an utter failure.

Several times a day, an uncomfortable idea strikes her – that perhaps she should just have Jack’s children and become a housewife, seeing as she’s unemployable and just a few months short of thirty?

But it’s a ridiculous idea and luckily very easy to dismiss.

* * *

It’s on Thursday that she hears from Jack again.

“I got a day off. Mind if I drop by tonight?”

Her heart gives a feeble extra beat.

“Of course not.”

She doesn’t fail to remark on the word choice: drop by. That means that he’s going to come over and tell her that he’s had a change of heart; that this isn’t working out; that it’s not her, it’s him, even though it isn’t him who’s wound up unemployed and had a pregnancy scare.

Eilidh’s stomach is in knots all day, but perhaps it’s better that Jack’s visit will be so sudden; she won’t have too much time to fret over it. She busies herself with tidying up her flat (which has got surprisingly messy). She takes a warm shower, making an effort to dress nicely – in this instance, to wear something else than her old yoga pants.

Around seven, the doorbell finally rings.

She doesn’t feel up for this, she is not ready to disappoint Jack and to hear him tell her that this is not going to work – but what choice has she got? Best to just get it over with.

He’s even more handsome than she recalls – and the sight of him is the final straw.

“Hey,” she manages, along with a glance in his eyes, before she breaks down in tears.

“Eilidh, love…”

Jack catches her, pulling her to him.

“Shh… it’s all right,” he tells her over her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbers against his chest. Well, there goes the rest of her dignity.

“Shh, no need to apologise,” Jack reassures her, and walks her into the flat.

They stay there for a minute or two, wrapped in one another, until she has to go and get a tissue. She feels vaguely better once she’s blown her nose and dabbed her face.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she admits.

“What d’you mean, like this? You’re the same Eilidh as always,” Jack says.

She gives a weak laugh. “Am I?”

“‘Course you are. You’re my Eilidh,” he says, and closes the distance between them, caresses her cheek.

“I can’t go on like this,” Eilidh says in a small voice, and when she looks up at Jack, she sees the gravity of the situation sinking in.

“Is it that bad?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment, Jack mulls this over.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise. Was it the – pregnancy thing?”

“No. That was just a symptom.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“Were you scared shitless?”

Jack lets out a laugh. “Scared, yeah. Scared shitless? Nah. Just… surprised, that’s all. But you’re all right now, yeah?”

“You mean if I’ve got my period? Yeah, I have,” Eilidh says, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It must’ve been the stress. And anxiety.”

Jack fixes her with a concerned stare. She waits for her voice to steady. Then she says, “I’ve thought about seeing a therapist. Just a couple of times. I’ve actually booked the first counselling session for next week.”

“But that’s good,” Jack says, slowly taking in the weight of her words. “It’ll do you good.”

He kisses her temple, comforting, protective.

“I just… didn’t realise it was this bad.”

With a note of amused self-deprecation, Eilidh says, “Yeah. Apparently everything I touch turns to shite.”

Jack bursts out laughing. “I haven’t turned to shite yet though, have I?”

She pulls away, giving him an appraising look. “Mmm, I don’t know, man…”

Jack ruffles her hair. “You wee little devil.”

She swats his hand away playfully, and Jack ends up chasing her around the flat while she laughs and squeals. He grabs her by the waist and hoists her up in his arms, planting a fierce kiss on her cheek.

“So good to see you laugh, love.”

He lowers her down. She says nothing; merely takes in the feel of Jack’s arms around her.

“I can’t do this alone,” she mumbles, clinging on to him, his firm, reliable frame. “I need you, Jack.”

“No. You’re strong, Eilidh. You absolutely can,” Jack whispers back. “But you don’t have to.”

This time, she finally allows herself to believe in it.

[shadcatmastered]

I know I already asked for some prompt but... Can you do one where Law is supposed to be a strict (but right) King and he is secretly in love with Kid who is a knight who respect him a lot (and a bit afraid of him). And Law act like a little girl in love when he think/saw Kid and nobody is looking. Please ! Love ya like always !

My dear, you can ask as many proposals as you like :D Love ya too

Kid x Law - FF - King And Knight

The black-hairedman sighed.It had been a stupid idea. He should not have got Kid into the direct Kingsguard. For a knight, it was a great honor to serve the king directly and toprotect his life directly… but Law could not concentrate anymore.He chuckled as he watched the redhead give instructions to the other knights.Yes, Law had given him authority. That only seemed right to him. Kid could notgo wrong. That was not possible.Law blushed a bit as he sat on the throne watching Kid. It was forbidden. Whathe did here was forbidden. The whole people were already talking about whytheir king had no queen and fathered some male heirs. But Law was notinterested. Neither to a wife nor to children. He was much more interested inKid…How would it be if Kid kissed him…? Oh, men must have had some sort of sex,even if they could not father children. He would like to find out…“Your Majesty, are you ready?”Kids voice sounded and Law saved himself from daydreaming.The redhead’s gaze was iron and ready for anything. As if he was ready to givehis life for Law every second.…hah, so male.The black-haired man sat upright again and took the crown, which lay on a redcushion beside his throne. He pulled it on the black hair and took a deepbreath. The blush wiped from his cheeks and Law’s facial expressions becameserious and stern. As it always was… if he did not think about Kid.“Yes, you can let them in.”With that the knights opened the big gates of the throne room and the firstones came in. First, the fine landlords and estate ladies and at the very end,if there was still time left, the poor peasant folk.Once a week, the doors of the throne room were opened for four to five hours.The people of the kingdom could come, express their thanks, their requests ortheir cares.Law had already changed a lot in this tradition. Whenhis father had reigned as king, the throne room was opened only for an hour amonth and that only for the people of rule. Law’sadvisors had strongly discouraged him from receiving farmers. Theywould be the most ungrateful, would drag disease and sheer complaint into thecastle. ButLaw had not listened to his advisers.Andto his great surprise, the common people were the ones who brought the most importantconcerns. Theycould tell him better than his advisers, whether the harvest was bad, thehunger was too great, or the diseases could no longer be kept in the fence.Luckily,the plague was not yet a major issue in their ranks, but if the plague alsomoved to their country, Law would have to close its doors forever. He knew that. After all, he hadreally begotten no heirs. Ifhe died, the kingdom would fall to his uncle in the north. And his unclewas a domineering, dark man. Lawdid not want to do that to his people under any circumstances.Especiallybecause Law for his fairness was really popular among the people. The simple, as well as thelandowners.The hours passed and the worries got bigger. It was the agonizinghunger, as so often. Unfortunately, the land of the kingdom was surrounded bymany marshes and bogs. Although perfect against enemies, this landscape wasunbearable for the people. As soon as it rained for just a few days, the swampswould poison the surrounding soil and kill the crop.Law wanted to sigh and bury his face in his hands, but that would not be worthyof a king. He sat upright, listening to the suffering of a plaintive peasantwoman and promising to take care of the problem.Then she left the throne room, thankful, crying.Law could feel exactly how the eyes of his treasurer pierced his side. Yes,they knew that Law intended to buy food from the kingdom’s money instead ofincreasing the weapons arena. But that was the only right decision.A king without a people would not be a king.The hours passed and people came and went before Law announced after five hoursthat it was enough. Withinminutes, his knights had closed the gates again and Kid stood by his side.Hisface was worried when he looked at Law and the black-haired man smiled briefly.If only the world wasthat easy. Itwould only be okay if you have a husband as a spouse. Then Law would be happy.Butthat was not the moment to think about it. Theblack-haired man shook his head, got up from his throne and walked over to hisadvisors. Theysat at a round table and then they discussed what was being heard.Cumbersome. It was just tedious.Lawhad already exchanged many members of his round table since he had taken overthe crown, but many were still friends of his father.Old,stubborn men you could not convince of modern decisions. Law had to order everything.Kid stood behind him again and watched. Along with another knight, Lawhad to admit that he did not even know his name. He only thought about Kid. Heleft it entirely in the hands of the redhead to administer the knights. Even ifhis advisors advised him against it.The hours passed and it was already very late when the session ended.Law, as always, had much opposition to his decisions. But that’s not why hewould not be deterred! He would take care of his people and do some thingsbetter than his father. That was for sure.Only when Law got up did the other members of his council rise. Law went to hischambers without any ado. His head hurt. He had had enough of this long, heavyday.Law heard Kid instruct the other knight to take care of the others as Kid Lawfollowed up the stairs.…he was alone with Kid.The black-haired man could not stop himself from blushing and butterfliesfluttering in his stomach. He heard exactly how the heavy iron boots Lawfollowed up the stairs.‘Alone’ was almost impossible in such a big castle. They kept coming pastknights keeping watch. But Law was the same. For him, it felt like being alone.Appropriate to his rank, Kid was silent. They got into the corridor where Law’schambers lay and the black-haired one asked:“Do you have a wife and children, Sir Eustass?”Actually it was not possible. Law would have known. Where Kid also had somehours of free time. Nights when he was alone. Maybe he had…?The redhead seemed quite surprised at his question, or even more surprised thatthe king simply addressed him. But then he smiled. The redhead showed so brightwhite teeth that this could only be witchcraft. Law sighed softly. What aperfect man.“No. My life is only yours, my Majesty. ”The black-haired man had to look forward and bite his lip so he would not laughwith happiness.How nice Kid had said that. Only him…Law said nothing, but Kid saw his satisfaction and smiled. He probably wouldnever guess why Law was just as satisfied.They came to his chambers.In front of it stood two knights, who reported immediately that nothingextraordinary had happened. This was actually the moment when Kid would saygoodbye and leave.But Law turned around. His heart beat like crazy, but he could not help themadness that had devoured his mind.“Would you still briefly look into my chambers, if everything is alrightthere, Sir Eustass? I have such a bad feeling today. Not that anyone poisonedmy wine.”Laws voice was serious and clear, whereupon all the knights looked at himhorrified. That their king was so worried was new and the knights put a lot ofweight on it.One of the guards opened his mouth and said:“Your Majesty, we really have …”But before he got ahead, Kid raised his hand and silenced him.“Your Majesty, of course, as you wish.”With that, the redhead entered his chambers and instructed the other knightsnot to let anyone in.Law followed him lightly. He felt like floating above the ground.Kid was in his chambers …here …with him.The black-haired man grinned to ear to ear while Kid searched his chambers witha serious, worried expression. Tried the wine and checked every place for traps.Law was not worried. No, he much preferred to consider the strong knight. Helooked at his big physique and the nice butt. Law giggled softly. How would Kidlook without his armor…? In civil…? He could hardly imagine it. Kid had tolook sooooo handsome.The black-haired man had the feeling that little hearts were flying around hishead. He felt so good in Kids proximity. So free, so happy.The knight, on the other hand, was done with his control. He stood right in front of Law and said with aserious expression:“I searched everything, Your Majesty. There are no traps or dangers in yourchambers. You can rest safely tonight.”Law wondered if Kid was afraid of him. In the golden eyes was the same shimmeras in all others. Fear of the mighty king who could prescribe his death withouthaving to explain it to anyone.“Are you afraid of me, Sir Eustass?”The question of the black-haired man was quiet and sharp. Kids eyes widened andhe took a breath. The reaction alone told Law more than a thousand words could.“Your Majesty, I respect you. I care only about you and your safety. Youhave the highest priority for me.”What a clever answer. Law grinned briefly and Kid seemed relieved.With such deft, evasive words Kid could have fit into the policy of the castle.He had answered his question neither yes nor with no, and yet gave him a clearanswer.So it happened that they looked each other in the eye. Both with a smile andLaw felt the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.And then the king did something that was completely insane. He wrapped his armsaround Kids neck and before the redhead could do anything, Law leaned forwardand kissed him.It felt like Law was going to faint with happiness. His lips laid on Kids andit felt so nice. Like a dream. To feel the strange warmth, the good taste ofKid…Law’s cheeks blushed and he pressed his body against Kids. Felt the cold metal…and then realized what he was doing.As if someone had given him a slap in the face, Law shrugged back. He releasedhis lips from Kids and took his arms off Kids neck.The redhead’s eyes were wide open, staring up at him with his mouth open. …whichwas so cute that Law could only smile. Now he would come to purgatory. He hadkissed a man. And it had felt even better than he had thought…Law blushed again.“Excuse me, Sir Eustass. You can go home now.”Kid nodded mutely and then turned, and Law buried his face in his hands. Whathad he been thinking? God, what had he thought?!But to his great surprise, Kid once more turned his head toward him, even as healready had the door handle in his hand.“Your Majesty …I just wanted to say …that I thought that was verynice.”…was Kid red on the cheeks?Now Laws mouth opened and without another word Kid disappeared through the doorfrom the room.When the door closed behind the redhead, Law squealed and luckily threw himselfon his bed. There he rolled and giggled.Sky! He had kissed Kid! He had really done it…! And Kid had found it nice…!How beautiful the world was…!

written by Shadcatmastered

[booksncoffee]

how you get the boy - twenty six

“I’ve missed you,” I murmured as I inched closer and closer. A smirk appeared on his lips and he closed the gap between us, smiling into the kiss. Just when my fingers found a home in Harry’s hair, we heard a cough so loud that it made us jump from each other. “Bloody hell, Niall!” I shouted, scowling at him.

“Sorry,” Niall grinned. I doubted that he meant it.

read below // story page

Two days before summer break started and before everyone went home, I realised that I might be going mental.

I’d realised it a few weeks ago, but I had blamed it on the amount of stress I was put under due to finals. Unfortunately, I still felt the same way even after the weight had been lifted and the dark clouds that had been lingering on the top of my head had left me alone.

That’s when I realised that there’s more to this nagging feeling that clung to my bones. And I didn't know whether it’s good or bad that it had everything to do with Harry and how, out of the blue, I was becoming hyper aware of everything he did despite having dated him for over a month.

I was suddenly aware that we would be apart after this. I might not be able to see him that often anymore and that this honeymoon phase we’re having – I refused to call it a ‘phase’ at first, but then again, it shouldn't be a surprise because I was in denial about lots of things – would end. I might not be able to kiss him every day, to see him smile at me when I got home, to feel his arms wrapped around my waist after a long, gruelling day and to feel his lips pressed against my skin.

I supposed that’s why I began to cherish every little moment we had. I began appreciating even the littlest things about us that I didn't realise before.

Like how his fingers always traced circles on my shoulder when we’re with our friends or when we’re alone as though he’s trying to tell me something. Or how his green eyes seemed to burn brighter when he’s showing me things that he loved. Or how he always knew what to say or do as soon as he noticed that something’s wrong. Or how tentative his touches were, like he loved every inch of me – every flaw, every blemish, every scar – all that were nothing but perfection in his eyes.

He made me feel loved. And oh, how I loved him back in return.

Speaking of love, neither of us had said those three words to each other yet nor had we ever talked about it. Alas, that didn't mean I couldn't feel it in my veins, because I could I could I could. Could feel it when my heart beat each time I caught sight of him, each time he smiled at me, each time our skin brushed. I could feel it almost all the time and I wanted nothing more than to scream at the top of my lungs so he would know. So everyone would know.

But the thing was, I was scared.

Scared that we were moving too fast, scared that when I did say it, it wouldn't leave the intended effect – not that I knew what it would be anyway. I was scared that if I were to say those three words, Harry wouldn't say it back even though according to Shiloh that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever thought of.

“Of course he loves you,” she had said with a scoff, “Even a blind man would know that!”

Regardless the vote of confidence, I still couldn't get rid of the fear that had planted its root in me. And to make myself feel better, I kept saying that I was just waiting for the right time, the right place.

“Bunny,” Harry’s soft voice pulled me from my train of thoughts, “You okay?”

He had a concerned look written all over his face as he looked at me. I smiled at him, “Yeah, I’m great.”

“Tee’s probably just daydreaming ‘bout you, mate,” Niall interrupted, reminding me that we weren’t alone in Harry’s kitchen and it hadn’t been that way for days.

Ever since his lease was up three days ago, he’d been staying here because it’s the first available place that popped into his mind. He didn't want to sign another lease with his previous landlord as he had decided to live somewhere else, preferably somewhere closer to us – I could only pray that he would change his mind.

In spite the fact that it was understandable that he needed to crash at someone’s couch until it’s time for him to go back to Ireland for Summer break, up until now, I still didn't know why he refused to crash at someone else’s place. Harry just had to be his victim.

“Shut up, will you,” I rolled my eyes at him, to which he stuck his tongue out like a mature lad he was.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?” Niall wiggled his eyebrow at me. I opened my mouth to reply but upon realising that it wouldn't end anytime soon, I decided against it.

Smiling to himself as though he’s proud of me, Harry turned to me and asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay? Cos you were smiling and then all of sudden you were, uh, you were frowning.”

“I was?” I quizzed at the same time Niall said, “H, she’s dreaming ‘bout you, remember?”

Harry’s eyes darted from me to Niall. Then, he let out a sigh as if he was tired of us; maybe he was. Fortunately, a smile touched his lips less than five seconds alter and he said, “Well if that’s the case, then that’s good.”

“You’d like that, wouldn't you?” I kinked an eyebrow at him. Harry nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss on my lips. I didn't get to return the kiss as Niall started coughing like he was choking on something and when the two of us turned to look at him, he shot us an innocent smirk, one that told us that he did it on purpose.

“Tee, H, I think you both know that I love you, but bloody hell you two are so disgusting!” He exclaimed with a huff before he got up from the chair and brought his empty, dirty bowl to the sink, muttering words that neither of us could understand under his breath.

“My place tonight?” I asked Harry as soon as Niall was out of our sights and hearings. “Think we deserve some privacy.”

“God, yes,” Harry nodded as he let out a relieved sigh. Then, pinching the bridge of his nose, he added, “He’s driving me nuts.”

“I know,” I whispered my agreement.

Niall was driving the both of nuts. He never seemed to know when to leave us alone nor did he seem to know how personal space worked. One would have thought that he would stop meddling once he’d found out that we’re together – just as how he wanted it to be – but it appeared as though things turned into the opposite. Wherever we turned, we’d see Niall. Whenever we’re in bed, he’d walked into the room and squeezed himself between us. It’s either because he was a dog in his past life or he’s a four years old boy living in an adult body.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmured as I inched closer and closer. A smirk appeared on his lips and he closed the gap between us, smiling into the kiss. Just when my fingers found a home in Harry’s hair, we heard a cough so loud that it made us jump from each other. “Bloody hell, Niall!” I shouted, scowling at him.

“Sorry,” Niall grinned. I doubted that he meant it. As he walked past Harry, he patted his back and said, “H, we have to go now if we don’t wanna be late.”

“Right,” Harry sighed as he ran a hand down his face. Reluctantly, he got up from the chair and pressed a kiss on top of my head. “I’ll see you later, bunny. I love you.”

The world stopped spinning, I was sure, as his last three words echoed along with the sound of the front door being shut. I took a deep breath to compose myself; however, as soon as my brain registered his words, I felt a rising sense of panic, breaking through my sleepiness. Every inch of my body was buzzing and no matter how many times I told myself not to let panic take over, I came to a conclusion that my attempt proved to be pointless.

I was, much to my dismay, panicking.

My palms began to sweat and before I could realise what I was doing, I was heading towards the front door and putting on my jacket. I couldn't stay here for a minute longer especially when I could feel his words hanging in the air, so I decided to go see Shiloh. She always had answers to almost every question I’d ever had and I was hoping that she would know what to make of this because for the life of me, I couldn't even find a way to calm my erratic heartbeats.

A part of me wondered if Harry realised that he’d just said the words that both of us were scared of and if he, too, was freaking out right now. Wondered if he wasn’t, then did he plan on saying it like that so he could leave straightaway before he could see my reactions.

Despite the fact that I had once drunkenly told him that I was in love with him, it was nothing compared to what happened earlier. Neither of us was drunk and I had the chance to reply, but I didn't.

As my car pulled to a stop at Shiloh’s place, all I could hear was my blood rushing in my eardrums and the beat of my heart that was so erratic that I felt like everything was going so fast. I didn't know what to think, but my heart went on the beat that seemed to rhyme with he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you and it wouldn't – couldn't – stop.

And I had no idea how, but what scared me to death just a few moments ago became a sheer force that calmed me down.

Shiloh opened the door only a few seconds after I knocked and when she’s there, standing in front of me, eyes half opened, all I could say was, “He loves me, Shiloh.”

A yawn was the first response I received from her as she stepped aside to let me in and rubbed the sleepiness away with the pad of her palm. Only once we were both seated on the couch in her living room that she finally started speaking. “I told you that, didn't I?”

She did. A countless of times actually, but I didn't believe her up until now.

“Yes,” I replied, my one word answer made her smear a victorious smirk across her face. “But what should I do now, Shi?”

“What do you mean what should you do now?” Shiloh questioned, brows furrowing in confusion. Wagging her finger at me, next, she asked, “Did you bolt as soon as he said that?”

I quickly shook my head, dismissing the idea that I was the one who ran away even though there was also a possibility that Harry didn't mean to dash out of the flat as soon as those words tumbled out of his mouth.  

“I think it’s pretty clear what you have to do, Tee,” she continued when I didn't say anything in reply. “Do you love him?”

The answer sat heavy on the tip of my tongue, it had been there since God knows when, and I was surprised that not once had it slipped.

Sure there were times when I wanted nothing more than to tell him how I felt because sometimes the feeling I had for him could get overwhelming, so much so that sometimes I thought it's everything that I was. But I would always stop myself before I could say it, before I could ruin things between us – not that I thought our relationship was that fragile. Alas, we hardly talked about the future let alone about love. They were the two topics we skirted around like we’re afraid to get our feet in the water.  

My mind went back to the night when I drunkenly told him that I was in love him and the image of colours draining out of his face followed immediately. I remembered the aching I felt in my chest upon seeing his face and the insecurity lacing his voice when he asked me if I meant it. And I remembered how instead of assuring him that I was, in fact, in love with him, I let him believe that I was only saying it because I’d had a lot of drinks earlier that night.

It was something that I thought about a lot and despite the regret that blanketed me for weeks, I knew that not admitting it was the best thing I’d done that night. And that’s because I still had a few things that I needed to sort out, but now that everything that had troubled me before had been put in the past, I knew there’s nothing holding me back anymore.

“Well, do you?” Shiloh pressed as she squeezed my knee, her eyes fixated on my face.

As I casted my gaze at my friend, I realised then that I couldn't be more sure of an answer before. It’s like the fog had just been cleared and along with it was my insecurity, my fear. What stayed was this intense feeling that kept growing and growing inside of me, one that wouldn't leave me anytime soon. Or ever.

“Yes,” I answered with conviction, “Yes, I do, Shi.”

She beamed, “Then, that’s great!”

The certainty disappeared as quickly as it came and I was met with a crashing realisation that I was scared to tell him that. Whereas I had admitted it to myself, it was a completely different thing to admit it to him. “But why am I scared, Shi?”

“It’s normal, y’know,” Shiloh answered, offering me a reassuring smile when I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. “I mean I’ve never been in a proper or serious relationship before so I’m probably the least reliable person when it comes to love, but Tee, it’s okay to be scared.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded and I liked how sure she sounded when she said those words. “But if you’re scared that he won’t say it back, then you shouldn't be. Besides, he said he loves you, didn't he?”

I shrugged when she gave me a pointed look. “Yeah, he did,” I replied, “but what if he didn't mean it?”

“Bullshit,” she replied immediately with a shake of her head. Then before I could open my mouth to argue, she continued, “Everyone can tell that he’s madly in love with you, Tee. And as your best friend, I want you to stop doubting every single thing. He’s in love with you, period.”

At that, I let out a sigh. Relief spread across my chest at the same time and I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “You’re right.”

“Course I am,” she agreed, a smug grin adorning her lips as she lightly punched me in the shoulder. “Now, what’re you waiting for? Go and tell Harry that you’re in love with him and get your happy ending!”

&&

Harry was pacing back and forth like there’s something bothering him – knowing him, perhaps there was – when I walked into his living room. I knew he’d be here since Niall was in my flat, watching a football match that Louis had recorded.

“Hey,” I said as I approached him from the back and almost instantly, he stopped pacing and turned to face me. The pucker between his brows disappeared as a smile slid onto his face. “You okay?”

A nod was his only response before he closed the gap between us and pressed his lips against mine, his hands cradling my face and thumbs brushing in feather light strokes along my jaw. His mouth was warm and welcoming and I felt the breath leaving my lungs in surprise.

That’s when I felt it: my heart swelled up into my throat, the back of my eyes burned and I fell in love with him all over again right there and then. I fell in love so hard and fast that it took my breath away.

“You told me you love me,” I whispered as I pulled away from the kiss to catch a breath. “Earlier, before you left.”

“I did,” he replied smoothly as a smile tugged at his lips. He didn't look like he was freaking out nor did he look like he was about to take those words back.

Confused by his response, I asked, “How’re you so.. calm?”

Regardless how serious the situation was, Harry started laughing and I couldn't help but frown at him. “Bunny, I’ve known that for a while,” he told me before he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it. “Trust me, when I first found out that I’m in love with you, I’m pretty sure I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop imagining what it’d feel like to say it to you. But that’s not why I couldn't sleep.”

I kinked an eyebrow at him, curiosity taking over me. “Why couldn't you sleep?”

“I was afraid that you wouldn't say it back,” he replied rather sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck and shifted from one foot to the other. “So, I waited and I suppose I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

I racked my brain for a response, but nothing came as everything began to overwhelm. Even the smile that never seemed to leave his lips overwhelmed me.  

Harry stroked a hand over my face, his eyes so soft that I was certain I might cry. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say it back, bunny. No rush, okay? I’m in this for a long time.”

In the moments that followed, when I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him down so our lips could meet, I could feel those three words pushing their way up to my throat and I knew as soon as I pulled away from the kiss, they would tumble out of my mouth. The realisation that I was so in love with Harry hit me like punches to the chest and as bizarre as it might sound, it was the kind of pain that I wouldn't mind experiencing for the rest of my life.

“I love you,” I told him breathlessly, my eyes fixated on his swollen lips. Then once I was done staring at them, I looked straight into his green eyes and said, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Music to my ear,” he said with a smirk, to which I rolled my eyes at him, for it was so easy for him to return to his cocky self.

My thoughts were cut short when the front door was pushed open and in walked Niall, followed closely by Louis. As soon as they spotted us, they looked like they had just won a lottery.

“Did you say it?” Niall asked Harry, grinning from ear to ear. Beside him, Louis looked just as curious as he was as he rubbed his palms together, waiting for an answer.

A grunt and a soft ‘go away’ was the only reply Harry gave as he hid his face in the crook of my neck. I ran a hand down his back whilst shooting a glare at Niall. “Leave us alone, will you?”

“Never,” Niall answered as he pressed his mobile phone against his ear and tapped his foot against the floor.

“And you,” I pointed my finger at Louis, catching him off guard. He quirked an eyebrow at me and mouthed the word what. “What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. He knew why he was here but he didn't want to share that to us. “Niall asked me to come here with him.”

Before I could tell him to leave, Niall’s loud voice interrupted me, “Shi, they’ve said it! Fucking finally!”

At that, Harry removed his head from my neck and his eyes widened in horror. I was positive my face mirrored his. “Why’d you do that?” Harry quizzed and though it was a rhetorical question, Niall opened his mouth to answer it. He didn't get the opportunity to do so, however, as I cut him off.

“Alright, that’s it,” I mentioned as I marched towards both Niall and Louis and began pushing them towards the front door. “Leave, leave, leave.”

“Fine, fine!” Niall replied, throwing his arms up as though they were a white flag and he was admitting defeat. “We’re leaving.”

“Thank you,” I huffed, relieved that it didn't take more than that to make them leave.

I was making my way back to Harry when Louis said, “Don’t be too loud, yeah? Thin walls and all that.”

“Shut up!” Both Harry and I shouted in unison and their laughter was the last sound we heard before the front door was shut. And finally, we were both alone again.

“Can you believe that those are the kind of people that we associate ourselves with?” I asked Harry, incredulous. Harry simply shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. He didn't look annoyed, but he did look embarrassed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m grand, bunny,” he smiled as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. “My girlfriend just told me she loves me so I don’t think there’s anything that could make me not okay.”

I rolled my eyes, “You’re so cheesy, do you know that?”  

“I do,” he nodded, smiling widely. “I also know that my girlfriend loves that about me and she loves that I’m a jackass. She digs the Jackass who’s never failed to mess up her name when she orders a Caramel Macchiato – weird.”

I crinkled my nose, “Your girlfriend must be a mad, mad girl.”

He tapped my nose once, twice and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as though he’s trying to hold back a smile. Maybe he was. “She’s mad, yeah, but I love her and I don’t think I could love anyone as much as I love her.”

Breath hitched in my throat, I had to swallow the lump in my throat twice and I had to blink my eyes a few times so tears wouldn't escape my eyes. What had happened to the old me who hardly cried, I hadn’t a clue; Harry had made me weak, but not in the bad ways of course.

“Harry,” his name rolled off my tongue and he kinked an eyebrow. “If you don’t take your girlfriend to the room right now, she might cry.”

“Oh no,” he gaped as he leaned closer, his mouth only a few inches away from mine. “I hope it’s happy tears.”

“It’ll be angry tears if you keep talking,” I warned him.

Almost immediately, peals of laughter escaped his throat and before I could scold him for laughing at me, he carried me to his room, tripping over his pair of jeans that he left on the floor. I had told him times and times again to pick it up but he’d never made an effort to do so. And now his laziness had bit him right on the arse.

“Told you,” I laughed when he angrily kicked at his jeans, sending it to the corner of his room. Then, letting out a huff, he throws himself to the bed, on top of me. “It killed your mood, huh?”

“Do you really think so low of me?” Harry questioned with a frown between his brows whilst holding himself up with his arms. Before I got the chance to answer his question, he began peppering kisses all over my jaw and for a moment I forgot what we were talking about. I had to sink my teeth into my lower lip to prevent the moan from leaving my lips. “Hmm, do you?”

“Maybe,” I replied.

Harry stopped kissing my jaw and burrowed his face in my neck, mumbling, “God, I love you.”

Being in love felt a lot like taking your heart out of your chest and holding it in your palms. Being in love also felt a lot like taking a leap off of a cliff because despite the trust you held for the person you're giving your heart to, there’s a part of you who prayed that he would take a bloody good care of it.

And I knew that I wouldn't trust anyone with my heart as much as I trusted Harry because the love I had for him was just as much as the love he had for me.

“I love you too,” I whispered back as I run my fingers through his hair.

Funny how sometimes you found what you need whilst chasing after what you want, but sometimes what you need would be right in front of you the entire time. Either way, I was glad that I stayed to find out.

[6feetunderbooksblog]

  “How is this book both adorable and sexy? The Trouble with Christmas is a big city meets small town, opposite attract hilarious romance full of holiday shenanigans, family, love and sigh-worthy moments. It’s one of the must-reads of 2019! I absolutely loved it!” –Naima Simone, USA Today bestselling author

  The Trouble with Christmas, an all-new opposites attract romance from USA Today bestselling author Amy Andrews, is available now! 

  All Suzanne St. Michelle wants is an over-the-top, eggnog-induced holiday with her best friend in Credence, Colorado. But when her hoity-toity parents insist she come home for Christmas in New York, she blurts out that her sexy landlord is actually her boyfriend and she can’t leave him—Joshy loves Christmas. The more twinkle lights the better.

  Rancher Joshua Grady does not love Christmas. Or company, or chatty women. Unfortunately for him, the chattiest woman ever has rented the cottage on his ranch, invited her rich, art-scene parents, and now insists he play “fake rancher boyfriend” in a production of the Hokiest Christmas Ever. And somehow…she gets him to agree.

  Apparently, he’ll do anything to get his quiet life back. At least there’s mistletoe every two feet—and kissing Suzy is surprisingly easy. But in the midst of acres of tinsel, far too many tacky Christmas sweaters, and a tree that can be seen from space, he’s starting to want what he lost when he was a kid—a family. Too bad it’s with a woman heading back to New York before the ball drops…

Download your copy today! 

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  Excerpt

    Grady barely felt the chill as he stripped off his freezing, sodden shirt in the equally freezing concrete shell of the mudroom. The silence was distracting. Too distracting, and he could think of little else. The last three mornings, he’d gone about his chores serenaded by chanting monks. Which was strange but…whatever. It didn’t bother him or the animals, and it gave his ranch hands something to laugh about. 

Except now there was no music. And that was bothering him, because he suddenly realized he was thinking about her—something he’d been trying not to do. Had her power gone out? Was she sick? Had she fallen in the cottage and smacked her head on the stone floor? Had some kind of seizure? Was she unconscious? Had she decided to up and leave?

Yeah, right…he should be so lucky.

Grady shook his head, growling to himself as he flicked off the running faucet and plunged his hands into the steaming-hot sink of water, washing off the caked-on muck from his hands and arms and chest courtesy of a calf that had gotten itself bogged in a freezing quagmire caused by recent rain and melting almost-frozen ground.

He’d managed to rope it out with the help of two of his hands, its plaintive mooing and the distress of its mother keeping everyone focused on the job but somehow, when they were almost there, he’d managed to lose his balance and fall into the frigid mud. 

His hands had laughed their asses off as they’d dragged his out of the muck.

The hot water felt good on his chilled skin as he picked up the cake of soap and lathered his arms and chest and neck. He needed a real shower, of course, but he’d learned a long time ago to wash up before he went inside. The plumbing in the mudroom was way more forgiving than the more delicate pipes inside the cabin. 

Thankfully his jeans weren’t as mucky. Ordinarily he’d have stripped them off in the mudroom, too, and walked from the barn to the cabin in his underwear—isolated living did have its advantages—but he wasn’t about to do that with Suzanne St. Michellenearby. 

And great…just great. He was thinking about her again.

He obviously wasn’t getting laid enough. Just how long hadit been since he’d been with a woman? Well over a year ago. Probably closer to two. Because that had to be it, that had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about the curvy New Yorker even though she’d stayed on her turf exactly as he had demanded. 

Reaching with one hand for the fresh towel that hung over the hook above the sink, he pulled the plug with the other, then proceeded to towel dry. At least up until he heard a faint gasp and spun around to find the woman on his mind standing just inside the doorway, her curves hidden in a huge red coat, that green knitted cap pulled down low over her forehead and ears.

His hands paused mid drying the back of his neck. The room wasn’t big, maybe five feet by five feet, which meant she was way closer to him than he was comfortable with, given his state of undress. 

“Oh…I’m…sorry.” Her breath misted into the frigid air as her voice faltered. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

Her eyes fell to his chest, zeroed in on the nickel-size scar just beneath his right collarbone courtesy of some shrapnel, before straying to his pecs and abs for what seemed like forever, the awkward silence stretching. Normally Grady wouldn’t bother filling it because silences were where he felt most comfortable and the other person generally rushed in to fill them up. But Suzanne wasn’t bothering, either. 

At least not with her mouth anyway. 

Her eyes were a different story. They were having an entire conversation as they roved all over his chest. She was looking at him like he was a slice of one of Annie’s pies, and Christ if that wasn’t like a bullet straight to his dick. The kind of friendly fire he could do without. 

Fucking hell. He didn’t want to be pie. Not this woman’s. Not any woman’s. He wanted to be…tofu. Nobody lusted after tofu.

“Had some trouble with a calf.” Grady felt like an explanation might help the situation, but he still felt like an idiot making small talk. 

“Was it being born?” She pulled her gaze from his abs to his eyes. “Did you have to stick your hand up inside and drag it out? I saw that on a documentary once and couldn’t believe how messy it was. And how calm the mother was. I mean, I’m not sure I’d be okay to just stand there while someone stuck their entire arm up my hoo-ha, right?” 

She hesitated for a moment like she’d done the first day they’d met, like she wasn’t sure this was a topic for polite conversation. But her mouth had already committed, so she jutted her chin and went for it. 

“I know it has to be done and, let’s face it, a calf is much bigger than a man’s arm—” 

Her gaze dropped to his arms via the scar, his chest, and his belly button. She was looking at him like pie again. Annie’s pecan pie with melted butter. Sweet and savory all at once. An orgasm for the tongue. 

Not tofu. Plain, tasteless, orgasmlessTofu.

“Even yours,” she continued, forcing her gaze back to his face, and it took Grady a moment to pick up the thread of her ramblings. She shuddered. “But no thank you. I mean, seriously, females of all species really do get a raw deal. I bet you if the males had to push out disproportionately bigger babies through the passage provided for the process, they’d have invented some kind of handy zipper system a long time ago. Some dude would have patented the bejesus out of it.”

She stopped abruptly, snapping her lips closed as if her mouth had finally received the frantic shut the fuck upmessages from her brain. Her cheeks looked pink, but then so did her nose, so it was probably just the nippy December weather.

Grady stared at her, not only at the amount of words she’d spoken but at the content of her monologue. “We…” He spoke because it felt like his turn, but he didn’t even know what to do about cows with zippers. “We don’t calve in winter.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded briskly, her cheeks definitely growing pinker now. “That makes sense. Who wants to be cold and in pain, right?”

She gave a funny little half smile that ended quickly and awkwardly. Then they just stood and stared at each other for several beats longer than was normal or even comfortable, their warm breaths misting into the air. 

Tucking her hands into the pockets of her red coat, she said, “I hope it’s okay to have a look around?”

Grady gave a brief, terse nod. “Just don’t go too far or go near the animals.” Last thing he needed was to rescue some damn fool city slicker who’d wandered off and gotten herself lost.

She nodded absently as her gaze drifted again, licking over his chest, lingering on the scar. He should be freezing, half-naked in a room that was little more than an icebox, but with her looking at him like she was trying to commit every line and chest hair to memory, he only felt hot. 

Really fucking hot. Melted butter on pecan pie hot. 

“I hope—” Her voice sounded a little uneven, and she cleared her throat. “I hope my music hasn’t been disturbing you the last few days.”

He wasn’t sure why she was making small talk—although it was preferable to incessant observations about cow hoo-has and zippers. Nor was he sure why he was standing ramrod straight in front of her, thinking about pie when he should be grabbing the spare shirt he kept in the cupboard above the washbasin and getting decent. 

But up had been down since the moment she’d arrived.

“It’s fine,” he dismissed. It hadn’t been the music that had been disturbing him, that was for sure.

She nodded again, glancing around the room briefly before settling her eyes back on his chest. “Well…I guess I’ll…” She didn’t finish the sentence as her gaze once again zeroed in on the scar, and her lips rolled together in contemplation. “Do you mind—?” She stepped forward and raised her hand tentatively. 

When he didn’t move because he was paralyzed by the realization she was actually going to touch him, she became bolder, stepping in closer again as her fingers made contact. She was so close now, he could smell her. Coffee and snickerdoodles? And something sharp, maybe chemical. Paint, he supposed. 

“Is it a bullet wound?” 

Grady flinched as she touched the scar, her fingers like icicles as they sunk into the small indentation. He closed his eyes as heat bloomed from the center, spreading like a ripple, burning like a furnace down the length of his body.

Blood pulsed hard and thick, everywhere. Damn it, she might as well be wrapping that cold hand around the throbbing hardness pressing into the zipper of his fly. It was probably forty degrees in this concrete box, but it felt like a sauna, and it was an easy 120 inside his boxers.

He swallowed. “It’s from…shrapnel.” 

He had no idea why he wasn’t stepping back. He should step back. He should have said, Yes, I do mind, told her it was none of her business. He should be finding a shirt.

Find a fucking shirt, idiot.

            “Did it hurt?”

Surprised by the question, he glanced down to find the bulky knit of her hat a whisker away from brushing the underside of his chin. “Like a bastard.” 

            She looked up and they were close—her mouth was close—her fingers a balm to the old wound that still made his shoulder ache on cold winter mornings. His heart thumped like a jungle drum and god almighty, it was hot enough in here to grow bananas. 

“Was it bad? Did you bleed a lot?”

His throat was dry as the concrete beneath his feet. “It bled some.” Then, finally getting his shit together, he took a step back, and her hand slid away.

            If his distancing bothered her, she didn’t show it, just simply said, “Thank you for your service.”

Grady didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say to this standard platitude. He appreciated the sentiment, but he’d just been doing his job. So he nodded, his pulse reverberating like a dinner gong in his ears, as she slowly backed out of the room and disappeared from sight. 

            Reaching for the sink, Grady gripped the curved edge in both his hands and hunched over, dropping his head down between his shoulder blades and taking some deep steadying breaths.

January could not come soon enough. 

        About Amy Andrews 

Amy is an Aussie author of hot contemporary romance who believes in multiple orgasms, mighty wangs and happily ever afters. She’s been penning them for over twenty years and has 70+ books to her name.

As well as unforgettable characters and great sex you’ll also be treated to some laughs and a dollop of quirk because Amy doesn’t seem to know how to write a book without a bit of both. You might also cry a little because there’s nothing she loves more than a laughy-criey book!

She also loves sunsets and rainbows, unicorns and mermaids, booze and travel. And her home that overlooks the ocean. She may also happen to believe she was a Roman goddess in her past life because its the only thing that explains her adoration for all things Italy.

    Connect with Amy

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Website: http://amyandrews.com.au/

        Excerpt – The Trouble with Christmas “How is this book both adorable and sexy? The Trouble with Christmas is a big city meets small town, opposite attract hilarious romance full of holiday shenanigans, family, love and sigh-worthy moments.

[guacameowle]

Hi Lynn! :) Do you have any modern!au for the Lords of SLBP?

I had multiple requests for this in my inbox. It’s not terribly long & a lot of it turned into crack headcanons... oops.

Nobunaga – He’s a businessman, CEO of his own company. He enjoys all aspects of acquisitions & mergers. Wears Versace suits like a second skin all the time. He has a reputation of being a playboy & appears in magazines every month with a new partner on his arm. His Aston Martin Vanquish is just as silver as his tongue. “Your words can’t hurt me; these shades are Gucci.” His best friend is a goody two-shoes doctor who accompanies him to every gala – they’ve become a dynamic duo of sorts. Complains about the weird smelling tea his friend always makes him try. Has always wanted a pet dog.

Mitsuhide – Medical Cardiologist & though he recognizes/understands the anatomical/chemical workings of the heart he also believes it’s entirely possibly to die of a broken heart from love (he’s a romantic). Has made it his life’s mission to save lives and keep hearts beating in hopes they’ll find their pair – but puts in too many hours at work that he can’t seem to maintain his own relationships. Travels the world for various medical conferences and has a habit of buying exotic teas to bring back with him – his collection is astounding. Drives a low emission vehicle in hopes it’ll somehow balance out the ridiculous cars his best friend buys.

Yukimura – College student + star athlete. He’s highly skilled in martial arts & is training to compete on an Olympic level. He gets around on a red & black Suzuki motorcycle with gold rims. Once got a citation in the mail claiming he almost ran someone over with his bike. Comes from family money but is very modest about it, though he splurged on his bike when he was accepted to college on a sports scholarship. His favorite places on-campus to eat are the ones that serve food buffet style because he tends to really pack it in. He secretly feeds several of the cats that roam around where he lives & has given them all names.

Saizo – Private investigator by day, author by night. He uses a pseudonym to write combo suspense/thriller/romance novels loosely based on some of the cases he’s handled. When he catches someone actively cheating on their spouse & goes to take a picture for proof he says, “Be a good dear & smile for the camera!”- he finds the shocked expressions really round out the pictures. Owns a ridiculous amount of hair gel. Doesn’t like having guests over at his place but can’t seem to keep the annoying college kid who lives down the hall out of his apartment – he doesn’t really mind the company though, the kid’s got charm.

Masamune – Incredibly shy college student working on his degree in Animal Sciences & Biology. Hopes to one-day work as a wildlife conservationist. His college mentor is Kojuro; he often finds himself using Kojuro’s office to study instead of using the library – it’s quieter in there & nobody bothers him (plus one time he saw some guy get smacked upside the head for sneezing in the library & decided he wasn’t about that life). Was once almost run down by some annoying jock on a flashy motorcycle. Has a crush on the cute girl that works at the animal shelter he volunteers at but can’t bring himself to talk to her. Lives with his cousin who’s essentially his polar opposite.

Kojuro – Literature college professor & published poet. Has a high regard for the written word. Refuses to write any of his works on a computer & insists they all be written on paper by hand. As a result, his desk is scattered with fragments of phrases & lines on scraps of papers or post-its. For Christmas he got a small journal that fit in his pocket from his mentee so he could start to keep his ideas on him at all times & in one place.  His handwriting is absolutely atrocious & nobody can read it. Starts off every lecture with an insightful quote for his students to ponder. Isn’t a morning person – just stay away. His office has random bamboo shoots & water fountains to make noises like a babbling brook.

Hideyoshi – Graduate student of Psychology. Spends most of his time in the library – everyone thinks he’s reading & studying, but he’s really people watching & making notes for his dissertation. He has a whole section written about the analysis of some kid smacking someone for sneezing. Doesn’t have the best fashion sense, but goes for comfort more than style – wears TOMs with everything. Quick to offer unsolicited advice but nobody calls him out for it because of his easy & gentle smile. Always gets a banana pudding with his lunch. His ringtone is “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” by Jet.

Inuchiyo – College student studying Criminal Justice. Part of a fraternity – he’s a legacy. His parent’s home is next door to his childhood crush but hasn’t worked up the courage to tell her he’s in love with her & just sends death glares to anyone she’s ever dated. Once got smacked in the library for sneezing into a book on accident. Took his job as hall monitor as a kid way too seriously. Once saw some kid almost get mowed down with a motorcycle – reported the license plate & description to the campus police. Works part time at the on-campus gym as a personal trainer.

Ieyasu – In his final year of studying Pharmacology. Took courses over the summer & winter breaks to speed up his education. Works at the college campus pharmacy between classes & on weekends. Wears crocs. Acts like a total brown nose to the famous cardiologist he used to shadow prior to medical school to maintain that connection for future endeavors. Wants to create pharmaceuticals that he considers to be natural/herbal. Always smells like vanilla and sugar cookies. Rumor once spread around campus that he killed a man. Has his highlights touched up every other month.

Mitsunari – College student that refuses to tell anyone what his major is (but it’s actually Library Sciences), not because he’s trying to be mysterious, but because he doesn’t want anyone he knows loitering around the buildings he’s primarily in for his classes. Once smacked a guy across the head with his palm for sneezing into a book. Prefers taking public transit or walking to get to where he has to go. Always dresses formal casual & owns a ridiculous amount of sweaters. Volunteers to help run the children’s reading program every month.

Kenshin – He’s a curator at a museum. He has numerous degrees in Art History & enjoys restoration/preservation of the works he comes across. Often talks to the statues throughout the museum as if he expects some sort of reply from them. Is sometimes mistaken for a woman but doesn’t mind. Twirls his hair when he gets nervous. Lives above a flower boutique downtown & enjoys watering their garden in his free time. Owns numerous bottles of Gendarme 20. His landlord hates that the apartment always seems cluttered & in chaos anytime he comes by to pick up the rent. 

Shingen – Has a made career for himself as a “Men’s Life Coach.” Teaches men of varying ages how to dress, handle themselves, converse, & gain confidence. Did a stint a few years back as an exotic dancer (stripped while dressed as a sexy cowboy, saddle on stage) & he kinda misses it. Works out more often than he sleeps. Once hit on a woman he met at a museum who turned out to be a guy but still asked him out on a date anyway. Lives in a lavish studio apartment with modern contemporary furniture. Once caught some peeping tom taking his picture through the window (he lives on the 10th floor?) yelling for him to smile – so he did.

Shigezane – Goes to the University of The Undecided & has decided to major in Life. He’s charismatic & charms everyone he meets which somehow led to him becoming a male escort (is very popular with older ladies), though he rarely provides adult services unless he, “feels a spark, ya know?” (or they’re really hot). Once went to pick up his cousin from the animal shelter he volunteers at & flirted with a cute girl there when suddenly a dog started chasing him – he could have sworn he saw his cousin give the dog a treat & a pat on the head later. Has a tendency to pay for the groceries, but lets his cousin do all the cooking & steals from his plate. Watches The Bachelor/Bachelorette religiously. Calls his cousin’s satchel a “murse.”

[adventk-blog]

                                             — ARE YOU WHO YOU WANT TO BE, 

       introducing JUNG JAEWON, a MUTANT, under the moniker of ICARUS — and currently a believer of NEUTRALITY. age ( twenty-two ) and gifted with the ability of EAGLE PHYSIOLOGY, they are currently working as COMPUTER PROGRAMMER.

WE ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN STORIES,

rule I.  just because you can fly doesn’t mean you always will.

most children’s first memories are of playtime with their siblings or mothers cooking dinner, playgrounds and eating snacks, bedtime stories and fits of tears. and its normal, these things, woven into the basic structure of kids unburdened by their futures, kids making wishes on shooting stars, kids filled with innocence and curiosity and wonder. that’s the way kids are supposed to be, the way they are meant to develop.

icarus’s first memories are none of the sort; a combination of cold stone walls and giant iron bars. he remembers looking out through his cage, a hangman’s castle they designated just for him, and watching with steady, dark eyes as the men in white outfits drag a girl he’s considered to be his sister for the last two months from her adjoining cage and out of the room. she’s too exhausted to scream and icarus can’t help her, only able to cling to the bars and hope she makes it back somehow.

rule II. never forget the windchill factor

she never does. 90% of the other test subjects never do, and the men who hold them all prisoners are constantly telling him how unique he is to have survived the enhancement. special. remarkable. he doesn’t feel that way however, when they are constantly forcing him to run laps around the building, fly faster each day, lift more, breathe more, fight more. he doesn’t feel that way when they break his bones repeatedly to get him used to the pain, break him repeatedly to force his body to develop some sort of healing factor that never comes.

he is an experiment, born from no one, existing nowhere, the only friends under his wings being the other children who come and go from this place. he considers them brothers and sisters each, hoping they will stay with him, knowing they will leave him in the end. only a handful of them manage to survive a couple of years, but the sickness keeps claiming them. or the scientists break them too many times. they have somehow grown icarus and the others from a hodgepodge of human and bird dna, trying to create their own monsters, like the world isn’t full enough of those already.

rule III. stop feeling the storm, become it.

“i think they want us to be soldiers,” says his newest brother. the boy is a little bit younger than him but his wings are prettier, softer, and icarus is jealous. but that doesn’t change the fact that he might be correct though.

they train too much, fight too much, and unfortunately icarus is no good at fighting. he reaches an age when he no longer wants to try so hard for them, he feels rebellious. he becomes a coil of fury and discontent, yelling about needing the outside, about suffocating without open airflow. he’s dying in these facility walls, he’s drowning. they punish him a lot but instead of teaching him a lesson, he starts taking it as a challenge.

how much pain can he endure without flinching?

how resilient can he force his mind to be?

the others keep dropping off and he doesn’t know why. no matter what techniques he tries to impart to them, he continually watches them contract the same sort of illness, like a bad skin disease that transitions into a flu and some kind of breathing condition, as though they are suffocating, until eventually their eyes turn yellow and they begin coughing up blood. they get dragged out of the room then and he never sees them again.

over and over, he outlasts them all. no one will tell him why.

he becomes cynical. nothing lasts. he becomes a mountain. unmovable. despite the wings on his back growing larger every day and his eyesight sharpening every few weeks, he is no less the wiser about his situation. no more informed than he was when he was younger. he’s not even sure what age he is or what name he would have gotten had he been allowed to stay with his mother. if he even ever had a mother. surely he did though, right? doesn’t everyone?

rule IV. the sky has no limits, don’t adhere to any.

after a while though, it ceases to matter. bigger, better plans are made; he’s getting stronger and the base of his chest is getting hotter. maybe he isn’t a mountain so much as a volcano, set to explode. he and three others who haven’t contracted the sickness yet begin to devise a scheme to escape. icarus wants to leave but he’s scared to. he’s never been on the outside before. he only knows what the scientists and guards will tell him, what he’s overheard them talking about, snippets of conversation amassed over years of containment.

they have taken everything from him. except his wings. except the sky.

the plan works for the most part, but only two of them make it out alive. apparently for as valuable as they are, the scientists would still rather see them all dead than let loose upon the world. he loses track of his fellow escapee, but he can’t risk taking the time to hunt for him, too engrossed in the world he had, for a brief period of time, thought was actually non-existent.

rule V. open your chest to welcome the horizon.

it’s incredible. intense colors. sharp shapes. loud sounds. dialogue he’s never heard before, speech patterns that don’t really make any sense. common understandings of things he has to struggle through. and it’s worse that he has these great, impressive wings extending a little over 4 meters in either direction from his body. the people who live in the small hillside town are not amused, he guesses, from the way they all flee away from him, screaming something about the devil having come.

it’s only by chance that he stumbles upon the daybreak foundation, a place he actually manages to find peace in. he’s very unused to the care and understanding he’s received there, constantly worried that it’s all some sort of a trap, ready to flee at any given moment. there has never really been anyone on his side, no one who’s stayed with him long enough for him to learn how to trust something other than his own instincts.

but for a while, things in his volcano spirit are calm. he’s allowed to fly around the grounds, eat food whenever he’s hungry ( a novelty ) and focus on things other than survival of the fittest. he finds out that anything worth learning about can be accessed through the internet, so he adapts to that rather quickly, picking up coding skills and immersing himself in electronic knowledge. he picks things up like a bird to air, albeit out of the order of normality. he’s still not very good at jokes or innuendos. he probably overplays the memes.

they ask him for his name and he tells them it’s icarus. they ask him for his real name, and it’s one of the most depressing moments of his life. “i don’t… have one,” is all he can respond with. but they need to be able to put something down on paper, so he thinks about it for a day and decides on jung jaewon. it was the name of one of his brothers who died in the escape, who gave his life so that icarus could make it out.

rule VI. don’t forget rule I.

but then of course, it all ends in a hail of fire, as it was always supposed to do, as he always expected it would. as soon as he sees the broadcast, he knows it’s time to take flight. there’s no way in hell he’ll stay anywhere if there’s even a hint of experimentation or torture going around—he’s already had enough of that for one lifetime. he steals some money from a friend he’s managed to make, and slips out, taking to the winds and hunting for a new place to hold up.

rule VII. in·stinct. noun. an innate, fixed pattern of behavior, example: “birds have an instinct to build nests.”

he manages to find a small apartment, lucky in that the landlord is a parent of another potential, lucky in that he can afford enough to put his first payment down ( after having the process of rent explained to him in detail first ). he steals money for a little while, maybe a total of two weeks, before he manages to collect enough to buy a computer and apply for a job in online coding and computer repair.

all online though, of course. he can’t go outside, not during the daytime, not with so many angry faces, not while he’s being hunted by the government, by the population, by the scientists. he doesn’t know who all is out there and he can’t exactly hide himself well with these overgrown eagle wings. he still takes to the skies sometimes, when the boil-up is too much pressure, when the clouds call his name too loudly, and his stuffy little apartment is too small. but only in the middle of the night, only when he can’t be seen against the backdrop of stars.

rule VIII. the skies are the only home that matters.

THERE IS FLESH AND BLOOD BEHIND THESE TALES,

given icarus’s unique upbringing, it’s not a stretch to understand just how reserved and untrusting he is. like a bird constantly ready for flight, there is something inside him that is always ready to go, ready to fly, ready to get the hell out of here, like his adrenaline is always hidden just barely beneath the surface. he keeps his eyes alert but his mouth shut tight, only using words when necessary. he’s not shy, quite the opposite actually, but he believes in assertiveness and strength, power coming from within and the imperativeness of keeping secrets. he’s not a bad person, but he can be incredibly blunt and harsh, insensitive to the way he might affect other people around him. when he makes up his mind about something, it’s very difficult to change it. he despises seeming weak, having had it beaten out of him more times than he can count, so he lies very often when he can ( and even when it doesn’t make a lot of sense to ), preferring death over anyone’s pity.

AND EVEN MONSTERS CAN LEARN TO WEEP.

ABILITY : EAGLE PHYSIOLOGY- the presence of gigantic, golden eagle wings on his back allow him flight both high up in the air, as well as soaring down close to the ground, if there is enough room for his wingspan. outstretched, each wing is about 4.3 meters long, gold-brown with white and black peppering.

   APPLICATIONS :

strength – not so much as to be able to bend metal or anything, but he must have a fair amount of superhuman conditioning to be able to lift and carry around the intense amount of weight on his shoulders and back, having to bare his wings and fly with them

speed – eagle wings are designed for power and speed, so while he has normal human limitations on foot, as soon as he takes to the air, he can cover great distances in short amounts of time

high altitude – he is able to survive in lower oxygen states, giving him the capability of flight high up in the atmosphere

heightened eye-sight – like eagles, he is able to see around 4 times better than average humans

   LIMITATIONS : the more you put here the better! please list two limits for every application you’ve provided above to avoid overpowering muses. please keep in mind, the newer you are to a power or ability the more weakness you will have!

- while he is strong, his bones are hollower than the average human, making him extra breakable

- he cannot absorb or hide his wings, the best he can do is fold them up tightly against himself, but they are still incredibly obvious; the bone portion of his wings hover over his head, while the bottom feathers trail slightly across the floor

- while his wings can make him fast, they do not give him faster reflexes, so as long as he is in the city, he cannot maneuver close to the ground, between buildings. he has to gain altitude, where space isn’t so cramped

- because his lungs are abnormal and do not require the amount of oxygen that surrounds him, his system will occasionally malfunction and he’ll get very short of breath and start gasping, as though he’s drowning. it’s something like a reverse asthma attack

- his eyesight causes him intense migraines, to the point where he cannot function very well, and often has to go lay down or he’ll black out

THREAT LEVEL TWO.                           04+ BRWN, 02+ RSLNC, 05+ INTLCT, 07+ WLLPWR, 03+ FGHTNG, 03+ SPD

[lindsaynsmith]

Humor and Horror Go Hand in Hand in These Spooky Stories

Humor and Horror Go Hand in Hand in These Spooky Stories https://ift.tt/2Q6F5dx

As anyone with a cursory knowledge of Halloween knows—which is to say, anyone from age two and up—the model ghost is a haunt who is skilled at parting you from your ability to remain unafraid.

Whether emerging from beneath your bed, the recesses of your closet, or the family crypt where you drink a pony of liquor each year to toast those who’ve have gone before, the best ghosts are in the terror business.

But what of the ghosts who make us laugh? What of their rich literary history? In even the scariest ghost stories, there tends to be some humor. Something potent often sparks its opposite, so humor works well with terror for the same reason that you see death and life and love and hate riding together.

So, let us wander the Great Hall of Funny Spooks, starting with one engineered by Nathaniel Hawthorne called “The Ghost of Dr. Harris.” The work was composed in a single day, in the late summer of 1856, with Hawthorne preferring to comment that this was a true story—or a witnessed one, anyway, witnesses being fallible—that was told to him, concerning a guy who really ought not to be at the Boston Athenaeum. This is a series of reading rooms here in the Hub, about a mile from where I sit writing this, which I walk past often, in some hope—no joke—of seeing the titular doctor outside, facing the gold-domed State House, which is just up the hill.

This story isn’t a side-splitter, but there is chicanery at play. Ghosts, until this point, had been fairly serious entities. Shakespeare used a lot of them, and Dickens too, much more than A Christmas Carol, and while works like that one could be very funny, the ghosts weren’t. Remember, Marley’s marching orders were to scare unrepentant Scrooge witless, using whatever means necessary, which is why he unwraps the cloth around his head and his jaw falls to the floor.

Hawthorne wanted a different effect, though. His story is about a young man who reads at the Athenaeum, where there is also the Reverend Doctor Harris, a venerated member, whom no one really bothers, not that there’s a lot of free-flowing conversation at this place. He sits fireside, always in the same chair, reading the Boston Post, which no longer exists, but which this guy loves. He reads it like you read The Daily Beast—addicted! Through thick and thin. One time the narrator sees him, then learns after the fact that Dr. Harris died earlier. So what the hell did he see?

Well, he saw the doctor’s ghost still following the previously living doctor’s routine. The humor comes in with the narrator not saying anything, save to remark, each time this happens, that it’s weird now that he wasn’t more weirded out then. Do you think? Old guys are passing out in chairs near the doctor, and the narrator can’t tell if they see what he sees, or if they’re just old guys who fade out from the scene and into their naps. There’s no menace, no threat, just this oddity that is kind of amusing. Your ribs aren’t so much tickled as warmly rubbed, but the stir of a laugh is there, and this was a groundbreaking story in that respect.

Frank Stockton kicked the humor up a bunch of levels with his 1882 story “The Transferred Ghost.” The tale centers on a man, staying at the country residence of a friend, who loves the so-called lady of the house, who is the friend’s niece, and of whom he is fiercely protective. This friend, Mr. Hinckman, goes off on a journey for business some 200 miles away, when his ghost pops into the narrator’s room one night. The narrator, of course, is all, “Oh my, he’s dead!” but the ghost rejoins with an “erm, not quite.”

Apparently, it’s tough to get a gig as a ghost. There are a lot of would-be ghosts waiting for people to die, then they take over their forms—spectrally speaking. Mr. Hinckman had almost died before, so the ghost of this story, thinking the older man was on his way out, put in his claim for his form, only to have him return to health.

The ghost, consequently, is terrified of the man he’s supposed to represent, and doesn’t want to be seen by him. He has a plan, and he asks the narrator’s help: He wants to be transferred to a new gig, free to take up the form of some other poor departed soul. He proposes a joint arrangement: Assist him in this, and he’ll aid the narrator in landing his love.

“You have no idea what a rush and pressure there is for situations of this kind,” the ghost laments. “Whenever a vacancy occurs, if I may express myself in that way, there are crowds of applications for the ghostship.”

So much for RIP.

Now let’s get weird. And wet. In 1904 John Kendricks Bangs published a story called “The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall.” I know a lot of ghost stories, but I know of no other ghost story that incorporates—certainly not so blatantly—the topic of female ejaculation. Sounds like a ripping yarn, no? This story is set on Christmas Eve—as is the case with so many of the ghost stories that we read starting around Halloween—and involves people who drown, basically, in their bed, or of pneumonia years later, as a result of having been drenched by the ghost of the title. She comes (call that a pun) at night, does her squirty business, and leaves behind bits of seaweed.

The house’s owner, who lets out the rooms, narrowly avoids this fate, and seeks to rectify matters by reasoning with the ghost. (Intercourse, of the verbal variety, between ghost and human, as if they’re talking like any two people might, nothing to see here, etc., is a comic staple of these stories, I’ve noticed.) “Go sit out on the lake, if you like that sort of thing; soak the water-butt, if you wish; do not, I implore you, come into a gentleman’s house and saturate him and his possessions in this way. It is damned disagreeable,” he tells the ghost. Fair enough. But, “This is a bit of specious nonsense,” she counters, and soaks him. “You are a witty man for your years,” the ghost concedes, which prompts a riposte of, “Well, my humor is drier than yours ever will be.” It looks like the recurring deluge will do him in, until he hits upon a solution involving the transitive properties of water.

In Nelson Lloyd’s 1907 story “The Last Ghost of Harmony,” a man bemoans the times he lives in because there are fewer spooks about. According to the story’s narrator, “Harmony was a highly intellectual town,” and despite their once having been ghosts moving freely, in plain view, among the living, many had set sail—floated towards—more accommodating realms, given that empiricism was eroding what had been the town’s sense of wonder.

One of the town’s last ghost-loving locals was one Robert J. Dinkle, who returns as a ghost himself, post-death. The narrator happens upon him, and is greeted with, “I must appear pretty distinct,” which is said in a proud way, ghosts having egos, too. “Can you see me very plain? Don’t I show up good?”

“Richard Middleton's 'The Ghost Ship' is a story about a pirate vessel, in ghost form, manned by ghosts, that goes off course and lodges in a turnip patch in a quaint English village.”

When the narrator becomes less scared—after all, this was his mate—the ghost becomes less visible, which requires him to unleash a bellow worthy of a creature tormented in hell. Or the best he can muster, anyway. He does all of the “regular acts,” he says. “We always were kind of limited. I float around and groan, and talk foolish, and sometimes I pull off bedclothes or reveal the hiding-place of buried treasure.” But it doesn’t do him any good, and this ghost is having a post-life mid-life crisis. Screw these non-believers. The two team up for a declension of this tired old business of attributing things that go bump in the night to natural causes, with good old terror reasserting itself.

Which brings us to my all-time favorite ghost story, and, on certain days, my all-time favorite short story, written by Richard Middleton. He was a depressive who committed suicide at 29, in 1911. I mention this because it’s rare that you encounter any prefatory remarks regarding his story, “The Ghost Ship,” in which the person introducing the story does not say that it’s remarkable that a man in so much pain could write this.

Middleton made virtually no money, if any, with his pen; we don’t even know how he managed to live at times. His suicide note read that he was “going adventuring again.” He was a great writer. Raymond Chandler met him early in his own literary travels, read some of Middleton’s stuff and concluded—rightly, I would say—that he’d never be as good, and thought of giving up the whole writing dream altogether if someone as talented as Middleton couldn’t make it.

Middleton wrote exactly one book, an eponymous collection housing “The Ghost Ship,” a story about a pirate vessel, in ghost form, manned by ghosts, that goes off course and lodges in a turnip patch in a quaint English village. The narrator and the landlord of the field walk over to the ship to see what’s going on. Out steps the ghost-captain, on his quarterdeck, remarking, “I seem to have brought her rather far up the harbor.”

They don’t know this is a pirate ship yet, but they do know that the captain has the best rum they’ve ever tasted, and again we have concert between ghosts and humans, with some of the village idiots coming to think they’re ghosts, too, and eventually setting sail with the crew. The narrator and the landlord don’t know what to do, so they repair, several times, to the local pub, the Fox and Grapes, to mull matters. Everybody drinks.

The young ladies of the town start lusting for some of the ghost crew. The innkeeper gets pissed that his rum isn’t selling as well as the ghost rum. Some of the locals want to off themselves to join the crew. Eventually, the captain finds a favorable current, borne of the air, and sets sail, but the turnip field, forever more, bears a crop that has a rum-like aftertaste.

Some of the residents who set sail with the captain eventually return to town, rejoining the ranks of the community, as if nothing had ever happened, and everything that might have ever happened had happened, too.

How could you not wish your ghost stories to go like that? How, for that matter, could you not wish all the best things in life to go like that?

via The Daily Beast Latest Articles https://ift.tt/2tq1R9h October 31, 2018 at 05:17AM

[southshoresanctuary]

E.T.H.O.S.  Public Statement Opposed to Current Plans for the Redevelopment of the Jackson Park Golf Course

(Statement released July 13, 2017, but remains applicable)

ETHOS (Environment, Transportation, Heath, and Open Space) is a registered, non-traditional block club centered in the South Shore community, consisting of 50 members who live in the 5th, 7th, and 10th Wards of Chicago within 2 miles of the Lake Michigan shoreline. We are a multi-racial, multi-generational, and mixed income group. We are individuals, families with children, and extended families. We are renters, homeowners, and small landlords. Some of us have lived in the community for most of our lives; others of us have lived here only for a few years.

Plans for a Jackson Park PGA Golf Course have revealed that this new golf course would consume most of Jackson Park and a portion of Washington Park.  ETHOS is strongly opposed to the PGA Golf Course expansion plans. ETHOS says "No!" to the PGA golf course, but ETHOS does not say "No" to change or redevelopment. Instead of this plan, ETHOS advocates for an independent researcher to be hired to survey and lead focus groups of all residents in our communities (of South Shore, Woodlawn, & Washington Park) and to conduct a highly transparent study of Southeast side residents' ideas on how the park should be redeveloped, for and with us.

We are asking for the Chicago Park District to live up to its stated mission, which is to:  

Enhance the quality of life in Chicago by becoming the leading provider of recreation and leisure opportunities; Provide safe, inviting and beautifully maintained parks and facilities; and, Create a customer-focused and responsive park system that prioritizes the needs of children and families.

The PGA Golf Course plan is not aligned with this mission. The residents of Chicago are the Chicago Park District's customers, not PGA golfers and tourists. Specifically, we, the members of ETHOS and the other residents of the Southeast Side, are the customers of Jackson Park. Here are 10 more reasons for our opposition:

1. Southeast side residents were not asked if a PGA Golf Course was what we wanted for our park prior to when the City made plans for it. As with many grandiose plans authored by those who do not live in the targeted neighborhoods, the golf course does not seem to take into account what residents have craved for years-restoration and maintenance of existing assets. ETHOS members want the existing amateur golf course and South Shore Cultural Center rehabilitated and well maintained, with the possible addition of a new driving range, to be located in a place where no existing park amenities would be displaced.

2. A beloved, four acre, nature preserve near the South Shore Cultural Center would be removed to create a new golf green. This nature preserve enriches our communities with a quiet restful spot and is a place to introduce our children to nature. It is also a wonderful lakefront habitat for migratory birds and pollinators, especially the wetland portion. In this era where climate change is a constant threat and where native habitats are being destroyed at an alarming pace, it makes sense for our parks to not only serve as places for human recreation, but also as places to support and affirm natural existence. It is impossible to "relocate" this nature preserve. Fifteen years of natural, self-perpetuating growth cannot be relocated, only maintained with careful stewardship or destroyed. Plans to "relocate" this preserve really mean destroying it and then potentially building a new one elsewhere, starting all over again from the ground up. It would take 15 years for it to be replaced. Moreover, a golf green would be put in the nature preserve's place. Golf greens, especially ones that have to be maintained impeccably for professional golfers, are not environmentally friendly places. The grasses used are not native prairie grasses. The grasses have to be closely cropped by continual mowing, never permitting a natural habitat or food source for birds and animals. Toxic herbicides and pesticides are used regularly to keep the golf green in playing condition. Given that this site sits on the Lake Michigan shoreline, some of these chemicals would no-doubt leach into the lake.

3. Jackson Bark, the only dog park on the whole Southside would be eliminated. At previous meetings it was said that it would be moved elsewhere, but no location has been secured, so these plans are just ethereal. Even if a designated place is found, it may not be as nice or convenient as the current location. Dog parks build community among dog owners and provide safe, contained, recreation for the pets.

4. The South Shore Cultural Center could, too easily, become an exclusive "country club" again with all of the old elitist (and racist) history becoming new again. We want this building to be used for our community and we want to respect the legacy of Henry English and our other elders who fought to save it. We envision children's Scouting groups meeting here, afterschool and summer camp options, adults and families dining at the Parrot Cage (which also offers educational opportunities for students pursuing culinary careers), more theatrical performances like from the South Shore Opera Company, space for civic meetings and block clubs, space to exhibit works of art, as well as continuing to offer some space for weddings and other rentals (though these private affairs should not take over the facility to the point that it can't be available for use by the public). At a previous meeting it was mentioned that a new country club will also be built especially for the PGA golf course, but this does not ensure that the South Shore Cultural Center would not also be appropriated by PGA interests over time. In fact, ETHOS would prefer that there would be no country club in Jackson Park at all. Country clubs separate persons, often by socioeconomic class, rather than unite them, and the construction of a new country club would inevitably cause more sacrifice of trees and open green space.

5. If the PGA golf course is built, those of us who live here are very likely to find that most of the park, including access to the lakefront and possibly even the Wooded Isle, will become off-limits (except to pro golfers and guests who pay admission fees), including the likely displacement family reunions and of the infamous Chosen Few house music festival. Streets that some of us drive down every day will be completely closed. For some of us, these streets are how we access the park on a regular basis, as we drive to and from work or to and from the park itself. The current landscape plans threaten only to cut-off, not enhance, access to these sylvan paths and roads. We, the Southeast side residents, have already given away 20+ acres of our parkland, for free, to the Obama Foundation. ETHOS would like to see the rest of Jackson Park remain a "peoples' park" for use primarily by those of us who live here.

6. If the PGA Golf Course is built, more green space will have to be sacrificed to parking lots for tourists' cars. More pavement/cars = more heat island effect = more global warming in our area = poorer air quality. Any parking structures constructed in Jackson Park should be located underground (for the Obama Library, Project 120's amphitheatre, and all other redevelopments). For any and all park redevelopment, a traffic and transit study should be conducted first, including how CTA routes will work to best accommodate residents and tourists.

7. Existing tennis courts will be eliminated by the new golf course. Promises were already made to relocate and replace--in Jackson Park-- the football-soccer field, running track, playgrounds and picnic areas that will be destroyed to accommodate the Obama library. If the golf course is expanded, very little land will be available in Jackson Park to fulfill these promises.

8. How many PGA level golfers live in South Shore, Woodlawn, and Washington Park who would benefit from this course? This is a rhetorical question. We know that there are very few. These plans are not for us. If the Tiger Woods Golf Course plans move forward, green fees will become costly for the amateur golfers who do live in our communities. Amateur golfers will likely have to play during off-peak hours to accommodate the professionals, if they are permitted to use the course at all. Amateur golfers, who are also ETHOS members, have expressed concerns that a golf course designed for the pros would be too difficult for them to play and enjoy. Even if some promises or concessions are made now by the Park District to accommodate local amateur golfers, these policies will likely not stand in perpetuity as the profit motive increases. ETHOS believes that residents who reside in Southside zip code areas should get free (or very low cost), unlimited access to all of Jackson Park's amenities.

9. Though Woodlawn and Washington Park Communities will be impacted by the Obama Library and the proposed Tiger Woods Golf Course, the South Shore community seems to be the "meat in the redevelopment sandwich" with construction on the Obama Library to the Northwest of South Shore, construction on the U.S. Steel Southwork's site (recently purchased by the Barcelona Group), Project 120's Jackson Park amphitheatre plans, and now potentially the Tiger Woods designed golf course. ETHOS members do not want to live in the midst of a construction zone for years to come.

10. If Jackson Park becomes this PGA golf course, we will lose the opportunity for decades into the future to get Jackson Park redeveloped the way we, the residents, would want it to be. In fact, residents could find themselves walled off from Jackson Park and the lakefront by a wall that would not only obstruct their access to the park, but also completely block the view. The wall constructed around the Oak Woods Cemetery is an example of the type of wall ETHOS members most fear. Since admission prices would be charged for viewing PGA tournaments, it is logical that either now, or at some point in the future, the PGA course would be walled off from view to prevent people from watching tournaments for free.

[proud-mom85]

I do not have custody of my oldest daughter or son, they currently reside with my in laws and not by choice.

My husband and I had separated for the first time so he moved back in with his parents. Things seemed to go great for awhile....until I told my husband that I was getting hired on at the job I was working at as a temp for several months. That’s when everything seemed to change.

One weekend when I let my kids and his parents like I usually did on the weekends, he refused to give them back, even blocked my number and on Facebook. After not being able to get a hold of anyone all day including his parents, I drove up with my mom to pick my kids up, only finding his parents at the house. My husband and his sister had taken off somewhere with the kids! I had even brought a cop with me, and the cop refused to do anything! I got too pissed and left before I said or did something that I would regret.

I figured out that my father in law had been tracking my phone. He had gotten a phone for my husband and I on his family plan when we had previously lived with them so we’d always have a phone. He had tracked me from the time I left my apartment so that when I got close, he could tell my husband to take the kids somewhere and hide out until I left. I felt like I had been stabbed.

Over the next several days, when I wasn’t working I was making phone calls (and I hate talking on the phone) and doing anything and everything I could to try and get my kids back all while trying not to have a breakdown, but I didn’t find much help. My kids are the only things that matter to me and when my husband and his parents did this, I felt broken. I felt like a huge chunk was missing from me as well as feeling extremely betrayed. Nothing I did seemed like it was going to help me get my kids back, I grew closer and closer to a complete breakdown. Every night, I was crying myself to sleep.

Because I felt so lost, hopeless and desperate to get my kids back, I did the stupid thing. I made another Facebook to get a hold of my husband and aside from quitting my job, I gave into him. We got back together and got a place, moving in with our kids. Of course, that didn’t mean that his parents had stopped. We received several visits from child services over the course of the next few months. They were constantly reporting us to CPS but nothing was ever filed against us.

We had thought of letting the kids stay with his parents temporarily while we worked out things between us, even go see a counselor once we found one but since I was making good money where I was working and he was able to stay home with the kids we decided not to. Plus I didn’t trust them. It was important to keep our family together.

Then we got blindsided, or more like I did. We got papers for an appointment with a court ordered mediator to settle the custody issue. His parents teamed up against me while my husband just sat there, never saying a word, knowing that I don’t do well in high stress situations. So rather than me telling the mediator that I preferred to keep my family together like planned, the opposite ended up coming out of my mouth. The mediator wrote visitation papers that worked around my work schedule and that was it. I lost my kids to my in laws.

We are supposed to get them for certain holidays, but his parents have yet to follow that other than when I was pregnant with my third and about to go into labor anytime. They also tend to make plans when we’re supposed to be spending time with our kids, or just making excuses. We’ve tried to follow the court papers but they make it difficult.

I feel like I’m alone in trying to get custody of my oldest kids back, no one is helping me nor does it feel like anyone is even trying to help me. I’m trying to do everything that I can to get my family back together, especially not just for my sake but my youngest daughter’s as well. She should be bonding and spending every day with her siblings but it’s hard when you’re lucky to see them one day a week, or whenever we can drive down to Ohio from Iowa since we moved here for my husband’s job plus the house we’d lived in started having too many problems to which our landlord refused to do anything about.

I am willing to fight and do whatever is necessary to be able to get my kids back, but the stress of feeling alone in this battle makes it difficult to stay focused sometimes, plus trying to raise my youngest with little to know help as well. I am looking for any resources necessary to get the ball rolling. I know the biggest thing I need is money which is why I’m getting a job to save up as much as possible to file what paperwork I need to file and hire a lawyer.

I’m tired of my in laws controlling my kids and putting down me and my parental abilities. I’m tired of my kids not being with me, of my two oldest not able to be with their little sister. I want all three of my kids together and with me like it’s supposed to be. They’ve even told me numerous times over the last year that they wanna come home, which breaks my heart ‘cause I can’t just scoop them up and bring them home like I want to.

My family is all that matters to me.