#realised why this article feels so refreshing to me

[cruelsister-moved2]

[ingek73]

Among the Meghan-hating media fraternity, Jeremy Clarkson isn’t even king

Catherine Bennett

The invective of the former Top Gear presenter barely rose above the standard of an average incel

Sat 31 Dec 2022 18.00 GMT

Follow Catherine Bennett

Commiserations to Jeremy Clarkson: now his Sun column has been taken down, the celebrity must forfeit his chance to win the UK media’s most demented attack on Meghan award, 2022.

Fairness requires his article to be available for comparison with work from names including, in no particular order, Dan Wootton, Piers Morgan, Nigel Farage, Tom Bower, Brendan O’Neill of spiked and the Spectator’s Freddy Gray, not forgetting Richard Tice, Toby Young and Rod Liddle. Energised, perhaps, by the abundant material issuing from Montecito, more and more commentators are realising that a media career really can be based on, or refreshed by, repeating that the Duchess of Sussex is any or all of a talentless (yet cunning) mansion-dwelling liar, narcissist, bully, gold-digger, hypocrite and republic facilitator who stole “our” prince (Morgan: “dragged him out of the country off to your California mansion to fleece your royal titles”) whom she will dump – thanks to the demagogue-psychic Farage for this insight – when the time is right. To which the popular psychologist Dr Jordan Peterson tweeted: “This seems highly probable to me.”

Having said that, the trade is harder than it might look; the successful Markle-detractor must not only sustain Morgan-rivalling levels of abuse but produce some signature excuse for his feelings. An honourable mention, then, to Peterson who, new to the specialism, brought a scholarly perspective to bear on a Markle “archetype” podcast in which he’d been quoted (saying “I don’t think that men can control crazy women”). While compliant with Goldwater constraints on psychological speculation, Peterson added to his academic defence of “crazy women” the objection that Markle’s voice “just grates on me”. Elsewhere, the recently arrested career misogynist Andrew Tate seems to be the first of this men’s group to call her a bitch and worse. Why the anger? Unclear, but, invited on Morgan’s show, Tate recently regretted that “a lot of age-old traditions are being destroyed in real time”.

The above list should not, incidentally, be interpreted as some innate female inferiority in reviling Meghan. Credit is due, in fact, to the Daily Telegraph’s female team. The judges of this award are not, however, so “woke” as to favour less obsessive and comparatively pallid contributions to Meghan-hating by women, simply for the sake of diversity.

One challenge for specialist Markle-baiters is to balance, as Clarkson did not, the disturbed with the publishable

If it is any consolation to Clarkson, last year’s anti-Meghan content included work so outstandingly malignant that even after his article provoked international condemnation and record-breaking complaints, he may not have triumphed. True, the description of Meghan as worse than the serial killer Rose West is memorable, likewise his dream of the day that Meghan – since the writer hates her “on a cellular level” – “is made to parade naked through the streets of every town in Britain while the crowds chant, ‘Shame!’ and throw lumps of excrement at her”. But original? Our judges noted that this sort of sexualised, unashamedly pathological fantasy about a determined and attractive woman would probably be considered fairly basic in online groups favoured by resentful incels.

Moreover, one of the challenges for specialist Markle-baiters is to balance, as Clarkson did not, the disturbed with the publishable. As familiar as it is for some men to be triggered by female success into the sort of behaviours academics have summarised as “masculine over-compensation”, the Meghan-averse, like Greta Thunberg’s haters (as Clarkson shows, there is significant overlap), must keep in mind the need not to come across as worryingly invested or, to borrow Peterson’s jargon, crazy.

Tom Bower, a strong contender for this year’s award, could probably have pulled off his Nazi analogy, “Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s propagandist, would look with real awe at what the Sussexes and Netflix have achieved”, and even his conspiratorial “Doria plays a really sinister role in this whole story”. It helped that he was speaking on a channel where Meghan hysteria is pretty much normalised. But people noticed when he told viewers of Good Morning Britain: “It’s Meghan I’m after.”

That the would-be shit-pelter Clarkson is to keep his TV shows and newspaper columns should not, as much as it has thrilled his fans, be taken to mean less eminent contributors would survive. Careful misogynists might be better advised to study the way his rivals will, for instance, elevate otherwise standard exercises in vituperation with a dash of compassion, a mention of the cost of living crisis, learned regret for Meghan’s limitations. “In a strangely lobotomised way,” Gray says of his muse, “Meghan seems to have been influenced by the theories of Carl Jung.”

Alternatively, notice how seasoned Meghan antagonists offer deep constitutional feeling as a justification for their insults and disgusted faces: “Princess Pinocchio”, “your narcissistic delusionist (sic) wife”, “the ginge”, “poisonous rats”. The guild’s settled understanding, after the Netflix series, that the Sussexes represent, in Morgan’s words, “an existential threat to the British monarchy”, allowed for some peerless abuse from lead members of the fraternity, notably in the popular Meghan-hating double acts. The aim of this collaborative format being for participants to goad one another into ever more extravagant denunciations of the Sussexes. In particular the Wootton-Bower combo reliably appals, the host nodding while the writer insists, for example (confident that Wootton won’t mention Andrew Morton), that Diana was never, like her son, “duplicitous”. Wootton (confident that Bower won’t mention Panorama), agrees that Diana never did anything so vile as criticise the institution.

To pick a winner from this wealth of invective has occasionally felt like an impossible task. But the most precious is, surely, a piece by the distinguished Marxist turned Markleist, Brendan O’Neill. Not for pyrotechnics but for so brilliantly encapsulating Meghan’s often fascinating effect on the male mind. “Go away,” he begs the belle dame of Montecito, “Leave me alone.” He made the same request in 2020.

Catherine Bennett is an Observer columnist

[40sandfabulousaf]

大家好! Pa adores being taken out for a meal, so he was really happy to join me for a moderately healthy Korean lunch of samgyetang (ginseng chicken soup) and mandu-guk (pork dumpling and veggie soup with rice cakes). I had brown rice together with him this time, since I could soften these hard, dry and chewy grains with plenty of broth. There were enough veggies to satisfy us, plus I finally ate some meat. After that, we went to the coffee shop for hot coffee for Pa and tea for me.

The cao mi zhou (brown rice congee) which I previously introduced Pa to was actually nice, so I brought K to try it when we caught up over brunch. We chose yu pian cao mi zhou (sliced fish brown rice congee) and shared Thai style tofu as well as stirfried jian cai (Chinese water spinach). As K put it, zhou is food for the soul, it's comfort food for many locals and he enjoyed the meal. After that we had refreshing juices. I chose an orange and lemon with honey combo and it was really yummy!

No I haven't switched from white rice to brown; that's not gonna happen for as long as I'm not medically required to do so. Breakfast hai xian zhou (seafood congee) with an egg tastes silkier when white rice is used. After exercise, I need to replenish energy levels quickly and white rice does the job just fine. Moreover, with morning calisthenics, I challenge myself to do better and this often results in muscle soreness. White rice eases the aches of each muscle group so that the next time I work them again, they no longer hurt.

After trying both types of rice and sharing them with you, which works better for me in terms of replenishing energy levels quickly? White rice - and I'm not the only person who prefers it; clips of fitness professionals who feel the same can be found on social media. By having a mix of both high and low GI carbohydrates - veggies are complex carbs right, I eat plenty of them - we get the best of both worlds; replenishment of energy quickly with simple carbs and slow released energy from veggies. I hate muscle pain because it interferes with my workouts and the sooner the pain subsides, the harder I can push. White rice works faster than brown for this very purpose in my case.

Nonetheless, I can be persuaded to eat brown rice if it's palatable. Pa realised after 30 years that it's no use shoving health articles down my throat; I won't eat something if it doesn't taste good but I can compromise if it's good for me AND it's yummy. That's why I eat moderately healthy and don't subscribe to clean eating; it isn't sustainable to me. Would you want to eat something that feels like torture every time you put it in your mouth, no right? 下次见!

[georgiaeveritt]

30.11.22

Unit Conclusion:

I really enjoyed this unit and the fast-paced nature of the projects, even though I did struggle with it to begin with. Initially, the first project ‘Why?’ did throw me off, because I felt stuck for ages. After completing the project and evaluating it though, I realised I could have had more fun with it if I hadn’t thought about it so much. I put all my time into research, and not enough into outcomes. This was my least favourite project of the four, because I am not too pleased with my outcomes, however I still enjoyed the nature of it and I think with more time I could’ve developed my ideas better. 

I learnt lots of helpful tips from the workshops in this unit, the refreshers especially, because I don’t always notice that I have forgotten simple things that save sometimes hours of work. I liked learning how to use Glyphs as well, as this was a new software which I had never tried before, and I thought it was so cool to download and type my own font I had made in that session on my laptop in my process book.

I had lots of fun in the group project as well, especially because it gives me a chance to speak to new people and collaborate with them. Even though we had a small hiccup halfway through due to our time management, I believe as a group we resolved this well and really improved our designs. Group work can be challenging but it is also really fun, and I enjoy getting to work alongside other designers and to see our different styles become one. I always feel inspired when I talk to other people and view their work and the way they have approached a brief, compared to how I may have approached it. I believe this group work has made me feel more confident in working in groups.

The type project was another challenging one for me, even though I enjoyed lots of aspects of it. I found the workshop about type really interesting, especially the history of type, and it really inspired me seeing other designers work of letterforms they’ve made from scratch. I feel like this project gave me further insight into typeface design and has improved my skills massively than before. Even though I am not satisfied with my final typeface i still learnt a lot from it, and I intend to learn more and develop my skills as a designer. Overall I enjoyed the fast-pace of this unit as it kept me on my toes, and a lot of the briefs and presentations really pushed me out of my comfort zone. At the end of this unit I do feel a lot more confident as a designer, especially in my presenting skills.

Bibliography:

BBC Bitesize. “What Are Tides?” BBC Bitesize, BBC, 5 Sept. 2019, www.bbc.co.uk/bitesize/topics/z8c9q6f/articles/zdqr97h. Accessed 7 Oct. 2022. 

“Fonts in Use – Type at Work in the Real World.” Fonts in Use, 2016, fontsinuse.com/. 

“Goggo.” Pentagram, www.pentagram.com/work/goggo-2?rel=sector&rel-id=17. Accessed 30 Nov. 2022. 

Healthline. “Full Moon Effects: What Research Has Discovered.” Healthline, Healthline, 17 Sept. 2020, www.healthline.com/health/full-moon-effects. Accessed 7 Oct. 2022. 

“KAREN LYNCH.” Leaf and Petal Design, www.leafandpetaldesign.com/about. 

“Login • Instagram.” Www.instagram.com, www.instagram.com/36daysoftype/. 

LPI. “Explore Space Science Activities.” Www.lpi.usra.edu, LPI, 2022, www.lpi.usra.edu/education/explore/marvelMoon/background/moon-influence/. Accessed 7 Oct. 2022. 

Murphy, Zoe Loring. Typography Glitches and How a Diagnosis Shed New Light on the Winding Path to Growth: WEDZICKA X Everpress - FEMME TYPE. 4 Nov. 2022, femme-type.com/typography-glitches-and-how-a-diagnosis-shed-new-light-on-the-winding-path-to-growth-wedzicka-x-everpress/. Accessed 30 Nov. 2022. 

Rentals, Perry’s Cafe and Beach. “Perry’s Cafe and Beach Rentals.” Perry’s Cafe and Beach Rentals, perryscafe.com/. Accessed 30 Nov. 2022. 

“Roller-Skating Creative Oh Mu on How They Used Illustration to Get over a Painful Fall.” Www.itsnicethat.com, www.itsnicethat.com/articles/oh-mu-illustration-160522. Accessed 30 Nov. 2022. 

“Rollerblade Hire.” Riverlife, riverlife.com.au/project/rollerblade-hire/. Accessed 30 Nov. 2022. 

Royal Museums Greenwich. “Can the Moon Affect Our Health and Behaviour?” Www.rmg.co.uk, Royal Museums Greenwich, 2022, www.rmg.co.uk/stories/topics/can-moon-affect-our-health-behaviour#:~:text=Taking%20inspiration%20from%20Isaac%20Newton. Accessed 7 Oct. 2022. 

Sissons, Claire. “What Percentage of the Human Body Is Water?” Www.medicalnewstoday.com, MedicalNewsToday, 27 May 2020, www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/what-percentage-of-the-human-body-is-water. Accessed 7 Oct. 2022. 

The Noun Project. “Noun Project.” Noun Project, 2000, thenounproject.com/.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xvi.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: jk and oc :(

words: 5, 820

summary: a series of drabbles where you’re confused and jungkook’s confusing

a/n:

at the end of the chap!!!

“Babe, you better close your lips,” Yena nudges your shoulders when the two of you approach the football field with treats of your own.

“I’m not … drooling,” you reply lamely, fingers clutching the bag of food and refreshments tightly in your grasp as if it would run away.

“I wasn’t talking about your mouth,” she smirks.

Your head snaps towards her in a flush, ears immediately turning red when she resorts to snickering at your scandalised expression. You thwack her on her shoulder, flustered at the cackles she’s releasing. The food in your hands remains unscathed, purely because you spent a good amount of time preparing it for the boys—knowing that they were entering an important season for their football games.

From where the two of you were walking from, you had a decent view of the football team sprawled across the field, likely resting from one of their many intensive practices. You weren’t concerned with anyone else, and given Jungkook’s flashy hair colour—it was only natural that your eyes immediately fell onto his figure. It also just so happened that Jungkook decided to take his break—shirtless.

You shake your head to snap out of your daydream, fully aware of the way that Yena shoots you a knowing smirk.

“Okay, shut up before you blow my cover,” you hiss.

“You’re telling me that when your face screams I want to lick the sweat of Jungkook’s pectorals—!”

You’re about to drop the food aside, fully ready to attack Yena who looks all too pleased with her teasing, but another voice interjects before you can do any real harm to your friend.

“Is Yena harassing you?”

Yena snaps her head to the source of the voice and immediately narrows her eyes at the smirking figure.

“Oh shut the fuck up, Min,” she snaps.

“Was I talking to you?” He rolls his eyes before turning over to give you a smile, “Hey, ____. Here to feed the dogs?”

You snort, casting a sideways glance to Yena who’s equal parts fuming and red—and you’re definitely sure that it wasn’t because of her apparent anger. The lingering glance that Yoongi rests on her figure with a fond smile tells you enough, and you hide the grin that threatens to appear on your face as you return a kind one to Yoongi.

“Spot on. You’re here to cover their practices?” You make small talk as the three of you make your way towards the football team, most of them too immersed in whatever Namjoon was saying to take note of your approaching figures.

He lets out a deep sigh before nodding, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“You wanted coverage for next months paper, didn’t you?” He teasingly accuses.

You duck your head in embarrassment, remembering the meeting you had with the student reporter union and your exact words. You did need an article written on the football team’s practices for publicity purposes, and you briefly remembered Yoongi and Yena bumping heads on multiple occasions on who was to cover it. Clearly, Yoongi won—or more appropriately, Yena surrendered due to his ‘irritating’ personality.

“I did,” you smile apologetically, “Hopefully it isn’t that bad.”

“All he does is complain,” Yena mutters under her breath.

Yoongi raises a brow with an amused smirk on his face.

“I would’ve been complaining less if I had someone accompanying me,” he says pointedly.

You briefly note the flush on Yena’s cheeks before she grumbles something incoherent under her breath, shoving a fist into Yoongi’s arm in retaliation as he snickers at her reaction. You smile to yourself, eyes turning fond when you realise that Yoongi doesn’t back away even as she bites. All he does is let her have her way, patiently sticking by her side while he placates her growls.

You reach the circle where the footballers were gathered as you quietly tiptoed your way towards the bleachers, setting the food down and taking them out so they could dig in right after they were done. You brought enough for the entire team—but you were still worried since they were male athletes who definitely had an appetite for victory and your sandwiches. You hoped it’d suffice.

Just as you’ve settled down, Jimin spots you when his head snaps up, offering you a wide grin along with nudges to Namjoon and Taehyung’s shoulder. The rest of the team follow the direction of his eyes, and you turn red at the sudden attention of all the men on you as you offer a meek wave, avoiding any real eye contact.

“You came!” Jimin hops towards you, immediately dragging you into a hug as he nuzzles his sweaty forehead into your neck.

You grimace and push him away, scrunching your face at the wetness that sticks to your skin at his contact.

“Ew, you stink,” you whine.

He rolls his eyes before he digs through the food, showing his true intentions on why he came over in the first place.

“And you are an angel,” he coos, pinching your cheeks while you smacked his hand away.

“How was practice?” You hum for the sake of conversation while you watch the boy scarf down your sandwiches like a starved man.

He looks up with stuffed cheeks, pausing in his chomps, “Brufal.”

You offer him a sympathetic smile before squeezing his shoulder.

“All in good time, right?”

He swallows, rolling his eyes in response.

“Said every optimist ever. I just want this season to be over so I can go back to pigging out.”

You snort but you don’t deny his statement. You watch him while he continues to munch on his meal. Something was fulfilling about watching him enjoy your preparations, and you were definitely the type to enjoy taking care of your friends. You were usually the friend that provided advice and comforted people whenever they were faced with a particularly difficult time, and you’ve heard on several occasions from both Jimin, Taehyung—and even Jungkook; that you somehow knew what to do, and say, whenever they were faced with a problem.

It’s nice, to see Jimin happy, and you note to visit more during their practices with food.

“You’re too nice, do you know?” A voice interjects.

You look up from Jimin to see Namjoon walking towards you, with Jungkook and Taehyung trailing behind him. You flush ever so slightly because you briefly remember the last time you saw Jungkook and what happened. It’s been busy for the both of you so you weren’t able to see him much on campus either.

“Stop saying that,” you scowl, “And eat up before Jimin shovels everything down this throat.”

You thrust a wrapped sandwich into his chest that he receives with a dimpled grin. Namjoon wraps a loose arm around your shoulder as thanks and you still grimace at the sweat that lingers on your skin—but you realise that it’s an inevitable part of the role you took, so you sigh and accept it.

“Let’s get married if we both don’t by 35,” Taehyung suggests the moment he’s handed a sandwich of his own as you raise a brow at his proposition.

“So I can make you sandwiches?”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Sounds pretty misogynistic to me,” you snort, “Make your own damn sandwiches.”

“But they’re not the same,” he whines, “It’s your essence that makes it taste so much better!”

You laugh at his desperate explanation and the wiggle of his eyebrows at his insinuation. You’re thankful he doesn’t smother you with his sweat and only grants you a grateful mumble of appreciation before he’s joining his other brain cell on the bleachers, immediately bickering away about whatever topic they decided on for the day.

When Jungkook comes up for his turn, you can’t keep eye contact. Especially when he’s still in his shirtless glory while he looks at you with those eyes of his, paired with his cheeky grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing and you hate him for it.

“Where’s my sandwich?” He asks, propping himself right in front of you, leaving you no space to breathe or to move away from him.

“There,” you point to the bag rather than handing him one like you did with the rest, “Help yourself.”

Jungkook pouts, tilting his head to the side as he chases your expression to search for your eyes. You’re still avoiding his gaze, and you feel like you’re beginning to perspire at the way he’s blatant with his ogling. The two of you were in public, and your friends have sat a few metres away from you with the rest of his football team lingering nearby and somehow the idea of people seeing the two of you so close gives you anxiety.

“You’re not going to give me one?” He asks.

“You have perfectly usable hands,” you gesture, and you immediately regret it because when you turn to look at him—his arms flex under the ministration when he cages you in with his body.

You let out a yelp, head immediately darting to the side to see whether or not anyone else was paying attention. But your friends are still caught in their own conversation, except Yena who somehow has a sixth sense for your embarrassment—and shoots the two of you a sleazy wink before tonguing the inside of her cheek.

Jungkook catches this, and you’re mortified to see the way his eyebrow raises at Yena’s gesture.

“You gossiping about me to your friend?” He teases.

You know exactly what he’s referring to. You scowl in response, sticking your nose up while you glance in the other direction; away from his smirk.

“Gossiping entails that whatever I said was negative. So, do what you want with that information,” you shrug.

Jungkook tuts, shaking his head before he lets out an amused chuckle.

“Always so bratty,” he sighs, “That smart mouth of yours loves to run itself, hm?” The shift to a much huskier tone stuns you into silence because he’s suddenly much closer, more insinuative and daring with the way he leans his face closer to yours until you’re finding it hard to breathe.

“We’re in public, Jeon,” you hiss.

He snickers, “No one cares except for you.”

“I’m not about to give everyone a free show,” you saw pointedly.

Jungkook smirks, “Who said anything about a show? Can’t I just have you close to me without it meaning anything else?”

You freeze. You know Jungkook doesn’t mean it that way, but you suppose it’s the remnants of insecurity that lingers deep in the back of your mind that makes your heart drop ever so slightly. You know how he feels; how his words are meant to be a light jibe towards you. But your collateral mind can only ask, what if?

As if Jungkook’s picked up on the reason for your silence, or perhaps he was just that good at reading you and your body language, he frowns—immediately reaching a hand to your shoulder and squeezing it to get your attention.

“Hey,” he says softly, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You feel bad that he has to clarify himself when you yourself wanted to have faith in him—you did. It was more so that you lacked that same faith in yourself. To be that someone to Jungkook even when he’s made it clear to you about he felt. But you knew Jungkook to be the type that jumped from one interest to another like he was flipping through a brochure, and you didn’t mean it maliciously either.

Jungkook just liked a lot of things and could do well in a lot of things too once his mind is set. You were just terrified if that’s all you were to him. A phase that he’s got to experience in his life because it was interesting to him now.

“Sorry,” you whisper, eyes darting to your feet, “I … I know. It’s just—I’m just overthinking. It’s dumb.”

He frowns, “If it’s bothering you it’s not dumb.”

You sigh.

“No, it is,” you emphasise, balling your fist by your side as he looks at you attentively. You hate yourself a little more for being so unsure. “I know you didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that my mind just—it just thinks the worst of every situation. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to appreciate the way you’re continuously apologising or avoiding his gaze, so he takes it up himself to reach out his hands to tilt your chin upwards so that you’re looking at him. He’s always loved looking at you, whether you were studying, driving, or even just daydreaming—he loved your eyes and he’d spend most of his days just staring at you.

“I want you. I always want you,” he says and it both takes your breath away and makes your heart pound rapidly against your ribcage, “Everything that I do with you means the world to me. You mean the world to me and I don’t want to fuck this up. I fucked up once and I—I don’t want to mess this up either. So please, if you’re bothered—tell me. I want to know. I want to ease any of your worries now because I wasn’t able to do that before.”

Jungkook speaks so softly that you may have missed the sincerity and desperation laced in his tone, the hushed utterance of his truth that only you were meant to hear. He looks at you so tenderly, so authentically that you feel your heart constrict both in want and guilt. The reassuring grasp of one hand on your hip while the other rests under your chin forces you to acknowledge his sincerity—his want, and most importantly; him.

He notices it before you do, and his thumb wipes under your eyes when you feel the first teardrop. Your face morphs into a wide-eyed expression when you quickly swipe under your eyes to erase the evidence of your heart worn on your face. But Jungkook doesn’t allow you to get far, and he uses his strength to stop your wrists—forcing you to peer up at him with red-rimmed and freshly-swollen eyes.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs.

“Jungkook—” you protest, pushing his hands away but it only makes him clutch you tighter.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, “It’s okay. Just cry if you have to.”

Your face crumbles because Jungkook can be both strict but earnest at the same time. It was conflicting for you not because you didn’t know how you felt but because you cared too much about the prying eyes of others. Even now, when Jungkook only looks at you—your mind strays to the people that talk, to the people that stare and wonder. And you hate it.

“We’re in public, Jungkook,” you say softly through a shaky breath.

You put some distance between the two of you by taking a step back, and Jungkook notices. Of course, he does, especially when space he once felt warmth turns cold. He frowns because he would rather hold you close—show the world and everyone that he loved you. But your eyes stray away, darting everywhere but his face.

“I don’t care,” he huffs, “I want you.”

And no matter how many times he says it, the pessimistic side of you nags at your heart to keep it safe. To keep things under wraps so that you could avoid wandering or curious gaze; especially when anyone could see or say anything.

“I know,” you tell him.

Jungkook scoffs and your eyes shoot up when you realise that Jungkook’s annoyed. The tick in his jaw tells you enough, especially when he takes a step back—placing that distance between the two of you. It sucks when you’re on the receiving end of such coldness and you can’t imagine how Jungkook felt when you pushed him away.

“Do you?” He exasperates, “I’m patient. I am. I’ll wait for you; I told you that and I meant it,” he frowns, “But I just want to hold you. I wanted this for the longest of times and I don’t care where we are in this world because that’ll never make me stop wanting you. I want you when we’re apart, I want you when we’re together and I want you now. When will that be enough?”

Jungkook takes your breath away again, but for different reasons. This time, he sounds tired—desperate, almost. He rubs his hands across his face in frustration and you can tell he’s trying his best to level his breathing. You stand there silent, lips pursed as you mull over his words.

“It is enough,” you tell him, eyes peering up on your own; but this time Jungkook isn’t looking at you and it makes your heart clench. His eyebrows are furrowed and the only thing you can catch a glimpse of is the side of his face. “I just … people talk, Jungkook. I know you’re used to that but I’m not. I don’t like it when people are in my business.”

He scoffs, “And now it’s other people that are standing in between us?” Your eyes narrow at him but the clench of his jaw tells you that he’s not stepping down either, “I am, I’m used to people talking about me whether it be good or bad. And I know you don’t like it—I know,” he exasperates, “But when will we just be enough of a reason for you to take that leap of faith?”

“It’s not that easy—”

“Of course it isn’t!” He exclaims, “I’m not saying it is. I know I fucked up and it made things more complicated than they should be but I’m here now and I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to wait for you because I want to prove myself to you. But if all it takes is just people’s words to get in between us then I don’t know if it even matters anymore.”

You recoil at his words, eyes widening when he finally looks down at you. Jungkook doesn’t look angry. He looks tired, and he sounds tired. Your heart hurts because you don’t know how he feels when all this while you were within arms reaches but not quite. You had the reassurance from Jungkook and your friends that he wanted you—but somehow you couldn’t quite believe it. Was it your fault that you felt this way? Why did you feel this way?

“Jungkook …��� you reach out to grab his arm, and he doesn’t push you away. But he doesn’t make an effort to hold your hand like he usually would and it made your stomach drop.

“I love you,” he whispers, “I can shout it on rooftops and announce it to the world if that’ll make you believe me. But when will my love be enough?”

“I want you too, Jungkook,” you reply, squeezing his arm tighter.

“Do you?” He sighs, “It’s hard for me too,” he says as his eyes flutter shut, “I can wait. But it hurts. It hurts because if you really wanted me then that’s all that should matter.”

“Wait, Jungkook—” you reach out to him when he pulls away from you and you feel your heart drop when he doesn’t look at you.

Maybe it was an act of desperation, or your mind telling you to not lose a good thing due to your rumination—but you use all the strength you have to tug him back to you because you couldn’t have Jungkook walk away from you. Not now, when your heart tells you to stop being afraid, to stop being stubborn.

“I need—” he begins with a sigh, but your eyebrows are furrowed in determination when you loop your arms around his neck to tug him down to your level.

And you kiss him.

You think it’s the first time that you’ve initiated a kiss, even when the two of you were messing around. It’d always been Jungkook who took the first step, an exception was your last interaction at your apartment. But if you looked harder, even through the hurt, Jungkook reached out first. Granted, it was never in the way that you wanted—but he always took the first leap, for you and the both of you.

When you kiss him, you feel him freeze under your hold, even when you press your lips harder against his. You don’t think about the consequences, you don’t think about your friends who are likely witnessing your first public display of affection with Jungkook, and you definitely don’t think about the way that the rest of his football teammates gawk at the two of you.

It feels scary—but right. And that’s all that should’ve mattered.

When you pull away, you’re breathing heavy, peering your eyes up to Jungkook who’s stunned to silence with a gape in his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt.

You briefly see from the corner of your eye the way that Yena is squeezing Yoongi’s arm who looks as surprised as the boy in front of you. You even see Namjoon, with a hint of a smile on his face even as he looks away. Your heart clenches in guilt, but you’ve spent far too long hurting yourself and Jungkook.

“I didn’t mean to pressure you into this,” Jungkook whispers, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

“You … you didn’t,” you assure him with a small smile before you nibble on your lips. “You’re right. This—us—it should’ve been enough for me.” You tell him as he observes you with gentle eyes, “And it is. It’s always been but I’ve always been afraid and honestly? I still am. I’m terrified because this is new for me and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as your arms still rest loosely around his neck, “I’m scared too. But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

You turn a pretty shade of red when you duck your head to avoid his fond gaze. He chuckles when you do so, endeared by your embarrassment even if you were the one that reached out first—to proclaim your affection with your kiss.

But some moments don’t last forever, and they’re not meant to. So when a third party interjects and snaps you out of your little bubble with Jungkook, you freeze.

“You sure she isn’t a two-timer, Jeon?” Jeonghan, who you briefly remember seeing at some of the football games, interjects with a raised brow as he leans on the railings of the bleachers.

You still, immediately loosening your grip around Jungkook’s neck and he realises your hesitancy—sees the fear that erupts just when you found the courage to take that first step.

“What?” You whisper.

Jungkook shoots his teammate a blazing glare that you don’t catch because you’re too busy avoiding his gaze, the attention causing the heat to rise on your cheeks and the sweat to accumulate by your hairline and on your body.

“Dude—it’s not worth it,” he snorts, “What next? She sleeps her way through the entire team?”

Your face drops, and Jungkook finally lets go of you. Your eyes widen because you think for a second that he believes his teammate, that Jeonghan has managed to somehow lure his way into the depths of Jungkook’s mind to plant that seed of doubt within his already muddled mind.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Jungkook asks with a menacing glare.

You’re frozen, but Namjoon is quickly at your side—concern etched on his face after Yena noticed the tension arising from your corner. Jimin and Taehyung are right behind him, observing the situation as they see Jungkook’s chest heaving when he stares his teammate down.

“I’m just saying,” Jeonghan shrugs, shooting you a knowing glance, “Wasn’t she fucking captain?”

“Jeonghan,” Namjoon intervenes, voice stern.

“What?” He raises his hand in defence, “Weren’t you about to ask her out?”

You hate this. You hate the attention and hate how he speaks about you as if you weren’t standing there—mortified. You especially hate the way that the rest of the team filters where the tension begins to escalate. They’re curious, for sure—at how their captain and their best player is suddenly caught in this dilemma with Jeonghan as the instigator.

“That has nothing to do with you,” Namjoon narrows his eyes at him in response.

Jeonghan snorts, “Um. It kind of does. You bailed on us for her,” Jeonghan states pointedly, “And now she’s locking lips with the golden boy here. She played you, man.”

Before Namjoon can respond, Jungkook takes a threatening step towards Jeonghan as he basically towers over him. Your hair stands on your arms as you can more or less tell where this is going, especially with the way that Jungkook’s fists clench by his sides.

“Jungkook—” you squeak, hands reaching out to rest on his shoulder.

You snap out of it, purely because you know that Jungkook’s pissed. His ears are red and his jaw is clenched, and you don’t want to know what’ll happen if you remained stagnant any longer.

“Stay out of this,” he snaps.

You blink, and even Namjoon looks taken aback. Jimin has concern written all over his features as he steps forward, likely attempting to mitigate the situation.

“Jungkook, don’t be stupid,” Jimin berates.

Jungkook turns around and all you see behind his usual doe-eyed gaze is now a fire that burns and is threatening to blaze anything in its way. And right now, Jungkook’s glaring at Jimin like he’s a rock in his journey.

“You’re going to let him say that shit about her?” Jungkook snaps.

“What’s fighting him going to do?” Jimin exasperates, eyebrows furrowed, “Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole and calm the fuck down. We have a game in two weeks and starting something now won’t do any of us good.” He raises his voice towards the end as he glares at every single person who has so happened to crowd around the lot of you to see what was happening, “Did you not hear what I said? Mind your own fucking business!”

The rest of the team murmurs amongst themselves, not before shooting you a disparaging glance that makes you feel uneasy. You look away because that’s the best you could do, fingers resting limply by your sides while you shift behind Jimin as if he was able to protect you from the wandering stares.

It was your exact fear, and somehow fate seems to hate you with the way your dream-like state with Jungkook is immediately ruined with your fears being proven.

Taehyung and Yena are by your side, looking at you with worry as you avoid their gaze. Your mind is louder, though you catch the lecture that Jungkook’s getting from Jimin for almost fighting Jeonghan. Even if nothing happened—the indents of Jungkook’s fingernails on his palm proves enough of what could happen if it weren’t for Jimin, or Namjoon, intervening.

“God, he’s such a fucking asshole,” Yena grumbles, pulling you to her side as she rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You say nothing, and you briefly see Yoongi walking over; offering you an apologetic glance that you mildly acknowledge.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks softly.

You sigh, fiddling with your fingers as you look over your shoulders to see Jungkook already staring at you.

“I want to be,” you reply, “But I fucked things up.”

Yena frowns, “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you exasperate, “If I hadn’t led Namjoon on or—if I just didn’t … if I just didn’t feel the way I did for Jungkook then—”

“And then what?” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your rambling as you turn around to see him furrowing his brows at you.

“Jungkook—” you reach out to him, again. He only flinches in response.

“If you didn’t feel the way you did for me and then what?” He whispers voice frustrated, “Then you’d get to protect yourself?”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says sternly, eyes warning.

He pays him no mind, however, as you continue to blink up at him.

“That’s not what I meant,” you defend.

“What do you mean, then?” Jungkook snaps, “Because five minutes ago we had this exact same conversation—and then you kissed me—and now it’s like we’re back to square one. So what do you actually mean because I can’t keep trying to come up with my own answers!”

“That’s what I mean, Jungkook!” you frown, gesturing your arms wildly towards the team who’s all grouped together a good distance from where you were, “That. People talking. God, I want you too but I can’t live with the constant hypotheticals of people wondering how the fuck you could ever be with someone that apparently slept with your captain.”

“I don’t care about what people say!” He says vehemently, stepping closer to you.

The rest of your friends observe silently as they all exchange looks, shifting away to give you some privacy. You were so confused, and tired—and you didn’t even care if you were in public anymore and that people could see the argument brewing between you and Jungkook.

“I know you don’t,” you snap, “But not everything is about how you feel, Jungkook. You can live your life because everyone’s going to be pointing figures at me. Not you. It’s because it’s my name that’s being thrown around like I’m some—like I’m some whore who can’t keep her legs closed and—”

“Don’t fucking say that,” Jungkook snarls.

“—it’s what people are saying!” You cry, “Jungkook. Just a month ago you were with Jennie and I was somehow with Namjoon. What … what will people think?”

“So that’s what you’re afraid of?” He laughs dryly.

“What—?”

“You’re afraid because of what other people may think?” He repeats your words back to you, standing closer as you shift back, eyes avoiding his heavy gaze.

“I’m scared of a lot of things, Jungkook,” you say softly.

“I want to be there for you,” he tells you, voice softer than the previous harsh tone he took, “Me risking my position on this team just now? Yeah, that’s what I would do to protect you. I know people will talk and I know it sucks because your name is thrown in the loop—but you have me. You have Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung and Yena. We all would do anything to protect you so why are you still so afraid?”

Jungkook’s beginning to sound more desperate, especially with the way he’s somehow clutching on your elbows as if you’d slip away.

“I”—what were you afraid of? You seemed to have all the answers earlier, and even after Jungkook’s pleas, you find yourself hesitating. The anxiety of people looking at the two of you and wondering how the hell could it work—or whether or not you were set on breaking Jungkook’s heart; and vice versa. You remember the names of people who’s ever questioned your friendship and if there was something more. You remember Sana, harmlessly saying that it seemed impossible for the two of you to be together.

The entire time, fear plagues your mind, and you can’t give Jungkook an answer because it’s more than just people. It was you. It was you being terrified that you weren’t enough and that he’d see how imperfect you were compared to the girl he thinks he loves. You weren’t the smart, independent girl that participated in every club on campus. You were … small. You were fragile and weak, and insecure.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says defeatedly, resting his forehead on the crown of your head.

Your heart drops.

“Please don’t say that,” you croak.

You feel the lump in your throat grow, and when you look up—you see a pained expression painting Jungkook’s face.

“I don’t want to say that,” he whispers right before he reaches up to clutch your face in his hands, “But I think I need to.”

“You don’t!” You cry, your own arms reaching out to clutch at the collar of the fresh shirt he’s managed to throw on.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I love you,” he reminds you gently.

You hate that you’re crying. The hot, wet tears that flow down your cheeks is a reminder of your vulnerability. Of how much control Jungkook has over your feelings.

“Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me,” you cry.

He smiles, soft and half-hearted as he pulls you into a hug.

“We aren’t together,” he reminds you. Your heart clenches because you could’ve been.

“I …” you want to say that you could be. You want to tell him that you want him. And you do. But your mouth doesn’t move when all you can hear is sobs escaping you.

“Think about it, okay?” He murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face so that you wouldn’t end up crying all over the strands of hair uncomfortably, “If you … if you’re still afraid. That’s okay. We can be friends, and I can pretend like this never happened. I’ll always respect your decision.”

“But …”

He shushes you gently, wiping at your tears.

“I told you. I’ll wait for you—but I can only do that if you want me to,” he says sadly, “I love you. I do. I spent the past seven years of my life loving you, but I need to know if you feel the same.”

“I do!” You immediately respond, eyes wide.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, “You may love me. But love isn’t always enough.”

His words are heartbreaking, and you feel yourself crumble all over again. But your mind isn’t clear and you’re overwhelmed with emotion. Jungkook’s still looking at you gently like he always had. But it seems different.

“Let me take you home first, yeah?” He whispers.

You stop his movements when he reaches out to pick at your belongings as you grab a hold of his hand.

He turns to look at you with a raised brow and you notice how tired and sunken his eyes look. Your heart clenches for the millionth time and you just want to—

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s funny that you’re the one asking that question. When weeks ago it was him in that same position. You realise how vulnerable Jungkook must’ve felt when he posed you with the same question because you feel the exact same. You feel like your heart is on the floor, exposed to everyone as they examine the ins and outs of your feelings.

Jungkook looks at you softly, before pulling you to his chest and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

And like always, Jungkook can’t say no to you.

a/n:

hi babes!!!! new chapter is up and oc and jk are :-(

im sorry for the angst!!!!! but things aren't always great between the two 🥺

i hope you enjoyed this chapter even tho yall may be cursing at me rn 🤣 but i do hope that you see oc's internal struggles with accepting everything and pursuing a potential relationship w jk despite her 'obvious' feelings towards him

as always, let me know what you think in my asks!!! love you all - and have a lovely day ahead of you ❤️

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I can't believe what I've found

A new multi-chapter fic begins!! Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for the idea and my gorgeous love @nb-fearne for being a beta reader!

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Caleb Widogast is famous. He's one of the most prolific and most spine-tingling horror authors currently on the scene, putting out nightmares like clockwork ever since he started his career, coming simply out of nowhere.

Until he went quiet. And now he's apparently writing a children's book of all things?

Gods only know how this will turn out.

--------

The only thing worse than giving interviews, Caleb reflected miserably, was reading them back the next day.

Veth told him not to. Beau told him not to. Percy told him not to. The small part of his brain that could be rational this early in the morning told him not to. But every time he would memorise when the interview was going up, whether it was being broadcast on the radio or printed in a magazine or, like this one, posted to the internet. And still, ten minutes before that time would find him frantically refreshing the front page of the book review site, waiting for it to appear so he could read it and feel like shit about himself.

And around half an hour later, Veth would let herself into his flat to find the man himself with his shirt pulled up over his head, face down on the kitchen table, moaning in misery as his laptop cast a baleful glow over his bedhead.

“I told you not to read it,” was all she said that morning, setting a takeaway cup of coffee and a wrapped croissant from the cafe beside him. Veth had learned a long time ago that Caleb needed to be fed at times, in pretty much the same way you fed a feral cat who frequented your garden.

“Why do I keep agreeing to do this?” Caleb lifted his head at the smell of warm butter and crisp pastry, snagging the edge of the paper bag with a finger.

Veth took the seat across from her friend, starting to shift through some of the clutter on the table, just one puddle of the wider garbage ocean that built up in the flat when Caleb was in one of his moods, “Well, my apologies for neglecting to explain this to you, being your agent and all. But when authors have a new book coming out, they do what’s called press? So people actually know the book is coming out so they can buy it.”

Caleb gave her sarcasm an unimpressed stare, chin now dusted in croissant flakes, “You think this is going to improve my sales?” He turned back to the screen, back to the article, jabbing an accusing finger at one paragraph in particular, “You would think the dark minded architect of some of the most twisted horror novels in the last ten years would cut a more impressive figure. But Caleb Widogast- assumed to be his pen name- turns up to our interview having spilled coffee down the front of his yellow flannel shirt while on the bus and apologising profusely.”

Veth couldn’t help her mouth twitching up into a smile, “Well, we got the stain out of that shirt in the end, didn’t we?”

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse and scrolled down to another bit, “When asked how he fills the pages of a frankly ridiculous number of novels with such nightmares, Widogast just shrugs. “I don’t know where it comes from,” he admits in his humble Zemnian countryside accent, “I suppose I did not realise how it would affect other people. Of course I didn’t fucking know, that question wasn’t on the list they sent me.”

Veth’s mouth did tighten at that, “Wasn’t it? Interesting. Last time we do any PR with that site then.”

“‘Humble’. Ficker,” Caleb muttered darkly as he scrolled, “More thinly veiled insults...Gods, okay, I get it, I look like a librarian. Do these people expect me to show up covered in blood? Ach and then this...After an hour or so of slightly awkward conversation, Widogast finally gives us a scoop. I asked why, after so many years of staggering productivity, has the resistant horror master gone suddenly silent? Six months without more nightmares on the shelves when he’s used to putting out at least a book a year. Well it turns out Widogast is working on something new. It’s just not going to be in the section you’re expecting. Parents, get ready for months of bed wetting and your kids sleeping between you because Caleb Widogast is turning his hand to picture books.”

Veth winced a little, folding her hands around the cup of coffee she’d brought for herself, just for something to do with them, “Ah. Right.”

Caleb finally shut the laptop, apparently even he had limits on how much damage he was willing to do to himself, “Veth, this is exactly what I knew would happen. This is why I shouldn’t have done this!”

He looked despairing, the telltale signs of a panic attack leeching in through the way he was tugging on the sleeves of his jumper, the way his leg was bouncing, the way his eyes were starting to unfocus. Within a second, Veth was on her feet and jumping down from the chair, moving to hold her friend’s shoulders tight, having to stand on her tiptoes.

“Caleb, it was one bad interview, okay? They won’t all be like this, I promise.”

Caleb’s eyes said he didn’t know if he wanted her to be right or not. Veth had seen that expression on his face a lot over the years she’d been his agent, mostly when she’d first convinced him he should publish some of the piles of composition notebooks he’d filled with pencil chicken scratch, telling him that if getting it out made him feel better then surely putting them out into the world would help even more. And if she didn’t know how right she’d been, she would have gladly let Caleb retreat backwards into his safe, comfortable life publishing pulpy horror novels and making a small fortune he donated ninety nine per cent of to charity.

But Veth had been right about publishing his work, first online and then as actual books when there was an immediate interest, she’d been right that he would feel that weight on his chest lift even more with every pair of eyes that read his work. And she was going to be right about this too.

So she put her hand on Caleb’s rough cheek, prompting him to look at her. There were red rings around his eyes from his night of poor sleep, his mouth turned down at the edges, his jaw scraping and slightly rusty from his incoming beard.

“You know why you’re doing this,” Veth said gently, telling him not exactly what he wanted to hear but what he needed to hear, “That’s enough. You’re enough. Yeah?”

It took a moment but Caleb finally nodded, the fact that he’d at least managed to sleep, the fact that he’d eaten and drank and he’d closed the laptop when it had gotten too much helping him see what was real, past the dark clouds at the edges of his mind.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Exactly,” Veth gave his cheek one last pat before letting him go, “And for what it’s worth, people are really excited about this new book. People who aren’t assholes who just want to get eyes on their dumb internet articles.”

“I don’t know about that,” Caleb shrugged, taking another long sip of his coffee to stop the lingering shakes in his hands, “Excitement could really quickly turn to disappointment when they actually read it.”

Veth snorted at that, picking up her messenger bag and throwing it back over her shoulder. It rattled as she did so, probably with buttons and trinkets she kept in there to entertain her baby son or herself when she was bored in her days full of meetings negotiating deals for clients. She hadn’t been a literary agent before she met Caleb but now she was, she was a damned good and busy one.

“Then let's enjoy it while it lasts, huh?”

Caleb grunted at that, now down to the bitter dregs. He swallowed those too before he asked, a little guilty, “You came all the way down here to pull me out of a self loathing spiral with a croissant?”

Veth tilted her head, “That..and also to remind you about the launch party tonight.” She said the last part quickly like she was hoping to get out of the door before he’d fully processed it.

No such luck. Caleb gave a strangled groan, hands flying over his face before he slumped down across the table again.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck.”

Veth sighed, turning back and mentally shifting her schedule back by ten minutes, “Come on, Caleb, we made our peace with this…”

Caleb’s voice being muffled by his palms and his kitchen table didn’t hide the despair in it, “Why didn’t I just be one of those authors who lives in a cabin in the woods and won’t appear in public?”

“It isn’t public!” Veth insisted, her voice placating like she was trying to get a frightened kitten out from under the fridge, “It’s being thrown by the publishing house, it’ll just be people you already know! Well…”

Caleb’s blue eye peeked out from between his fingers, accusing, “Well what?”

Veth took a deep breath and held up her hands, “Okay, I was going to let it happen a little more naturally but...I think that might be a bad idea. Percy thinks he’s found your artist.”

Caleb shot upright, an expression on his face that was hard to read but looked like it could go a number of ways. It looked like the expression a computer might have when it was fed incorrect data.

“Excuse me?”

Veth played with one of her button earrings, a sign she was getting slightly nervous, “Obviously, Percy wouldn’t make any decisions without checking it over with you. He’s just found someone whose portfolio looks really good and whose style really seems to match what you’ve written so far, that’s all. He just wanted you to bump into each other tonight, get talking and see what you thought.”

Caleb’s heavy brows furrowed, “Percy would never assume I’d talk to someone at a party.”

Veth gave a little laugh at the indignant expression on her friend’s face, “Maybe he was living in hope. But that is actually what you’re supposed to do at these things, you know. It’s called networking.”

“Disgusting,” Caleb grunted dismissively, clearly wanting to pull on an earlier thread of conversation, “But who are they, this artist? What do they do, have they done picture books before? Have they read the manuscript? What did they think?”

Veth chuckled, gently blocking the tidal wave of questions she could see building behind those few, “Okay so? That is exactly what you say to them when you meet them!”

Her friend’s face pinched unhappily, a war clearly happening between his dislike of parties and his desperate need for answers to those questions. That was the way of it with Caleb, dangling a carrot that was bigger than the stick he’d beat himself with.

Eventually he blew out his cheeks in frustration, rubbing a sweater covered fist into his eyes, “Fine. I don’t know what to wear though.”

“I know, honey, that’s why I left a suit for you in the living room.”

Caleb frowned and rocked back on his kitchen chair. His apartment was still very poky, as poky as a bestselling author who gave ninety percent of what he earned to charity could afford in his city, so he didn’t have to go far to see the edge of the suit bag draped over the sofa.

“It better not be itchy,” he mumbled, folding his arms sulkily.

“How long have I known you?” Veth snorted, nudging him lightly, “Percy said he’s sending a car at seven. You’re getting a ride with Beau so you don’t have to walk in on your own, just hide behind her all night if you like. But if you need me, I’ll be at the bar.”

Looking at him, pinching the bridge of his nose and cheeks puffed up in an exasperated sigh, you’d think Caleb was regretting the day he’d said yes to Veth’s suggestion to publish his stories, as long ago as it had been now. But she knew her friend. More than that, she knew who he’d been before. Veth could remember the days just after they’d gotten out of rehab, the days where he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, where he’d be scared to go out on the street in case he saw someone he knew, afraid to close his eyes for the same reason. The days when everything he’d been through was a rock in his stomach, keeping him from eating, drinking, sleeping, doing anything but sitting on his bed and picking at the bandages covering the burns on his arms.

Writing it all down, versions of it that had him carefully clipped away and the edges neatened, was the only thing that shifted it. Sending it all out into the world, taking what he’d never been able to tell anyone and telling everyone without them knowing, that had shrunk it down enough that he could start to heal.

And now Caleb was here, washed and dressed in his own apartment, eating and drinking without prompting, making plans for how he could now reach out and help other people the only way he knew how. His own quiet, gentle way.

Veth couldn’t put into words how proud she was of him. Or how hard she would fight to help him do what he needed to do next, now that old coping mechanism was failing.

She reached up and put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight, “Caleb?”

His blue eyes slid over to her, the tension in his face relaxing a little. There were too many lines at the edges of those eyes, they seemed older than the man who owned them.

“I’ll be at the bar if you need me,” Veth said again, gently, “We’ll all be there if you need us.”

A small smile flickered over his face as he nodded, “I know.”

“Seven,” Veth reminded him again, with a squeeze, before finally turning to the door. There were many reasons Caleb was her favourite client- not that agents were supposed to have those- but a big one was knowing he would never be late for anything.

Even something he absolutely didn’t want to do.

“I really don’t want to do this.”

Beau gave him a raised eyebrow over the glow of her phone screen. It threw her harsh, dramatic eye make up into sharp relief and made her look of exasperation sting even more.

“And water’s wet,” she muttered, throwing one leg over the other. The back of the car was spacious but the size of her heels still risked catching Caleb on the shin, “Why do you think they send me in with you for these things? It’s so I can tackle you if you try to run away.”

Caleb grunted, leaning against the cool window of the car to try and take some of the heat out of his face. Beau had dragged him into a few events by the collar, that was true. But she’d also pulled the fire alarm to get him out of one or two, when he’d been really struggling. What else was your editor for?

“Have you met them? The illustrator?” he eventually asked, eyes following the lights streaking past on the other side of the glass, the city blurring by.

“Seen his work,” Beau shrugged, tapping away on her phone, either eviscerating someone’s manuscript or promising to pick up food on the way home for her girlfriends, “It’s good. Kind of psychedelic. Lots of watercolours.”

“Oh. Is it colourful?”

“Oh yeah,” Beau nodded, pausing to take a long drink from the complimentary champagne glass. Or rather, Caleb’s complimentary champagne glass, hers had been drained before he got in the car with her.

“Hm. I am not very colourful,” Caleb told the washed out shadows of the skyscrapers going past.

He heard Beau snort, “And the sun is hot. But this guy’s been suggested by the rich dude who owns the publishing company, Caleb, so you have to at least say a few words to this one before you give him the same boot you gave all the others. Sorry.”

Caleb pulled a face at the faint ghost of his reflection. He was aware he was being a bit unreasonable on this point, part of the reason why he’d gone so quiet after writing new books like clockwork for most of his career was because he was turning away artists again and again. Established industry veterans, complete unknowns with fresh illustration degrees, even famous names that would undoubtedly boost sales, Caleb had knocked them all back for admittedly flimsy reasons. He knew he was surprising his friends, maybe even pushing them towards frustration, but he couldn’t reconcile any of these beautiful sketches and paintings with the book he had in his mind. None of them fit his story and he often couldn’t even say why they didn’t.

Back when he had been writing about his pain, his fear and panic and isolation, it hadn’t mattered what the book came out looking like. The covers had those old fashioned painted images, real classic horror novel feel to them and that had been okay. Because those books had just been purges, getting the poison out of his mind and onto a page so Caleb could close it and sent it off and feel more space cleared in the dark attic that was his brain. Even if they’d borne no resemblance to his past- and he was very careful to keep them that way- the emotions were his and he was glad to be rid of them no matter what the painted blood and bone on the cover looked like.

This was different. This was so different and so important that Caleb still didn’t have much faith in his ability to actually do it.

But if he was going to do it, he had to do it right.

“I’ll talk to him,” he mumbled sulkily, “We’ll just...we’ll see.”

“Well we’re going to see pretty soon,” Beau pointed out her window, “De Rolo building, ten o’clock.”

Of all the towering, sleek skyscrapers in this part of the city, the de Rolo building put the others to shame. Percy might shrug and say it mostly looked after itself, and always had done since he became the de Rolo in charge of it, but even static it was a mighty thing. Caleb never had reason to visit the engineering department, the R&D floors, the software development department, the many floors Percy had given over to focus on the company’s charitable efforts. The publishing house took up a relatively small part of it all, more Percy’s passion project than anything that kept the family fortune turning over, but they had a good few noted authors on the roll call now.

It suited Caleb, writing for Percy. Percy had known him for a long time, after all. He understood his eccentricities, his strange schedules, his discomfort with too many public appearances.

And above all, Percy knew just enough to know what questions not to ask.

All events like this were held in the expansive balcony garden, magic working in harmony with engineering to keep out any of the city’s nightly chill and noise and maintain an overflowing jungle on one of the vast glass balconies. Beau and Caleb didn’t need directing up to it, not that anyone would, it was a hard thing to miss, the explosion of green up just below the roof. But they’d been here before, both of them familiar with the soft murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, the instant burst of fragrance from the flowers as soon as they stepped out of the elevator. There were beautifully dressed people of all different races moving through the foliage, disappearing and reappearing like tigers in silk and gemstones. Caleb recognised most of them, they were people who worked in the publishing house, everyone from the interns to the agents. Percy didn’t like to leave anyone out of celebrations like these. Some of the better dressed faces were new however, probably the investors and donors or the rich socialites who just spawned at events like this.

It was familiar, which meant Caleb was very familiar with the sinking feeling of dread as the glass doors slid open.

“Whose party is this again?” he hissed to Beau as she threw an arm around his shoulders and walked him forward.

“You remember the manuscript Percy got sent a few months ago? The box that was all mouldy and mossy and a goddamn moth flew out when he opened it?” Beau hummed, her heavy bracelets jangling next to his ear.

“Oh,” Caleb nodded, “The comprehensive field guide to forest flora?”

It certainly had been a strange delivery, a handwritten sheaf of pages in a heavy scrawl with no name or return address, but with detail and knowledge contained inside that any naturalist would have given their back teeth to know. Not the kind of thing de Rolo Publishing usually dealt with but there were entries in it that marked completely new discoveries, not using it would have been a waste.

That and Percy’s best friend was a druid who’d been practically salivating over the book since it had arrived.

“That’s the one,” Beau hummed, “Well, after asking pretty much every plant nerd in every university in the city and beyond, Percy finally found out who wrote it. That guy.”

She pointed, indicating one of the strangest individuals Caleb had ever seen. An incredibly tall, incredibly thin, grey furred firbolg dressed like a stoner college student became visible around one corner, ears flapping happily under a wide brimmed hat as he appeared to talk to one of the monstera plants. And, sure enough, as they were watching, Keyleth approached him and began gushing animatedly, which seemed to amuse the fellow no end.

“Ah,” Caleb mumbled, “Yes, that looks like the kind of person who would write that book.”

“Apparently he didn’t know people got paid to write books,” Beau shrugged, “He seems like a hoot.”

Caleb gave a less non committal grunt than he normally would. He did actually get the sense that the firbolg would be less stressful to talk to than most people. Anyone who turned up to his own book’s launch party dressed like that had to be quite easygoing. Plus he definitely looked like he’d have something in his pockets to help Caleb get through this evening.

Beau was giving him a look, an ‘is this a fire alarm situation’ kind of appraising look, “You good, man?”

Caleb hunched into his suit jacket a little further, “I’m fine. Just tired. Bar?”

Beau gave a laugh, jangling as she led the way to the sleek, backlit bar with it’s array of brightly coloured bottles, “Took the words right out of my mouth. Things will look better with a beer in your hand, you’ll see.”

Beau’s assurance worked, for the first hour at least.

Those sixty minutes were first spent catching up with Percy, who he bumped into at the bar, chatting about his kids. Then getting a swift hug from Veth, who bought him his first beer and told him all about the ridiculous people she’d been in meetings with. Then pulled into a loud, laughter filled conversation between Fjord and Beau, mostly with her teasing him about the title for the latest installment of his young adult pirate novels and him answering by sarcastically bemoaning that if only he’d had an editor whose job it was to stop him doing such stipid things. The man of the hour himself, apparently called Caduceus, actually drifted in at the end, eyes bright with interest about this story of Fjord’s. Beau and Caleb left the two of them talking, sharing grins over Fjord’s suddenly pink cheeks and goofy smile.

And then the inevitable happened and Beau’s promise was broken.

There was always a comment, usually from the people who didn’t actually work in their office, from the people with more jewels and more expensive looking outfits. Caleb would just be hanging on the fringes of a group, on the way to or back from the bathroom, or simply wanting to fade into the background for a little while to take a breath.

The comments came in different forms. I simply don’t know how you write such scary things! It’s so impressive how you can carry those gory ideas around in your head. Your last book gave me nightmares for a week, you must never sleep! I’d ask you where you get your ideas but I’d be frightened of the answer! They’d be delivered with a smile, like they were supposed to be compliments, like Caleb’s next line was to nod and thank them politely.

And he supposed they weren’t to know. How could they? But there was no getting away from the fact that those comments, those fake smiles, all they meant was that he’d turned it all into a joke. That he’d never be anything more than cheap thrills and scares they could close the book on and leave on their nightstand. That, to them, it was all a game.A game that was now all he’d ever be known for.

So, in the end, Ikithon had won. He was never going to be rid of him, not really.

Caleb knew he was being rude, as he mumbled some excuse and pulled away from the crowd he’d suddenly become trapped in. He nearly stumbled as he lurched for any of his friends but the tide of the party had drifted him away from them when he hadn’t been looking. So he just moved, kept putting one foot in front of the other, that realisation echoing over and over in his head and, on its heels, a question.

What was he doing? What the hell was he doing, trying to pretend any different?

Caleb felt cold stone under palms that didn’t seem like his own, he had a vague idea that his eyes were taking in the cityscape far below him. He tried to count the lights in the skyscrapers closest to this one or fix his gaze on one of the tiny cars far below and follow it until the hammering in his chest stopped making him feel like he was going to be sick. Things like that usually worked but the panic was growing, it wasn’t backing down the way it was supposed to and it was threatening to pin him down and-

“Hey? ‘Scuse me? Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude or anything but are you okay?”

The voice, unfamiliar and so much closer than he’d ever been expecting, was enough to jolt him out of his panic. Like he’d been dreaming about falling and suddenly slammed against his pillow, Caleb gave a soft gasp and jumped, only realising as he pulled away that a hand had been on his shoulder.

“Easy there!” the voice turned soothing, “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Caleb found himself reaching back for the hand, holding on tight, brain still frantically gathering itself. Strong, calloused fingers squeezed back and he felt the press of some heavy rings.

“Deep breaths now. There you go, in and out. That’s it.”

Caleb obeyed, more than happy for someone else to do the thinking, dragging air in and out of his lungs until he could think straight. The connections between himself and his body parts came in scattered bursts, different parts coming back on line at different times, but eventually he felt himself back in control and began to assess the damage.

Thought one, he was uncomfortably sweaty. Thought two, he might have dropped his beer over the edge of the balcony which was a concern. Thought three, wait no, they had magical force fields to catch anything dropped before it hit the ground.

Thought four, he was clinging to a complete stranger’s hand.

Caleb whirled around, snatching his hand back, grimacing, “Sorry. I don’t know what…I’m sorry.”

The stranger’s smile stayed in place. They were a lavender skinned tiefling, bright red eyes and dark violet hair and dramatically curving horns that shone with adornments. They were an inch or so taller than Caleb- a lot of people were- and they shone softly as they rocked lightly on their heels. Some of it was the jewellery, some of it was their clothes, not expensive but artfully chosen leather trousers and a billowing sheer blouse in a material that looked like spun silver. Under it, Caleb’s eyes immediately snagged on a tapestry of tattoos across their skin, instantly enraptured by their intricacy and colour.

Which of course, meant he was staring.

Either they didn’t mind or they were used to it, the tiefling just chuckled, “You don’t need to apologise, its okay. And if you don’t know what was happening there, you were having a panic attack.”

“I…no, it’s not…I know what was happening, I get them a lot,” Caleb’s eyes darted around, relieved to see that they’d moved behind a large lavender plant and no one seemed to have noticed his panic, “I, um…thank you. For helping.”

The tiefling shrugged lightly, taking a seat on the lip of the planter, throwing one leg over the other, “Of course. Looked like you were getting a little overwhelmed with all the people, huh?”

Caleb sat down beside them, glad of the excuse to let the shaking leave his limbs. He blinked as they passed him his mostly drunk bottle of beer, they must have caught it for him just in time.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking their offer to tap it against their own glass of clear alcohol, “Prost.”

“Cheers,” they smiled, “I don’t blame you, y’know. I’m completely out of my depth here too.”

Caleb finished his beer and regarded them curiously, “Hm? You’ve not been to a book launch before? Have you just started working here?”

Maybe it was presumptuous but, looking closer, the tiefling’s outfit was definitely either second hand or handmade or some combination of both, their jewellery looking like costume jewellery or thrifted pieces. That didn’t speak to a new donor or a socialite just looking for something to do with their Saturday evening. Maybe this was a new intern or researcher, Percy tended to hire students from the local colleges to give them a chance to earn some money while they got their degrees, deliberately making the hours flexible and hurriedly making up scholarships on the spot for anyone who was really struggling.

“Oh, well,” they pondered that, drawing a finger around the rim of their glass, “In a way, I guess? Though I’m not sure if it’s going to work out, I think I’m just meeting with someone to see if I’m a good fit…”

“Oh?” Caleb gazed out over the city, finding a few stars managing to bravely shine through the smog clouds, “You’re freelance?”

“Yep,” their gaze seemed to be following the same route as Caleb’s, a lazy smile in their voice, “Guess we’ll see.”

“Sorry, I’m being rude. I probably should have asked your name by now, seeing as you kind of came to my rescue and all.”

The tiefling shifted, turning towards him and holding out a hand, “Mollymauk Tealeaf. Nice to meet you.”

Caleb rolled that name around his mouth, enjoying the way it sounded and certainly enjoying having a more normal reason to clasp their hand again, hoping it might erase the memory of the first time, “Mollymauk. That’s nice.”

Mollymauk Tealeaf grinned, showing a set of pointed teeth, “You’re cute. And you are?”

“Caleb!”

The two of them turned to this answer that hadn’t come out of Caleb’s mouth. Percy walked up to them, his perpetually tired smile on his face. It was the only kind he’d been able to make since the twins had been born two months ago. There was actually a smudge of formula powder on his otherwise impeccable suit sleeve that people were politely not mentioning.

“I was just coming over to make sure you two had found each other,” he gestured to them, “But it seems like you got started all on your own.”

Caleb felt a little better about the expression of puzzlement on his own face because Mollymauk wore an identical one, “Huh?”

Percy chuckled, straightening his glasses, “Haven’t gotten to that part yet then? Caleb, Mollymauk is an artist. He’s the one I wanted you to meet.”

There was an almost audible click as everything fell into place. He felt his cheeks heat up, feeling quite profoundly stupid. Wonderful. So the person who had read his manuscript, one of the most deeply personal things he’d ever written, had found him having a panic attack at a party and had to sit him down in a lavender plant. He doubted there had ever been a worse start to a working relationship.

Caleb wasn’t looking forward to breaking Percy’s heart and sending him back to trawling through portfolios and Instagrams.

But when he glanced back, Mollymauk was smiling still, if a little coyly now.

“Oof. Sorry about that,” he held up his hands, gracefully abashed, “Honestly, I’m not a big reader so I didn’t recognise you straight away, Mr Widogast.”

That raised Caleb’s eyebrows, “You haven’t read any of my books?”

Molly shook his head, with a slightly thinner laugh, “No, sorry. Guess that doesn’t make me look very good does it? Guess I should just pack my bags, huh?”

But Caleb’s eyes had widened and he looked almost intensely alert, every trace of the panic chased away. Though neither of them were looking, a knowing smile flickered across Percy’s face and he took himself off to endure a little more mingling.

He hadn’t read any of his books. To this colourful, kind tiefling he wasn’t Caleb Widogast, famous and eccentric horror writer. He was just Caleb, who he’d already seen at his worst and was still here, still smiling.

“You can call me Caleb,” he gave a small smile back, “Can we meet tomorrow?”

[lsholland]

London Lights (pt. 1) - Tom Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (1st person)

Genre: Party!Tom

Warnings: swearing; alcohol; nothing much but I don’t recommend -18 to read.

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: Hey guys! That’s my first story on this blog. I hope you’ll like it. I’m not native so there may be a few mistakes. I’m trying a new genre of fiction. It’s my first Tom Holland fiction. It’ll be a series of 2-3 chapters. If you want to be part of the master list for Tom please like this post and message me. 

Synopsis: Quarantine has been tough. I’ve lost my boyfriend, and I’m feeling lonely. Clubs and restaurants are open again, but I feel like it’ll never be like it used to. My friends have been pushing me to install Tinder and go on dates. Well, tonight, I’m going on a date. I don’t really want to but I’m going to try and have fun for once. Just a few drinks and I’ll go home. What else could happen?

PS. You can read the story on Wattpad.

What am I doing here? I think to myself.

I matched with this guy on this famous dating app . . . And now I'm supposed to meet him here, at this bar. But I don't want to. I'm just hoping he won't show up so I can escape from this shit-place.

I've been seated at the table for a good 5 minutes. The waitress cleans up the table next to mine and asks if I'm ready to order.

No, I want to leave.

I quickly glance at the drinks menu.

"Ehm . . . A pour over Irish coffee, please."

She nods and leaves. I don't even know what I just ordered. I hope it tastes good. Hopefully it'll make me drunk enough not to remember this awful date.

It hasn't even started yet.

I'm sweating.

"Hey there" says a husky voice right behind me.

I turn around and see my date. His name is Jordan. He's good-looking and I bet he's intelligent, but I don't have this feeling with him. I don't know why I accepted to go on a date in the first place. It's awkward.

"Hey!" I grin.

"Have you ordered something already?" he asks, touching his short, clean beard. "I'm thirsty!"

He looks nice.

*

The waitress hands me my third drink. They help the clock tick a little faster.

He's been talking about his job, his passions. He loves football and practises daily. He has 2 sisters and lives in Camberwell.

Cute.

For a moment, I feel sad for him. He drove all the way to this East London bar, put effort trying to look nice and being cool . . . and yet, he doesn't know it but he has no chance to get lucky tonight. Not with me.

I shouldn't be sorry.

But I am.

I glance around looking for something that might be a little more entertaining than him. I realise I've avoided eye contact since he arrived. I finally glimpse at him. He has beautiful hazel eyes.

Still not enough.

I quickly check my phone. It's getting late. I don't know how to end this.

"Look," I slightly bend over the table. "I'm so sorry but I don't feel like it tonight"

"I noticed." He smirked. "Kinda awkward, innit?"

I chuckle. I am so embarrassed.

"It's okay, though." He added. "I'm just trying to meet new people. I broke up with my ex-girlfriend a few weeks ago. My mates told me I should try these apps."

Okay, now I feel worse than ever. He's been so nice with me and that's how I treat him. I grab my drink and gulp it down.

I shouldn't have done this.

"Let's go dance. I owe you one." I say as I grab his hand and walk towards the dancing area. It becomes difficult to keep my head straight.

I'm drunk, I must admit.

I'm going to regret it, my sober-self shouts in my head.

I don't care is what I reply.

The dancing area is not crowded, but there are already a few people. Most of them are girls.

Girls . . . I wish my friends were not so busy all the time. I would've come to this bar with them instead of wasting my time with strangers.

I start dancing. I stare at him. He looks amused.

A group of guys join the dancefloor and all the girls on my right start screaming. It's so high pitched I cringe.

"What the fuck guys?" I shout, trying to focus on the music.

"Woah, that's Spider-Man!" says my date. He grabs my chin and makes me look in his direction.

No way, I think. It's actually him.

I know he lives in the area, but I've never met him before. It's always weird to see movie stars in real life. They look so much more attractive.

He is so much more attractive.

I try not to be a drunk fangirl and shyly wave to him. He doesn't notice.

"You wanna go and take a picture with him?" my date asks.

"Oh, no, no!" I answer. I'm blushing. "I don't even know what I'd tell him."

He laughs.

The worst thing that could happen is to annoy him during a night out. He needs privacy and I must respect it.

But it's so difficult.

I can't stop staring at him. I don't even control it. Being drunk doesn't help.

"D'you want a beer?" I ask my date whose name I completely forgot.

He nods.

I weave my way through the crowd. I can't believe there are so many people on the dancefloor. The area is so busy since the Spider-Man actor walked in.

Even the bar area is crowded.

I let my body rest against a barstool but quickly lose balance and almost fall on the dirty floor. The flickering lights are making me feel dizzy. I grip the counter and get up. I peer around to make sure nobody saw me.

He did.

I dust off my dress trying to save the dignity I have left.

"Want something?" someone asks behind me. I turn around, it's the barman.

"Two pints of Guinness, please."

I glance back at the same spot, but he's gone. It must've been a dream. I'm so drunk I can't trust everything I think I see.

I'm grabbing both my drinks and look around trying to find my date, but there are too many people. I take a sip of my beer and hold the other one above my head.

Someone hits my arm.

Oh no.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry!" yells the drunk blond girl.

I look at my dress. It's soaking wet. I politely smile at her. "It's okay," I mouth.

What a mess. I glance at the lavatory door. I need to go and save my dress.

"You haven't been lucky here."

I turn around to find out who's talking to me.

It's him. Tom Holland. Talking to me.

"What?" is all I manage to say.

"Do you need a hand?" he politely asks.

I blush so much it's noticeable in the dark.

I'm choking. I'm panicking.

I give him my two beers and walk towards the lavatory. I'm surely starstruck. And drunk. This isn't a good mix.

Once in the room, I grab a handful of tissues and try to soak up my dress. I groan. Did I expect to make that beer mark disappear? Yes. Did it work? Of course not.

I watch my face in the mirror.

I look like shit, I think.

A door slams shut. Two young girls just walked in.

"OH, MY G—THAT'S TOM HOLLAND!" shouts one. They are both panting.

I roll my eyes.

Oh . . . I've given him my beers. What about my date?

"Shit!" I hiss.

I violently open the door and frown my eyebrows as the lights blind me.

He's just here gazing at me. Two beers in his hands. One of them is half empty, the rest being displayed on my dress.

"I'm so sorry!" I say embarrassed as ever.

He smirks. "No worries." He hands me the full glass of beer.

I give him a questioning look as I grab it. What about the other one? Oh, right—He's drinking it.

"What's your na—"

I stop him.

"I know who you are." I peer down. "I'm sorry I didn't wanna disturb you" I say as I'm walking away.

This time I'm smart enough to avoid the crowd on my way out.

"That's rude to leave without saying goodbye!" Tom shouts from a distance.

I turn around and stare at him. He's got a soft smile; he doesn't look drunk at all. I wave him goodbye.

Now, he's approaching me.

"I meant to your boyfriend" he nods in the direction of my date who was dancing with a group of other people.

"He's not my—" is all I can say before he chuckles.

"I figured."

"How?" I clench my jaw. I'm hypnotised by his hand running through his hair. And his smile. And his lips.

"I can barely hear you," he points at a booth in the corner of the room "maybe we could sit there" he suggests.

My mouth softens into a smile.

It's difficult to walk with Tom Holland. Every couple of seconds he's stopped by fans requesting a picture. And he accepts every time.

I'd never be so patient.

"What's that?" he asks.

"It must be so annoying sometimes." I tell him as I sit on the booth.

"When they're nice and ask me, it's cool." He chooses to sit next to me. I can feel his arm touching mine. My heart is racing. He uses his other arm to hold his chin; he looks at me with so much intensity. Sometimes peering down my lips.

His face is so close, but he keeps talking. I can feel his breath on my skin. I'm going to burst into flames. "But when they're taking pictures without asking first, that's delicate."

I nod. I can't really listen to what he's talking about. I'm trying not to lose control.

"So, what's your name?"

He smiles when I tell him. "Why did you leave your date alone?" he asks.

I'm so nervous I stutter. I can't find my words. "I . . . I wasn't in the mood. He knows it. I shouldn't have come here."

"I'm happy you came." He says looking me in the eyes.

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"

He barks out a laugh and breaks the eye contact. He rests his head on the wall behind us.

He isn't as confident as I thought he'd be. I don't know what's up with him, but I enjoy it.

I suddenly remember he's a movie star. He's always being watched. I glance at the crowd and see flashing lights. They're taking pictures of us.

I'm getting dizzier.

I don't want to see my face on a dumb article talking about Tom Holland's mysterious partner. I don't even know him.

"This is stupid" I mumble.

Tom is intrigued. He hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about. He hasn't even noticed the fans stalking him.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go" I abruptly say as I stand up. "Have a good night."

I grab my phone and leave the venue. I'm upset because I really wish I could've met him in a different context. I open my Uber app: there's no driver available.

Shit.

How's that even possible on a Friday night? In London?

I refresh the app, but it doesn't work. I guess I'll have to walk home.

A part of me wants to go back in this bar and spend time with Tom. He's sweet and I'm sure we would've had so much fun together. I glance through the window trying to see his face one last time, but I can't find him.

"What are you looking for?"

I cringe.

"Oh, sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

It's him. It's Tom.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Going home too. The fun of the party is leaving . . ." he sighs. I smile back at him. I'm embarrassed.

I stand in front of him, none of us say a word. It's awkward. I'm getting anxious and walk away. I'm so overwhelmed.

He grabs my shoulder. "Wait, are you walking home?"

"Yeah, it's okay don't worry." I smile.

"I can drive you home."

"Sorry, but you've been drinking. I won't let you drive me." I curtly say.

He grins. He looks at one of his mates and nods.

"No way I'm letting you walk home alone," he sighs "besides, you're drunk."

"Come with me then" I instantly reply without thinking.

He nods.

What?

He's coming with me. My heart is racing. I won't survive a 30-minute drunk walk with him.

Not with his beautiful glossy eyes staring at me.

Not with my burning desire to kiss him.

[awanderingdeal]

Finding - Chapter 2

I'm alive! I apologise profusely for the wait. Should you need a refresher on the chapter before you can find it on my masterlist.

CW: Food Rating: G Please let me know if you feel I have missed any warnings or need to increase the rating. Also, I did lots of research for this, but if you see any errors please do let me know and I will rectify as quickly as I can.

This is a Sweater Weather AU! Sweater weather belongs to the wonderful @lumosinlove and you should definitely go read it if for some unfathomable reason you haven't already.

So, I wrote this chapter over and over and over again, unable to stop it sounding boring and disjointed. Then I realised when I write Christmas fics, I assume my audience knows the terminology and traditions surrounding Christmas - I don't spend a paragraph explaining every little thing. Now, this fic by it's very nature has lots of explanation because it's O'Knutzy/Shay's first Seder attendance, however I cut out a lot of things that didn't fit in naturally so this fic comes with some homework! I'm going to link a couple of the sites I used in my research and also, you can enjoy listening to Sammy Spider's First Passover if you so wish (Read the fic and you'll understand why I included it!)

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/category/celebrate/passover/ - My Jewish learning has a plethora of articles on every aspect of Passover you could possibly have questions about, including lots of 101 articles.

https://www.haggadot.com/ - This is a site that is designed so that you can make a custom Haggadah for a Seder, but it also has a huge library of publicly available ones (from ones for children to ones that focus on queer liberation) which I found to be a great way of seeing how different folks make the Seder their own.

If you got this far, thank you for bearing with me and I hope you enjoy!

Finn startled at the sound of his phone ringing, recognising the cooing notes as something by a pop group he couldn’t quite place the name of. He frowned for a moment until he remembered he'd given the device to Victoria, Thomas and Noelle's youngest, to play with earlier that week. He shook his head, resigning himself to the fact the catchy bop was going to be his ringtone for the next six months until he remembered to change it.

"Pez!" Finn grinned, propping his phone up against his laptop screen.

"Hey, Harzy. How's things?" The image wobbled as Percy sat in an armchair, loosening his tie with a heavy sigh. "That's better."

"The joys of academia wearing off already?"

"The kids are fine. The bureaucracy is bullshit," Percy said with venom. "But I didn't call to wax lyrical about work. I have a question for Shay."

Finn sat up a little straighter. "Oh, yeah?"

"She seemed pretty bummed out about missing Purim which is understandable because it is the best holiday -"

"He lies! That's Rosh Hashanah!" The southern lilt seemed vaguely familiar. Peering closer at the screen, he saw Percy’s cousin pottering around the kitchen, bleach blonde curls piled into a messy bun on top of her head. It had been over twenty years since Finn had last met her, but still his cheeks warmed as he remembered drunkenly ranting to her about some girl who had been flirting with Logan.

“As I was saying,” Percy threw a pointed look in Fliss’s direction. “you just missed Purim, but Pesach is coming up -"

"Pesach is Passover, yeah?" Finn asked.

Percy nodded. "Which means having a Seder -"

"Tell him what a Seder is!" The expression that filtered across Percy's face could only be described as exasperated.

"It’s Finn. He knows what a Seder is," Percy replied through gritted teeth. "You do know what a Seder is, right?"

"It's the meal where you tell the story of -" Finn clicked his fingers, searching through the wealth of information he'd read over the last few weeks. " - the exodus?" Finn practically preened when Percy gave a satisfied nod and gesticulated towards the screen smugly.

“See, I told you. Don't you have people to scold about their website accessibility or something?"

"I'm on my lunch break," Fliss sang, "but I've finished making my food now so I'll leave you alone. Bye Finn!"

"Bye!" Finn waved, even though he was fairly certain Fliss couldn’t see him.

“The next time she has a break-up and needs a place to stay for a bit, please remind me to say that all my spare rooms are occupied.”

“Don’t you have like 5 spare rooms,” Finn barked a laugh. Percy scowled and Finn missed the inevitable punch to his arm he would have experienced if the two of them weren’t talking through a screen. The irritated expression quickly melted back into the soft, warm smile that seemed to be ever-present on Percy’s lips.

"The Lions play here in a few weeks,” Percy said. “It’s the night before Pesach begins, so Remus and Sirius are going to stick around and come to the Seder I’m hosting. I wanted to invite you all too.

"Are you sure, that's really soon? We don't want to gate-crash."

"The more the merrier,” Percy grinned. “Everybody gets to come to Pesach, it's a whole thing."

"Okay," Finn drew the word out, already trying to remember if any of them had prior commitments for that date. "Can you message the details to me and I'll see what Le, Lo and Shay's thoughts are. Oh, and Shay is vegan, will that be a problem?"

"Yeah," Percy deadpanned. "You're all uninvited.” He wasn’t able to keep up the façade for long, waving away the sarcastic comment. “No, it’s not a problem. My sister is vegan too.”

"Great,” Finn hummed, scribbling a note on his to-do list. “I’ll let you know our decision ASAP."

***

“It’s cold,” Finn whined, cuddling further into Leo’s side and tugging his hat tight over his ears.

Shay snorted a laugh. She’d already told him several times he looked ridiculous in his thick wool coat, however spring was taking it’s time this year, and the temperature remained at a cool 42 degrees, which in Finn’s opinion meant it was still firmly in cold territory. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you like,” he said, smirking as he waved his hand vaguely at Logan and then Shay. He received twin glares in response, which considering they both wore matching white t-shirts, dark slacks and trainers, only served to be comical. They’d had ample time for at least one of them to switch outfits, but they’d both looked at each other stubbornly and refused.

He reached out to press the doorbell again, Leo gently swatting his hand before he could get there. “Patience, love.”

Moments later, a wall of noise hit them as Percy opened the front door. "Hey," he greeted, smiling despite his slightly unkempt appearance. "Come in, come in. Everybody is in the big lounge for now, but we should be heading through to the dining room soon. I apologise in advance for the chaos."

"Chag Sameach!" Leo said carefully. To Finn's naïve ears it sounded exactly like the recording he'd heard being played on repeat over the last few days. Percy grinned, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Chag Sameach, Leo!"

The four of them shuffled in, removing shoes and jackets before following Percy down the hallway. “The quiet room,” he pointed to a door as they passed it, “reserved for sleeping babies and anybody who needs five seconds to hear their own thoughts.”

The noise only got louder the closer they got to the lounge. Percy had warned them it was going to be busy and he hadn’t been exaggerating. The room was filled with people, many of whom had Percy’s same pointed nose, fawn skin and russet hair. The rest, whilst not so similar in appearance, looked right at home amongst the noise.

"JJ! What have I told you about stealing your brother's blocks?"

"Seth, you either put your tie on properly or you do not wear it at all. You cannot wear it around your head."

In college, Percy had wistfully told them stories of being forced to help his mom kasher the kitchen, of reluctantly cleaning his bedroom and the songs they had all sang as they hunted down the final bits of hametz. Finn found himself wanting to apologise. He knew what all the terminology meant now, and their significance, but back then he’d never quite fully acknowledged what Percy was missing out on when games had fallen over the holiday.

“We brought wine,” Leo lifted a clinking bag into the air, with a nervous smile. “I made sure it had the right symbol on it.”

“Good man, head through that door,” Percy pointed, “You’ll find the dining room, just set them on the table. You can't miss it, and if you do then you'll just get to the kitchen which is the opposite of a problem for you, isn't it?" Leo laughed lightly. Over the years, he and Percy had formed a good friendship, both of them having an intensity to their game which led to a fierce rivalry on the ice, but enduring respect off of it. “And stop stressing, everything that needs explaining will be explained. Any questions, just ask. You’ll probably get twelve different answers and be even more confused, but you won’t offend anybody.”

"This is your last chance for a snack before we start!" A tall man with deep brown skin and a kippah atop a flash of curly hair hiked a small child further up his hip, shaking his head. "No, you can't have soup, yet" he laughed. "There's devilled eggs, veggies and guac, that's it."

"Uncle Percy?"

Percy looked down at the child tugging on the leg of his pants, stroking his hand fondly through her hair. "What’s up, Evie?"

With a trembling lower lip and a shaky breath, Evie stabbed her finger towards a huddle of children gathered around a box of toys. Finn spotted Teddy's red streaked hair amongst them. "Matthew said I can't be a dragon because that's not one of the ten plagues."

Percy held his hand out, Evie slipping her small hand into it, and glanced back at the four of them. "Sorry guys, I better sort this out before we have tears.” He jutted his chin towards the tall man, who was now trying to stop another small child from taking fistfuls of carrots. “I’d suggest grabbing some food if you haven’t eaten recently, it’ll be a while before we get to the meal. Just speak to Isaac.”

“Shay!” Teddy screeched, waving enthusiastically. The pre-schooler had been enamoured with her recently, one afternoon of watching cartoons enough to seal it in his brain that she was amazing. “Come and play with me.”

Shay glanced back at them briefly and then hurried off to fulfil Teddy's demands. She was soon swarmed by the other children wanting her attention, happy to have an older person around who wasn't trying to finish last minute preparations.

They were swept apart after that. Logan went to source snacks under the guise of introducing himself to Isaac. The next time Finn saw him, Logan had found a bean bag and was reading to a small brunette girl, JJ. Her cinnamon brown hair had obviously at one point been in neat braids, but now rebellious strands escaped their confines and fell into her face. The pair of them seemed content to crunch on carrot sticks between each turned page.

Finn jolted as a woman sidled up next to him, her heels making her almost as tall as him. "Jasmine, Percy's sister in law. Finn isn't it?" She said throwing her hand out and Finn shook it. Tipping her head towards Logan and JJ, she smiled, " I don't think I've seen her this quiet since...well, perhaps never."

Finn gave Logan a fond stare, "Yeah, he's good with them. I think it's because they have the same mental age."

*** Raph, Percy’s grandfather cleared his throat and a wave of shushing swept over the table. “Tonight we gather to celebrate Passover. For some of us, this is our 107th Seder,” he paused to let the small laughter die down, “For others, the first. But fear not, for I and the Haggadah will guide you.”

"Sammy the spider has taught me everything I need to know,' Logan said, offering his fist out for JJ to bump.

"Well, yes, Sammy the spider is quite comprehensive, never the less, it is there should you do need a reminder," Raph quipped back easily, his years of fatherhood and career as an outdoor adventure instructor clearly lending itself to dealing with cheeky comments.

“Now, we will go through each element of the Seder plate as we proceed, but I'd like to note we have a new addition this year in the orange. Our dear Felicity tells me this is to represent,” Raph looked briefly at his Haggadah, “LGBTQ people and the fruitfulness for all Jews when they are contributing and active members of Jewish life. It's wonderful to have you with us this year, although I am sure you are greatly missed at the youth shelter. ”

Fliss blushed, tugging lightly on one of the gold hoops hanging from her ears.

"You're embarrassing the poor woman," Elizabeth scolded lightly, moving the Kiddush cup surreptitiously towards Raph.

"Ahh, yes, let us commence."

***

Raph and Elizabeth took turns leading the Seder, Finn able to recognise the different steps he'd learned about, even with the families unique element interspersed throughout. They weaved the songs and prayers and discussion questions with a practised ease, skilfully telling the ancient story whilst highlighting suffering that still happened today.

"Now, Teddy has been practising his reading just for this moment," Elizabeth said, turning her attention to Teddy.

"Kaleb says it's not right to say it in English and I have to sing a song," Teddy gulped. "I don't know it."

Finn saw a flash of anger cross Remus' face, expression hard. He was sure the fact Kaleb was barely six years old, was the sole reason he wasn't on the receiving end of Remus' cool words.

"English is perfect," Elizabeth reassured. "We can sing the song tomorrow."

He pulled himself up onto his knees, sliding slightly on the cushion beneath him. Sirius steadied him, whispering into his ear and Teddy nodded. "Why is this night different from all other nights?" he began, needing just a little help from Remus. He worked his way through the four questions, listening intently as he received the answers.

***

"I don't think I can eat another thing," Finn clutched his stomach, looking longingly at the brisket. Perhaps if he waited 5 minutes he could eat some more.

"I need the recipe," Leo agreed, with a moan that Finn was almost jealous of. He had managed a second helping, plate piled high with salmon, ratatouille and potato kugel."

"What for?" Arianna laughed.

"All of it?" Leo tried. "But if I had to choose the matzo ball soup is divine. The chicken one. No offence intended, the vegan one is wonderful too. But the matzo balls in the chicken one are incredible, light and fluffy and just...perfect."

"Good luck with that," Percy's brother, Aaron, called from the other end of the table. "I've been trying for a lifetime."

"Come and see me in the kitchen later," Elizabeth winked.

Aaron spluttered, protesting loudly.

"If I gave you all my secrets then I would have no reason for you to come and visit me, would I?" Elizabeth joked, letting Seth pull himself up into her lap. Aaron just rolled his eyes in response.

***

“Oh no!” Raph gasped, “It seems I have lost the afikomen. Children, you will have to help me find it. We can’t finish the Seder without it.”

“Shay, I think Teddy might need some help reaching the higher places,” Remus hummed, swirling wine around his glass. “I’ve had a little too much to drink, so perhaps you could go with him?”

Shay hesitated for just a second, sliding off her chair eagerly to chase after Teddy.

"Nice move, Loops," Leo said.

"It was mostly self-serving. You know Teddy, he really will try to climb the furniture if left to his own devices, and I think I probably should switched to grape juice a glass or two ago." Remus leaned his head on Sirius' shoulder, chuckling, mostly to himself. "Headstrong like his father."

"Yes, because you are the most docile human ever," Sirius rebutted.

"I found it! I found it!" Evie clutched the cloth bound matzah to her chest.

"Oh well done!" Elizabeth cried, clapping her hands together with dramatic flair. "May I have it, please?"

Evie shook her head quickly, stepping back away from Elizabeth, her mouth stretched into a wide, gappy smile. "No!"

"No? Why ever not?"

"You have to give her something," Kaleb shouted, jumping up and down with excitement.

Elizabeth schooled her expression into something pondering, tapping her finger against her chin. "I'm not sure I have anything small children would want? What about you, Raphael? Do you have anything?"

Teddy tugged at Shay until she bent to let him whisper - or at least, that what he seemed to be attempting - into it, "He has candy! I saw him hiding it earlier."

"I think - ah, yes!" Raph opened the cupboard, pulling out a box. He lifted the lid dramatically, plucking a small silky blue bag from it. "Let's see how many of these I have...1, 2,3, 4, 5, 6...What comes next?"

7!" A collective shout came.

"7 and 8," Raph continued. "That's one for everybody, and two for Evie because she found the afikomen. Can we swap?"

Evie nodded, handing the wrapped up afikomen over. The bags were opened quickly, excited gasps rippling through the room as they discovered the candy inside, a $10 bill rolled up neatly beside it only seeming to attract the oldest of the children's attention. Shay had been shy to take a bag, but she held it close to her chest, smiling softly as she peered inside. Finn must have drank more than he had realised, because he felt the urge to cry.

***

"If all that male energy gets too much, you can call me anytime, okay?" Shay rifled through her backpack, pulling out a pad of sticky notes and scribbled her number down inside the pink, white and blue border. "And I think you should give that dog walking company a shot. I’m sure Logan can help you out with the business aspect, but if you need help with making a website then you know where I am.”

“Thanks,” Shay mumbled, uncharacteristically shy. She tucked the sticky note carefully into her jacket pocket. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

Leo rested his hand on Shay’s shoulder, patting it softly. “Well, we should head out. Early flight in the morning and all.” It was the fourth time they’d made to leave, but they finally managed it this time. The taxi pulled up and they left to a warm round of goodbyes and Teddy sobbing in Sirius’ arms despite his father’s reassurances him he would see them again very soon.

“It’s kind of nice,” Shay said quietly once they had piled into the taxi, a large container of the vegan matzo ball soup resting on her lap. “To think Jews have been doing this for thousands of years. The idea that my Mom and Dad followed the same tradition. I don’t remember much about them, but some of the songs we sang tonight feel so familiar. Like I’d heard them already. Maybe it’s just me misremembering, but either way, it makes me feel connected to them.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Radio Broadcast Date Moments and Texts

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from Lucien’s Radio Broadcast Date which has not been released in EN! 🍒

🎙 TEXT 1 🎙

[ Version One ]

Lucien: Why did you suddenly think of sending me an article with various numbers?

MC: There isn’t a special meaning. I just wanted to send it to you~

Lucien: Based on my understanding, many people use numbers to convey their emotions.

Lucien: For instance, homonyms like 520, 1314...

[Note] In Chinese, 5, 2, and 0 (“wu er ling”) sounds like “I love you” (”wo ai ni”). The numbers “1314″ (“yi san yi si”) sound like “all my life” (“yi sheng yi shi”)

Lucien: I think these methods of expression are pretty interesting.

MC: Come to think of it, many things like numbers, words, and lyrics seem to help many shy and reserved people.

Lucien: Whether they are numbers or words, the meaning behind them are the same.

Lucien: But I think there are times where if you aren’t able to express yourself in a more straightforward manner,

Lucien: Perhaps to the other person, there would be something missing in the sentiment.

MC: In that case, which method of expression would you choose?

Lucien: Actually, I don’t wish to use any particular method to express myself.

Lucien: There are many ways to express one’s emotions. Whether it’s in a reserved or a more straightforward manner...

Lucien: I’ll let MC sense the feelings I have at this very moment.

-

[ Version Two ]

Lucien: Why did you suddenly think of sending me an article with various numbers?

MC: I find the meaning behind these numbers very interesting, and wanted to share it with you.

Lucien: After looking at it, it does seem pretty interesting.

Lucien: For instance, homonyms like 520, 1314...

Lucien: Through the arrangement of different numbers, they secretly express their veiled emotions.

MC: I think many people who are unable to express their emotions in a straightforward manner would use such methods.

Lucien: This isn’t a wrong method.

Lucien: It’s just that sometimes, if you aren’t able to express yourself directly,

Lucien: You might miss out on many possibilities.

MC: In that case, is it better to be direct?

Lucien: Every person has their own ways of expressing themselves.

Lucien: But to me, I don’t wish to miss out on any possibilities.

Lucien: For example, at this moment, I’ll tell you that I really miss you.

-

[ Version Three ]

Lucien: Why did you suddenly think of sending me an article with various numbers?

MC: Because I’m curious - does Professor Lucien know the meaning behind these numbers?

Lucien: Mm. After all, I have a good understanding of homonyms popularly known by people like 520 and 1314.

Lucien: People use these numbers extensively, expressing their emotions in a veiled manner.

Lucien: I think such methods of expression are pretty interesting.

MC: Expressing the same meaning in a different form is pretty refreshing.

Lucien: Indeed.

Lucien: But perhaps the other person would hope for you to express yourself more directly.

Lucien: This way, there wouldn’t be any differences in communication.

MC: No matter what, I think expressing oneself requires courage. 

Lucien: Mm, that’s true.

Lucien: The good thing is that we seem to be very courageous people.

Lucien: We have never concealed our emotions, right?

🎙 TEXT 2 🎙

[ Version One ]

Lucien: Sorry, I just read your message. The hair tie is still with me. Did something happen?

MC: Well... I wanted to interview Professor Lucien on how he felt when wearing the small hair tie~

Lucien: I think what I felt most was that seeing it made me think of you.

Lucien: Not only that. I also wondered if there would be a day when you look for a hair tie.

Lucien: And when that time came... you’d look for the one on my wrist.

MC: Hearing this gives me as sense of security... I never have to worry about not being able to find a hair tie again.

Lucien: Even though leaving it with me is a very good preparatory plan,

Lucien: Shouldn't I ask for a more generous “compensation”?

Lucien: This way, I can take proper care of this hair tie “willingly”.

MC: In that case, Professor Lucien could tell me directly what “compensation” he would like, and I might be able to fulfil it.

Lucien: If I were to suggest it by myself, it’d be lacking in some excitement.

Lucien: So, the Little Stray Cat can consider it slowly.

Lucien: I trust that you’d definitely suggest a condition that I’ll be completely unable to refuse.

-

[ Version Two ]

Lucien: Sorry, I just read your message. The hair tie is still with me. Did something happen?

MC: I actually wanted to say that if it’s inconvenient, you could take it off anytime...

Lucien: A small hair tie won’t bring me inconvenience.

Lucien: Also, I remember that you frequently can’t find a hair tie.

Lucien: Let this hair tie on my wrist become a guarantee.

MC: In that case, I’ll leave the hair tie with you forever~

Lucien: The term “forever” sounds a little too much.

Lucien: But if the “compensation” MC provides is very attractive...

Lucien: I don’t think there’d be reason to refuse.

MC: ...you’re playing foul. Why didn’t I hear of such a requirement beforehand?

Lucien: A “transaction” is formed between two people.

Lucien: So... regarding how much the final compensation is,

Lucien: We can talk about it slowly, can’t we?

-

[ Version Three ]

Lucien: Sorry, I just read your message. The hair tie is still with me. Did something happen?

MC: While I was showering, I realised that the hair tie’s still on your wrist...

Lucien: This is our “promise”, so I naturally wouldn’t remove it easily.

Lucien: Also, I don’t think it’s simply a keepsake.

Lucien: When you can’t find other hair ties, it could become a preparatory hair tie.

MC: In that case, I have to leave a few more hair ties with you...

Lucien: An increase in quantity is indeed a good guarantee.

Lucien: It’s just that as the guarantor, shouldn’t I have an appropriate “compensation”?

Lucien: I’m vey curious what MC would suggest as a heart-stirring “compensation fee”?

MC: Then... I’ll take care of Professor Lucien’s bentos! How’s that?

Lucien: Just bentos?

Lucien: Even though it sounds a little heart-stirring, I think you could go slightly “overboard”.

Lucien: If you really can’t think of anything, I’ll tell you in person later, okay?

🎙 MOMENTS 🎙

Lucien’s Post: Thanks to a certain producer, I relived a work that I really like.

MC: It suddenly occurred to me that I never asked why you selected that work!

Lucien: Maybe it’s because when I was choosing it, I thought of you.

-

Lucien’s Post: Thanks to a certain producer, I relived a work that I really like.

MC: Are there any differences from the first time you read it?

Lucien: I do have a different understanding of it. After all, you’re in my life now.

-

Lucien’s Post: Thanks to a certain producer, I relived a work that I really like.

MC: But the ending still makes me feel that it’s a great pity...

Lucien: In that case, our choice can be different from theirs. Do you agree?

[imaginariaextraordinaire]

Rewatching this episode made me realise how much Seon-Gyeom and Coach Bang have in common. (My English-reading self loves the fact that she's called "bang" given her history of beating to pulp a colleague who wanted to, well, bang her.) In many ways, she comes across as more of a parental figure than Seon-Gyeom's actual parents. Not only is there the affection visible in the way she ruffles his hair and teases him, she's also got a history of trying to counter abuse with violence.

Coach Bang's story is a pointed reminder of how the system almost always sides with the male abuser in #MeToo cases. Maybe she had also hoped, like Seon-Gyeom, that people would ask why she'd resorted to violence, but they didn't. Both Coach Bang and Seon-Gyeom are the ones who end up walking away, while the coach (who once harassed Coach Bang and is now turning a blind eye to athletes being assaulted) is the one sitting pretty in his position of power.

It's also heartwarming that the one who brings Coach Bang back into the world of athletics is Seon-Gyeom. It mirrors how she once scouted him because she saw what he was capable of when others didn't.

Also, the sentence in the screengrab reminded me of Dan-Ah, who was forced to give up football by her brother and father. Patriarchy infects everything.

Last episode, a similar gesture led to a forged a connection (with Yeong-Hwa). This time, Seon-Gyeom's finger can't make that connection. He is very literally disconnected from his old world. It's also perhaps an indication that he's changed — something that his monster father notices when Seon-Gyeom refuses to let Assemblyman Ki exploit him in order to fulfil the older man's ambitions. Of course, Assemblyman Ki doesn't realise that Seon-Gyeom is a catalyst of sorts. Eun-Bi has already chosen a much more confrontational way of opposing her father and protecting her brother when she chooses Dan-Ah's agency. Quite a contrast to the way she had moved the glass away from Assemblyman's Ki in the quietest, subtlest way possible when the older man lashed out at Seon-Gyeom. Later, we'll see Ji-Woo's way of handling her husband change too. Assemblyman Ki, though, has no clue because he's too busy writing holier-than-though tweets (his staff despairing at his tweets sort of reminded me of Trump).

So nice to see Woo-Sik not taking the work done by "Furry Kim" for granted. He finds out who Furry Kim is — well done, Mi-Joo, on picking a truly ridiculous handle — and thanks her for her work. He doesn't take her labour for granted. Grandma's raised this boy well. Also love it when Woo-Sik asks if she did all this for Seon-Gyeom and Mi-Joo replies that she translated the article because she knew she'd do the best job of it. Shin Se-Kyung is pitch perfect in the way she plays Mi-Joo as someone who knows her strengths, but never comes across as conceited or arrogant.

I love how it's Seon-Gyeom who adjusts his stride to Mi-Joo's. That the adjustment is made by the man is such a refreshing change from women changing because they're in a romantic relationship. It's also ironic that after this lovely little moment, the Gyeommi couple has its first fight and while it all seems very silly at a superficial level, the feelings that are spurring both Seong-Gyeom and Mi-Joo to feel hurt by the other have darker, sadder roots. This is what we do in everyday life — we spend all our efforts hiding our darkest fears and miseries, only for them to spill out in ways that seem frivolous and nonsensical to those watching.

Also, the Winnie-the-Pooh line is one of the best in the show.

If you ask me, Seon-Gyeom might just be a wee bit cuter.

Seon-Yeong couple, I live for you. Kang Tae-Oh is such a breath of fresh air with impeccable comic timing and the innocence that his Yeong-Hwa radiates. Yeong-Hwa and May add such a wonderful sparkle to every scene they're in, lighting it up with their warmth and optimism.

I also live for Im Siwan's face-scrunching skills. Truly.

If the non-fight between Mi-Joo and Seon-Gyeom felt frustrating (because you just want to shake both of them and tell them to talk to each other properly dammit), how deeply satisfying is that exit after the confrontation with Assemblyman Ki. Both Shin and Cha Hwa-Yun (who plays Ji-Woo) shine in this scene. Ji-Woo's face lights up when she realises the power dynamic between Assemblyman Ki and his son is changing, and this young woman might be the one that started the fire. Also, I love how Mi-Joo taking Seon-Gyeom's hand and speeding up offers a parallel to Seon-Gyeom slowing down his stride to match her pace in the earlier scene.

Still gives me goosebumps.

[zimms]

an olliewicks flower shop au to soothe the soul! this is somewhat based on mine and @tingo-tango’s tags on this post. 

fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels

Ollie’s wrist-deep in a pot of soil, sweat rolling down his cheeks and sunlight streaming through the windows of Faber’s Flowers, when the shop’s bell rings and a new customer stumbles through the door. Ollie frowns slightly and hastily wipes the beads of sweat off his chin with the corner of his shirt, before plastering on his best customer service smile to greet whoever needs flowers at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning. He mentally catalogues the possibilities; maybe they’ve forgotten their spouse’s birthday? Or maybe it’s a gift for someone at work? Maybe it’s an apology present because they accidentally cycled into a fruit stall and ruined a fresh batch of melons? 

(Okay, maybe not, but it would be a refreshing change in the cycle of constant businessmen grovelling for their partner’s forgiveness)

Ollie shakes himself from his thoughts and grins across the counter at the customer, who’s sporting a baseball cap and a t-shirt that sits just right across his broad shoulders. Ollie’s eyes track down the guy’s biceps which are a tad too big for the sleeves. Ollie consciously shut his mouth to stop himself from gaping; this guy was hot. As Ollie’s gaze roams across the customer’s face to meet his eyes, he realises three things. Number one is that he definitely shouldn’t be ogling a customer like he’s a piece of meat. Number two is that he hasn’t said anything to this guy yet. Number three is that at least a minute of awkward silence and staring has passed since the customer entered the shop. 

Ollie rips his eyes away from the customer’s face to stare at a spot slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”

The guy shifts on the balls of his feet, scanning the shelves of bouquets and individual flowers. “Erm, I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my mom?” His voice raises at the end of his sentence, which is kind of cute, if Ollie does say so. He rubs the back of his neck and his checks flush pink. “I kinda need to apologise to her.”

Ah, a classic apology scenario. Got it. 

“What’s the apology for?” Ollie asks as he turns to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands. “Not that you have to tell me that is; it just might help as we make the bouquet.” He unravels the roll of tissue paper and cuts off a square to package the flowers in. 

Hot Guy winces. “Ah,” he says, “I kinda got into a fight in front of her the other night. She was not happy to say the least, so I figured I might as well get her some flowers to apologise for it.” 

“Cool, cool.” Ollie grins at him. “What kinda flowers do you want for her?” He gestured to the whole shop, where various buckets of flowers lined the walls, each displaying a different species. “We can get her just a plain old bunch that’s all just the same type of flower, or we could mix and match, create a nice piece of artwork that she’ll admire rather than a bunch that’s boring and all the same.”

Hot Guy’s eyes flick up from the counter and meet Ollie’s own, moving slowly up his body. If Ollie was feeling particularly optimistic, he’d say the guy was checking him out, but he pushes that thought to the corner of his mind because he’s made way too many faux-pas in the past by asking out guys that have come into the shop just for all of them to be straight. Hot Guy clears his throat. “Yeah, a mixture sounds good. I know her favourite flowers are hyacinths if that helps?”

“That’s perfect.” Ollie shoots him the most reassuring smile he can think of, eyes softening. He grabs the bucket of blue hyacinths that sit behind him. “These alright?” 

“Yeah, those are great,” Hot Guy says a little hoarsely, squinting at Ollie’s name tag, “Ollie.” Something settles in Hot Guy’s voice and he seems a bit more comfortable. 

“So, why'd you get into a fight in front of your mom?” Ollie reaches for the bucket of Narcissus behind him and waves a bunch at Hot Guy for affirmation. He nods in return. “Doesn’t seem like the best idea to me-” Ollie trails off, hoping that Hot Guy might get the hint and finally introduce himself. 

“Oh, uh, Pacer.” He coughs and the remaining tension leaks out of his posture. “Nah, a guy said something about Ma, and you know, I had to rush to defend her like the rash idiot I am.” 

Ollie laughs. “At least, it’s one of the more noble reasons to get into a fight. There’s a bit more chance of forgiveness, then.”

Pacer nods and his gaze wanders away from where Ollie is deftly making the bouquet to settle on the purple Clematis. 

“You like them?” Ollie makes a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands and Pacer passes the bucket over to him. Their hands briefly brush each other during the exchange and Ollie does everything in his power to ignore the jolt that goes through him at that brief skin to skin contact. “You’ve got a good eye; I was just about to grab them myself.”

“Yeah, my mom loves blue and yello-” Pacer cuts himself off with a sneeze. “Also, aren’t they the colours of the local hockey team around here? The Falcons?” Although he has a completely clueless tone to his voice, Pacer is studying Ollie’s reaction as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. 

“Yeah, the Falcs! I only get to see them every so often, but they’re great,” Ollie says, doing his level best to ignore Pacer’s sudden intensity. “I was actually on the same team as Jack Zimmermann in college, which was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Pacer’s enigmatic expression becomes even more indecipherable. “That is pretty cool.” He looks slightly over his shoulder towards the street before meeting Ollie’s eyes and flashing a genuine smile at him. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself, you know.”

Ollie tries to convince himself that the bubble of excitement that rushes through him is because Pacer is such a good conversationalist and not for any other reason, like the fact that they have a couple of things in common, or that Pacer is one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen. 

(He fails.)

_X_

Pacer leaves about forty minutes later, with a bouquet and handwritten note in hand and a smile fixed firmly on his face. When Ollie goes to scrub down the counter and start repotting the plant he’d abandoned when Pacer had arrived, he spots a scrap of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. The note is pretty cute; it’s a string of numbers and a smiley face, accompanied by a couple of lines from Pacer.

Would you like to go I would have asked you out earlier, but my tea friend always says it’s bad form to hit on workers whilst they’re on shift. Anyway, here’s my number if you want to go out some time? Call m Don’t worry if you don’t though!

- Pacer 

Ollie grins as he opens up his phone to add the number to his contacts, but pauses as he sees a Google Alert come through that he’s set up for the Falcs. The text reads, Providence Falconers acquire forward Pacer Wicks from Colorado Avalanche in exchange for a second round pick in the 2022 NHL Draft, and immediately underneath the caption, Pacer’s smiling face stares out at him. 

Pacer’s voice echoes in his mind. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.”

Played a bit of hockey himself? Ollie cannot believe this guy. He plays in the fucking NHL and all he says is “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.” 

However, Ollie thinks as he opens up the article to see a picture of a bruised Pacer from his last game with the Avs, it would explain why he needed to apologise for fighting in front of his mom. 

_X_

Now that Ollie is aware of Pacer Wicks’ existence, he seems to follow him everywhere. Well, not Pacer exactly, but his name. 

It begins, like many things, at the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” the cashier asks, as she’s scanning his groceries two days after Pacer first came into the florist’s. “Are you that hockey player? Pacer Wicks?” 

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t think that him and Pacer look that similar, but then again, Pacer’s only been in Providence a couple of days, so people don’t exactly know what he looks like yet. “No, sorry.”

The cashier purses her lips, taking a moment to study him again before ringing him up. “Huh, sorry! You guys just look really alike is all.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ollie gathers up his groceries. “These things happen sometimes.”

(He almost texts Pacer to tell him about it, but, as Ollie looks at the clock on his phone, he realises that Pacer probably isn’t going to want to receive a message about how someone thought they looked similar mid-way through his game against the Pens.

Also, he’d have to wish him luck and honestly, as much as Ollie loves the Falcs, he wouldn’t wish them too much luck against his hometown team.)

_X_

ollie

hey! i’ve finished off that other apology bouquet for your ma!

let me know when you want to swing by and pick it up!

also i was watching the game tonight; do you need me to make up another identical one for your ma, or do you wanna come into the shop to choose this one?

pacer

thanks ol! i’ll probably swing by to pick it up tomorrow and then help make the next one at the same time?

ollie

sounds like a plan!!

_X_

When he said these things happen sometimes to that cashier in the grocery store, he didn’t expect them to happen all the goddamn time. Be it at his favourite café, on the street, or on the commuter rail, someone always, always, asks if he’s Pacer Wicks. 

_X_

ollie

oof that hit from eriksen looks like it’s gonna leave a mark

pacer

yeah, half my face is swollen

ollie

yikes

pacer

i assume we’re still on for dinner in a couple of days right?

even if my stunning visage has been marred by the fists of a schooner

ollie

that was a very weird way of putting it

but yeah, i still wanna go out with you even if your face looks like a dodgeball

_X_

A girl taps him on the shoulder at Bitty’s Bites downtown. “Excuse me, are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie smiles sheepishly at her, brandishing his coffee cup with a scrawled Oily on it as if it might keep the Pacer Wicks fans away. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong dude.”

He hurries out of there as quickly as his legs can take him after that, hands fumbling for his phone so that he can text Pacer about it.

ollie

jdshjkdsjh a girl just asked if i was you

pacer

oh?

ollie

yeah, i don’t really know why so many people ask if i’m you

especially as they usually ask when you’re on a roadie??

so i don’t get why they know who you are without knowing the falcs’ schedules

pacer

maybe they’re a fan of my dashing good looks rather than my hockey?

isn’t that why you agreed to go out with me after all?

Ollie grins to himself before sending back three words.

don’t push it

_X_

He’s less generous to the guy on the commuter rail, but in fairness that’s mainly because he stole the last seat just before Ollie could get there and it’s 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hockey pl-?”

Ollie barely looks up from his phone before cutting him off with a sharp “No.”

_X_

Today, someone even asks him at the flower shop.

“No,” he says, heaving the deepest sigh he can whilst still remaining in customer service mode, “I think Pacer Wicks might have other things to do on a Saturday afternoon than work the till at a flower shop.” He shuts the cash drawer on the register with a bang and hands the customer their change and bouquet as quickly as he can. “Thank you for shopping with us! Enjoy your day!” 

He collapses back onto the wooden stool that he keeps behind the counter, taking a breather for approximately five seconds before a laugh echoes through the shop. Ollie jumps half a foot in the air before locating Pacer, who’s stood in the corner of the shop inspecting a piece of sea holly. 

He’s dressed up pretty nicely considering hockey players’ notoriously bad fashion sense, wearing a button-up, a nice pair of jeans that do all the right things for his hockey butt, and his ever-present baseball cap, but this time, unlike his first visit to the shop, it’s sat backwards on his head. He spins around to face the back of the shop, grinning his face off. “I’m impressed by the fact that she asked you that whilst I was standing in the shop and she still didn’t notice me.” He laughs, smirking across at Ollie. “Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, some people are surprisingly oblivious sometimes,” he says, “but also, I don’t look that much like you?” He pauses, trying to work out what Pacer’s face means. He places his hands on his hips and jokingly rounds on Pacer. “Do I?” 

Pacer chuckles, taking a few steps closer so that he’s leaning against the counter. “Not that much, but would it be so bad if you looked like me?” A mock-wounded expression plays across his features as he presses his hand to his chest. 

Ollie takes off his apron and hangs it up behind the counter. “Nope, because you are extremely hot.” He threads his fingers through the hockey player’s belt loops to pull him closer, feeling emboldened by Pacer’s flirting. “And if that means that people are inadvertently calling me hot whilst asking if I’m you?” He shrugs. “I can live with it.”

Pacer has to lower his gaze to meet Ollie’s eyes, the two inch height difference between them clearly obvious, even if Ollie is six foot, thank you very much. “You were right about something though,” Pacer murmurs, “I do have better things to do than stand in a flower shop on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Like what?” Ollie raises an eyebrow.

Pacer smiles softly down at him, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with Ollie’s. “Like taking the cute florist that works there on a date for starters.” Pacer starts to move them towards the shop’s entrance. “There’s this lit-” He sneezes abruptly.

Ollie tilts Pacer’s head downwards. “That’s like the fourth time you’ve sneezed in the shop.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek, frowning when he sees that Pacer’s eyes are slightly red. “Are you okay?”

Pacer waves him off. “Yeah, it’s fine; my antihistamines just wore off.”

His-? Ollie furrows his eyebrows before leading his date out of the shop. “Pacer, are you allergic to flowers?” 

“No?” Pacer’s sheepish and slightly bunged up reply says everything that Ollie needs to know.

“Fuck, Pace, why have you been coming to the shop so much if you’re allergic? Surely you don’t like the aesthetics of flowers that much that you need to torture your sinuses every spare minute of the day.” Ollie pinches the bridge of his nose, voice full of exasperation.

Pacer holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defence, the first few times were because I did need to buy Ma flowers, but I didn’t keep coming back because the flowers were pretty.” He pulls Ollie close and frames his face with his hands. “I came back because the florist was.”

_X_

The final time Ollie is mistaken for Pacer is five years later as he’s heading towards the arena for Pacer’s final game of the season. In fairness, dressed in a Wicks jersey and a Falcs snapback, he probably looks more like Pacer now than he has at any time since he first got mistaken for him in the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” A teenager taps him on the shoulder, their arm slung around a friend. “Are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie grins at the kid. “Nope,” he says, trying not to take too much joy in the hope fading from the fan’s eyes before he drops the bombshell, “I am his husband though.”

“Really?” The teenager’s eyes light up. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ollie holds up his phone screen to show the kid a photo of Pacer kissing his cheek, just so that they know he’s not lying. “D’you wanna meet him after the game?” He smirks at them. “After all, I do know a guy.”

[fafulous]

Take Me Home (2/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Themes: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS ((The series is following the BOOK ENDING and not Show)), Sad and soft Andy Barber, Single Mother Reader. Cursing.

a/n: I dedicate this chapter to my LOML @sinner-as-saint​. Happy Birthday Darling! ILY!

Part 1

Warnings: Small Hints of Abuse.

—

It was your full day shift at the library

You still couldn’t stop thinking about that horrid graffiti left out on Andrew’s Garage door. Why would anyone write something so horrific? It is never a common occurrence to accuse someone of being a murderer; Besides, you didn’t even truly know who the man was.

In one of your breaks while sipping on your hot cocoa, your curiosity got the best of you and googled about him. Those amateur press reporters wouldn’t crowd around a random vandalism; you knew something was up.

To your dismay, you came across terrifying articles of his family. Specifically, about his son.

You read about how Andrew Barber, the Local district attorney of the Newton County was found to be tangled in a murder case because of his son. You didn’t bother to read further for the headlines were awful; described how his 14-year-old son was in trial for the murder of his own classmate.

The details were too horrifying. The press reported every court proceeding but you didn’t proceed to read about what happened. Perhaps his son went to jail? Or he was declared not guilty but was separated from his family? You thought how a good handful of weeks passed and he had absolutely no visitors to his house. Best decision you made was to close the articles for it made you sick to the stomach.

Not only did it feel like you were invading on someone’s privacy, it was also not difficult to picture your son in Jacob Barber’s shoes.

You felt bad for the man, you really did. But then you recalled how he questioned your parenting. It takes years to build self-confidence, but just one statement to shatter it all.

It didn’t feel right reading about your neighbour, it felt like you were a stalker. And so, you resumed to stock up and label the new pile of books.

The Librarian desk was placed in such a way that you would immediately know if anyone entered the library. It would normally be teenagers and college go-ers labelled as nerds who would spend hours and hours of studying and reading. But this time, the one approaching your desk was the last person you ever wanted to see.

Nikolai’s father.

A week ago, Chad did make an appearance into your life out of the blue, asking you to take him back. But you couldn’t for you believed in two things: Your self-respect wasn’t weak, and that Nikolai didn’t deserve a pathetic excuse of a father. After you found out about his infidelity, you mentally decided not to take him back and that was a final decision.

You dropped whatever you were doing and made a beeline to Chad. “You can’t drop in during work like this.”

Quarter of an hour perhaps was spent on arguing back and forth in whispers. You will never deny that how it would be perfect for Nikolai to grow up with a father, but you kept reminding yourself not to give in to him.

“Listen Y/N. I really am sorry for barging like you on this. I want to make things right. “

“You can’t Chad,” you whispered, “I can’t. It is not fair to Nikolai and to me. Just go.”

Chad suddenly pushed you back to one of the bookshelves by gripping your shoulders. His shoulder touches were something that he used to do to offer you comfort at times of distress. But now this was causing you stress.

He gritted his teeth. “Why can’t you just fucking take me back?”

“Because I wasn’t the one who slipped into my co-worker’s vagina!”

Before you realised Chad was going to get unpleasant with you, another familiar voice interrupted the small run-in.

“Hey everything alright?”

You turned around to the stern voice only to see your neighbour, Andrew. You were fixated on him to the point where you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

He looked so handsome.

He was wearing a formal dark navy suit, his tie almost matching his hair colour. His hair and beard were neatly groomed with just a hint of messy. His beautiful trench coat accentuated his arm muscles. He did look like a textbook District Attorney.

Andy on the other hand exchanged looks between the both of you, glaring at the man who dare pushed you back against the bookshelf. He got near to them which made Chad leave his grip and take a few steps away from her.

Chad continued the conversation with you without acknowledging the intruder’s existence. “I’m going to leave now. Think about it. I’ll come in a few days to pick up Nikolai.” He soon left, making sure he didn’t make eye contact with the formal dude who seemed to be much taller to him.

Andy approached you cautiously while your hand pressed the wrinkles off of your shoulders. “Couldn’t help but hearing the whole co-worker slipping into your vagina statement. That man your ex?”

Dealing with two arrogant men simultaneously was not something you signed up today. “Be careful Mr. Barber, the attorney in you is showing.”

Andy stiffened his shoulders but did not let go of his grin. He liked a woman who was snappy, especially when he has seen the caring side of you. “So, you know about me?”

“I can take care of myself,” deflecting from his question. You didn’t want to admit about your slip up that you read about him from an online article. “You didn’t have to do that whole saviour stunt on me Mr. Barber,” you walked away from him, heading outside the library to catch a breath of fresh air. Andy followed you like a puppy would.

“You didn’t have to do it alone too, Miss”

You noticed how he didn’t call you formally. “Andrew, I told you I-I am never going to have a conversation with you ever.”

“I know I know.” He paused and you crossed your arms, waiting for him to say something while you admired the beauty of his trench coat on his frame.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy. M-my shift ends in an hour.”

“I can wait.”

“No Andrew, my car is in the repairs and I’m bailing on my assistant to drop me home-“

“I can drop you. We literally live next to each other. Please Y/N,” He neared you, anxiously looking over at you, “Give me this tiny speck of a chance.”

You stood there trying to pull off a stern look, trying so hard not to display you inhaling his musky cologne that made you excited. Who would’ve thought you would fall for a meanie who just had a pair of needy, blue eyes?

“Alright fine,” you said giving in. “Read a book or something inside.”

Andy was happy at his sweet victory.

In that time Andy decided to look through the well-ventilated library. It was quite spacious, his senses hitting with the smell of old books and natural pesticides to keep the books from deteriorating. There were enough tables for people to sit and read at their leisure. He even recognized familiar books he used to read with Laurie every night. It was an intimate ritual for them; so eventually for the past few months, he gave up on reading.

Andy then noticed you scuttling around for a while till you plopped on your desk. Your work attire was silk white blouse with a yellow pencil skirt. There was a strut of confidence every time you took a step or gave orders to her assistant. 

Neither of you would deny the lingering glances you gave each other in that time.  

An hour passed and both of you stood outside near his beautiful black car.

“What is it Andrew?”

“I wanted to sincerely apologize to you. This is not right I know. I know I’ve hurt your feelings and this apology doesn’t even cover it. I stepped out of line many times even though you remained to be kind to me.”

You puffed out a breath of air. Judging by the tone of his voice, you knew the man before you were being sincere.

“Just let me make it up to you one day at a time please. It would kill me if I didn’t do anything.”

“Y-you don’t have to anything Mr. Barber. Its just-“

“I know take your time. I hope we could hit the refresh button excluding the part where I make it up to you.”

“Yeah no um- I also owe you another thanks for helping back at the Library- uh Chad? The bloke you interrupted me with?”

Andy nodded. “It was nothing really. So, can we start fresh?” He extended his hand to you and a firm handshake was exchanged.

“Apology accepted I suppose.”

Soon you found yourself in Andy’s car, who was kind to even open the door for you. Chivalry isn’t dead. 

For now.

The ride back was quiet, you observing in the interiors of the sleek black car. The seat felt so comfortable, along with the man beside you. A comfortable silence prevailed the drive back home, Andy popping in superficial questions about your work and Nikolai and vice versa. 

“So any plans for tonight?”

“Nikolai wanted to watch a Disney movie tonight with some Chicken Lasagne. Oddly, specific I know but kids these days, right?”

“Yeah.” You noticed how his face fell slightly and so you tried to change the topic. “What about you?”

“The usual. Netflix and Takeout. Trying to cut on the beer though you know with the new job and all.”

“Thanks for the drive back home Mr. Barber.”

He took this as a good sign. “From now on you can call me Andy.”

“Listen Mr. Barber- Andy I have to get something off of my chest. “

Andy unbuckled his seat belt and faced you, unsure of what she wanted to say. “Sure please, go ahead.”

“Okay Andy. I just want to clear the air that only know about you as an attorney because my curiosity irked me after your whole garage shed incident. I didn’t dig much because I felt like the inner me was being like a creep.”

He raised his eyebrows heart slightly sinking that you had already become the judge of his character. “So, you do know about me then?”

“Not more than how your son was involved in a murder trial,” you fumbled. “I don’t know the outcome and I don’t know why I am telling you all of this oh my god.”

Andy chuckled to see you covering your face in embarrassment, feeling a little relieved to know that you didn’t have much of an idea of who he was. He reassured her that it was completely fine, and you saw you going back home.

The next couple of days went smoother for both you and Andy. After a week it seems you and Andy always left home for work at the same time, passing casual morning greetings…which you had to do by successfully covering your blush because he never failed to look nothing less than good looking even though he was now just a swimming instructor.

Andy told you that day he apologized to you at the library was the day when he gave in an interview for the Swimming Instructor position opened at the community gym. He said it was something he used to do in his free time, and he wanted to give it a shot

You weren’t even surprised to find your mind in the gutter when you thought about Andy in skin-fit Speedos that stuck to his thick thighs and broad back. Or would he just wear trunks? You smacked your head; this what happens when the last time you got laid was two years back…

No offense to your expensive vibrator.

Andy would drop you to work if you didn’t feel like it and pick you up too. He even would take Nikolai alone for car rides which he enjoyed.

“Mommy! Wandi car go zooooom!”

He once popped into the library telling you that he would like to be a member. You would have never thought that this man was a bookworm. He soon told you how he used to have a habit of reading a book every night and now that he wants to revive it.

Normally for new inquisitive children or young adults who wanted recommendations to begin the practice of reading was handled by your assistant, Tracy. You weren’t surprised when Tracy was almost proactive when she saw Andy. But to the utter dismay of your assistant, Andy wanted to hear it from you.

Its not like you won a battle with your assistant, but you happily concurred with you head held high. He wants me. (You smacked yourself mentally again, jealousy is an ugly stain).

“How do I know you’re not bluffing Andy?” you whispered.

“Hey hey,” he leaned nearer to your ears. “I’m new to this place and I want a couple of books and recommendations that’s all. It can get lonely at home sometimes.”

As Andy and you spoke over books, you saw he had no shred of the hostility he had in these past few weeks. Andy also noticed how you looked much more comfortable than you were initially. For the both of you a new friendship was blooming.

For now.

“What kind of books are you into Mr. Barber?”

“Well I was the thriller and mystery kind, but things have changed, looking for a change rather. Nothing old sticks on to me now.”

“Ah yes. Every reader has that phase and I have just the solution.”

He was almost puzzled when you took him to the young adults section and handed over two books or rather two parts of a beautiful story.

“Harry Potter? Isn’t that a children’s book?”

“Objection your honour!” You went on to tell him the premise of the books without spoiling much for him. It suddenly struck him that Jacob had these books at home too. But he was able to push the twinge away when he hears your sweet whispers of excitement. He did complain he has watched the movies but the bookworm in him knew that books are always better than the movies.

“Okay okay! Objection is sustained.” He laughs. A genuine laughter after what seemed like eons.

You didn’t want the conversation to end. It felt refreshing to talk to Andy and so you felt generous.

“You can drop the usual food takeout today yeah? When was the last time you had home cooked meal?

Andy thought for a while. “An awfully long time Y/N. It’s okay-“

“Dinner is at my house. No excuses.”

Andy found a little purpose to be excited in life.

–

On Mondays, Andy comes home with a bottle of wine to beat the heat of a horrid Monday morning.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Andy flaunts his cooking skills to you and Nikolai. Surprisingly, he has not lost his touch over cooking. He loved it how the little boy gets the food names all jumbled up and how, much to your embarrassment, he would ask him for food requests. Can we have Pawsta and bwed? Or Can we have spwagety?

Wednesdays and Fridays, Andy chilled out on your sofa having a tea party or fighting an alien invasion with Nikolai while you effortlessly cooked to your delight.

It’s almost become a ritual over as the weeks go by. Andy and you talk a lot, but never about each other. Both of you talk about books, or debate over politics or even talk about movies.

It was in these nights when both of you unintentionally spills the beans of your past.

First was Andy when was discussing about how he loved the Harry Potter books you suggested that the waterfall of backstories began. After dinner got over both of you sat on your couch talking about the day’s work, while Nikolai fiddled with toys on the cushioned chair. He mentioned how Jacob had these books.

“Who is Jacob?”

Andy looked ahead at Nikolai sitting at one of the comfort chairs with a couple of his figurines while his eyes fought with slumber, “My son.”

“Oh, how is he? Is he with his mother now?”

Maybe it was too soon to ask. You literally saw with your own eyes how Andy’s eyes drooped, and his figure slumped before you. It even became confusing when he shook his head slightly sideways.

Realising you may have overstepped a line, you tried to steer the conversation to another direction, but Andy blurted it out as if he needed to remind himself the truth.

“Jacob died in a car accident and his mother is in prison for the very same.”

Whispering a oh my god underneath your breath while covering your mouth didn’t stop your eyes from pricking with tears.

Andy narrated the events of the trial briefly while he grabbed the bottle of wine drinking from it directly, not getting in too detail. He mentioned how his son was dropped of all the charges and how after one vacation, everything changed. He mentioned how his now ex-wife successfully attempted to kill Jacob in a car crash because she was convinced that her son was the actual murderer.  

Andy was numb to this story (the kinder version where you didn’t know he was the son of the murderer Billy Barber) and he didn’t realise the kind of reaction it would evoke from someone who had no idea about his past. Guess he was surrounded with nosy people all his life until now.

He internally panicked to you see your tearful state.

“Andy I’m so sorry.”

In an instinct you pulled Andy to you, arms wrapped around his shoulders in a hug. Andy needed a hug so bad he may have wrapped his arms around you an inch closer while he rubbed your back in assurance. He heard your small sniffles, which made him hug you tighter.

His hoarse reassuring whispers that he was alright made you even more devastated. “Hey look Y/N. I am alright okay?”

You pulled away from his embrace in embarrassment. Andy’s heart was hard as a rock, he gave you a half-hearted smile, “God I’m such a fool sometimes. Quick to come to conclusions. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental.”

“If you’re forgetting that was me a couple of weeks back.” His gently touched your cheeks wiping a tear or two away. “Hey come on now. Tears don’t suit you momma bear.”

“So, I’m a bear now huh?”

A little giggle came out of your lips and Andy felt warm. Your mind was fluttering as Andy still stroked your cheek with his thumb. You never realised could be so soothing until a worried Nikolai tried to scramble up on both of your laps.

“Mommy why you cwying?”

“Nothing peaches. Its just-“

“I ate your mommy’s cookies Nikolai,” Andy interrupted earning a dramatic gasp from the little boy while you stifled your laughter.

“Its okay Wandi. Mommy you can take the cookies fwom my jahr. Don’t cwy mommy”

After a series of awws from the two adults, Nikolai went back to his toys. It was time for Andy to leave, standing on the threshold of your house.

“This fresh start is not happening for me at all Y/N. You have been such a wonderful person entertaining me these nights but, I still can’t sleep you know. It’s haunting.”

“Andy,” you still sniffed. “The minute the garage incident was over, that was the minute you stepped away from prying eyes. No one is going to bother you now Andy. You can start fres, infact I think you already did. You bagged a Swimming Instructor shift at the local gym, you have got a new house and most importantly, or not, is that you have Nikolai and Me.

“We all have skeletons in our closet Andy, that’s the unfortunate truth. Its not going to be easy but life has to go on because little do you know you have people depending on you.”

Andy knew you were referring to Nikolai, but for him he had no one depending on him. What was the point of moving on?

“Good night Y/N”

He only left the threshold after he realised you had placed a kiss on his cheek and gave him a hug on your tiptoes.

Another night, it was your turn.

Andy soon realised Nikolai wasn’t anywhere around the house. The toys were neatly placed, and the Television wasn’t running. Music was playing from your phone, but it was low and from the smell of it, you were cooking Chicken Lasagne, Nikolai’s favourite dish.

“Where is Niko? Is he sleeping?”

“He is with his father and the grandparents.”

The dinner went awfully quiet, sure he tried to sneak conversations here and there, but he wasn’t able to hold it. He learned how you decided to actually listen to Chad’s wishes under the conditions that his grandparents would be around. Andy saw your little smile when he learned that Nikolai was extremely reluctant to go with his father. A rational side of you didn’t want to separate Nikolai from his father.

It was while you were flipping through the channels that you broke out like a dam.

“You know Andy, what you heard that day in the library was the truth you know.”

“Niko’s father Chad?”

“It was Nikolai’s first birthday. We were all gathered at home for a small birthday party. Chad and I called in our co-workers that day. In the name of this little one everyone began drinking by around four when we scheduled the party at six.”

Andy noticed how you sardonically laughed in between.

“Before we could cut the cake, I went in search of Chad because Niko wouldn’t cut the cake without him. So, I went around searching for him because I remember Chad was kind of drunk. And then I find him in our room fucking his co-worker while he screamed her name.”

You looked below and began fidgeting with your fingernails. “The next half an hour went in a haze. The guests left. Chad and I went hysteric. We were at each other’s throat. I screamed at him and Chad somehow became sober and began to um- hit me uhm-“

You were breaking and Andy didn’t want to ask you to stop narrating. You must have trusted him enough to talk about something that you evidently found traumatic. Andy scooted closer and took your palms in his hands.

“And I didn’t even realise how I was scarring Niko. He was sitting on the couch all alone scared at our hysterics. In that half hour I- I- forgot about him. The guests were gone, and he didn’t cry. Niko just sat there with his beady eyes clutching his figurines, looking at me in horror after that bastard went up to his room like nothing mattered. I’m the reason for Nikolai’s state.”

“Hey what state Y/N?” Andy stroked your cheek; the lines of formality were blurred between you two. Right now, it was just one soul comforting another in a time of agony. “Nikolai is such perfect child. I have never seen such a brilliant three-year-old in my life.”

You whimpered, “N-Niko hates birthdays. The sight of candles on a cake make him cry and disturbed. H-his nursery is left incomplete because he has these terrible nightmares when he is left alone. He comes crying in horror even if I try to let him sleep alone for once. He always sleeps with me. W-what if I damaged him Andy? Wh-what if he likes his father more in this visit? What if he leaves me?”

You sobbed uncontrollably into Andy’s chest. He didn’t hesitate in cradling you and stroking your hair. He pulled you closer, leaning back at the couch. He waited for your crying to die down.

“You’re such an amazing mother darling,” he whispered, the loving nickname going unnoticed because it seemed so right, “So caring, so kind. Nikolai loves you, you know that right?”

He felt you nodding your head at his chest while none of you bothered to acknowledge how both of your legs were intertwined now. Andy scooted lower on the sofa, lying down with you still cradled to him.

“Chad was a fucking scoundrel okay? Anybody would have reacted like that like you did.” Andy gritted his teeth when he recalled that he hit you but suppressed his emotions because his emotions wasn’t important now. “Nikolai is going to be simply fine. When he comes back, he’s going to run into your arms and say how much he missed you and then proceed to ransack the living room with his toys.”

That genuinely made you laugh. You didn’t want to let go of Andy. His cologne was calming. His sweater shirt was soft. You even felt his little belly; he did mention he was drinking a lot of beer and whiskey when he can’t sleep in the night. It felt so intimate; it felt so right in spite the fact the neither of you are dating.

“You’re a good man Andy.”

Andy places a chaste kiss on your forehead. He saw your cheeks scrunch up, like you were blushing. His lips felt soft on your forehead, a warmth running through the both of you. Andy decided to leave but your grip on his meant something else. Looking down, he felt your soft breaths on his neck now for you tucked your head on his neck. You must be clingy he wondered, but he didn’t mind. He needed a dose of clingy looking at his current state of life.

“Good Night Y/N.”

He was supposed to get up slowly and untangle from your limbs and spread a blanket on you before he left. He was supposed to go back inside his house and have another round of sleepless nights.

Not cuddle and have a good night’s sleep peacefully with you in your soft sofa?

–

Finally, Saturdays and Sundays are the lazy days, ironically both of you don’t hang out as much on the weekends for deep inside Andy thought he was invading Nikolai and yours family time.

When Nikolai was back the next day, just like Andy had mentioned, he ran into your arms and kissed you so much. He even hugged you harder and said he didn’t want to go back to his father.

“He’s not like Wandi. Wandi likes tea pawties. Papa says tea pawties is for guhls and not for boys.”

“Peaches that’s not true, you can play tea party any time you want. You can play with me and Andy okay?”

“Yeah okay. Can we play tea pawty inside Wandi’s cahr too?”

“Niko!”

Your little boy also managed to change your mother-son ritual into a mother-son-neighbour ritual. He persisted you into calling Andy for the everyday evening picnic at the lawn. You knew your son loved Andy but a little voice asked if this was too much.

Apparently it wasn’t. Andy was extremely happy to join you and Nikolai. He kept asking if it was okay but a few reassurances later Andy joined you with a jar of  lemonade. “I may have peaked out of the window and seen your daily picnics. None of them have this baby.” (Of course he was talking about his lemonade).

“Mommi look, Wandi made lemonade! Yaaaay!”

He runs over and hugs Andy as tight as his little hands can. 

“I bake this boy five types of cookies and he falls for your lemonade? Blasphemy Andy. What are you doing to my son?” you ask him with feigned wound in your heart.

“Oh Y/N. He’s just found a new friend. Don’t be jealous now.”

Seeing your son and Andy bond made you heart make a little small wish; that Niko and you find a companion like Andy. Wishing for Andy himself is like wishing for a star. Why would this perfect man fall for a broken person like you?

Andy and you spoke while the little boy ran around the lawn with his toys and it was then his senses came alive and he took in his surroundings.

A pink stained sky; clouds imitating to be cotton candy. A beautiful house in a quaint neighbourhood. The faint smell of your warm cookies and refreshing lemonade while your son ran around. A woman of his dreams weaving her palm through the strands of her hair. This was a dreamland.

And in that moment, he scooted near you and he entwined his hands into yours. You were perplexed at what he was doing but you went with the flow. He wanted his utopia.

“Andy? What are you-“

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

After a few minutes later, your answer gave all the reassurance that he finally got his fresh start; that he can finally start a new life without the demons in the closet.

Right?

–

Part 3

–

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[cl-01-kestis]

Incorrect Morals

Dismay - Grand Admiral Thrawn x Rebel!Reader | Part 7

Summary: You receive a call from Thrawn once again and spend the night getting lost in conversation, and after a tense negotiation with a team of rebels, you get stuck in a sticky situation with Kallus.

Warnings: slight romance, angst (literally all these chapters have angst i-) (I’m also sorry to all of you Kalluzeb shippers. I do ship it very much but it isn’t a thing in this story 🥺)

-

Chiss translations:

Ch'ah tsucarah = I promise

Rab nor rah vah k'ir ch'at rihn? = but only if you do the same?

Ch'ah csarcican't, k'ir nah can'a about ch'ah = I will, don’t worry about me

Ch'ah’ll can'a about vah veah ch'otco veah ch'ah ran'as, non ch'pae = I’ll worry about you as much as I want, now go

It was 10:45 PM.

The sky dimmed into a pitch black and Omani had gone to bed due to how mentally and physically exhausted she was, mostly because of the journey and the fact she had seen her dad in person for the first time and her mind wouldn’t shut up about it. As for you, you had just gotten out of the shower. It had been a long day and your visit to Naboo had been cut short due to obvious circumstances and you felt the need to clean up.

You stood in front of the comunual refresher mirror, drying your hair with a spare towel you had lying about as your body was on full show. No one used the refreshers at this time of night so you didn’t necessarily need to cover up.

You brought your bag to the showers since you went in a refresher as soon as you undressed from your Senator outfit. You scrubbed your hair and body, unable to shake the feeling of anxiety off your skin as you washed yourself under the cold water.

The towel soaked up all the water on your body as you dried your hair and flung the towel around your shoulder. Your body was cold against the cool air coming into the showers, but you found it pleasant, it made you feel comfortable. You brushed your hair and put on clean briefs and a black sports bra after putting deodorant on. The towel was still draped around your shoulders and neck, catching whatever water droplets left your strands of hair and making sure none of them soaked your bra. You slid your legs through a pair of black leggings, shimmying your hips into them and bending your legs slightly so they could adjust and not fall down.

You shuffled around in your bag and grabbed ahold of your holo device, switching it on as you washed your face in the mirror. You scrolled through the news articles that came up on the holonet, nothing too exciting was going on at the moment apart from the galactic war. A twi’lek presenter was broadcasting the daily reports for the New Republic, her face plastered with a fake smile as she read off the papers sorted nearly in front of her. You watched with a bored expression, listening in loosely as you put on some deodorant and whistled a small song to yourself.

As you rubbed your hair with the towel some more, a small incoming call notification popped up on your holo device and you stopped to look and inspect the number with squinted eyes. It was Thrawn.

Sighing to yourself, you accept the call and turn around to make sure no one’s coming in as his holo image illuminated in front of you on the bathroom sink. You were met with a tired looking Thrawn, now wearing a white long sleeved T-shirt and his hair no longer layered by gel. You looked at one another for a brief second, Thrawn’s scarlet eyes looking down at your torso and realising you were wearing only a sports bra before returning his gaze to yours in a respectful manner, he made no comment.

“Hello again,” Thrawn managed a small, warm smile. You repeated his actions and let the corner of your lip curl up as you ruffled your hair some more with the towel and placed it on the counter of sinks after.

“Hey” You mumbled back, resting your palms on the edge of the sink just so you had something to lean on. Your posture was relaxed but your shoulders seemed tense, that’s what Thrawn noticed as you rolled your neck around your shoulders to relieve some tension. You looked stressed.

“I want to apologise for today, I didn’t realise you were going to be attending” He sighed, fumbling with the hem of his T-shirt sleeves as he kept his eyes on you, doing his best not to look away out of shame. You shook your head, turning around so your hips leaned against the sink.

“It’s alright, I’m not judging you for doing your job” You noted, crossing your arms and smiling in an assuring manner at Thrawn who took some relief towards that, his body relaxing slightly as his eyes grew soft.

“I do feel embarrassed though, I also want to apologise for Pryce” He continued, causing you to cringe and frown at the mentioning of that woman’s name.

“Don’t be sorry for someone who isn’t; you don’t need to cover up her tracks, she worked beside me a few times back when I was an Imperial after all, so I know what kind of person she is” You corrected Thrawn quickly, gaze turning fierce and angry but it wasn’t directed towards him. Your face scrunched up in displeasure for a moment, hands clutching at your bare upper arms and trying to ignore the rising frustration building up inside you.

“She is... dull to work with, so I don’t blame you” Thrawn’s words made you chuckle and nod in agreement, your eyes unconsciously staring at him for a bit too long until you quickly cleared your throat and ran a hand through your scalp.

“It was a pleasant surprise to see you today” Your words projected veracity, and Thrawn felt his heart beat flare up in anticipation at that single comment, even if it wasn’t a massive one. He bit back a smile and nodded his head.

“As with you, Rcati,” Thrawn beamed, some strands of loose navy hair falling in front of his eyes that made your heart skip a beat, or were you just imagining things?

“I must admit, you looked very beautiful, I can’t recall ever seeing you in a dress” Thrawn leaned back with the support of his arms, it made you realise he wasn’t sitting in his chair but maybe the floor? You weren’t sure, but it certainly wasn’t his chair.

“Dresses aren’t my thing, I only need to wear them for the Senate to make a ‘positive impression’” You used your two fingers on each hand to make a sarcastic emphasis on the last part, and it warmed your heart to see Thrawn chuckle in response.

“I know the feeling, it’s all about positive impressions now a days. But how has it been? Being a Senator?” Thrawn looked more and more excited the more he spoke and asked you things, his eyes sparkled with interest and his mouth never stopped curling up as he looked right at you. You reminded yourself that this was the real Thrawn you were talking to, not the Thrawn you saw back at the Senate. As scary as he could he, this was as real as he could get, and you were grateful he showed this side of himself to you, even after years of not speaking to him. The trust was still there.

“It’s been tiring, I’ve not been working recently but all the travelling and meeting new people really drains you” You answered frankly, scratching the back of your neck as Thrawn hummed softly. He seemed to study you in a subtle sense as you awaited his answer, he trapped his chin between his thumb and index finger and his eyes stayed unfocused for a few seconds.

“You hate both of those things, i genuinely can’t believe you took a career as a Senator- I mean, you dreamed of being a soldier your whole life, why not do that with the rebels?” Thrawn’s voice held interest as he tilted his head slightly and a few more strands of his hair fell on his forehead. Thrawn frowned and tried fixing the hairs but gave up soon after they kept falling on his face. You noticed it now, Thrawn’s hair was longer than it was when you worked with him at the Empire. He had it cut much shorter, but now it was at least a few inches longer. Of course it wasn’t as long as his hair used to be on Csilla, but you’d give a lot to see him with that hair again. He suited it more than you wanted to admit.

“The reason is our daughter, and I’m too busy to be a soldier now. The fear of dying in battle and leaving Omani alone terrifies me, I could never do that to her... I’m the only person she has at the moment” Your voice lowered the more you spoke, gaze drifting off to think about the scenario you feared most. Thrawn nodded his head, understanding what you were getting at and doing his best to try and emotionally sympathise with you.

He wasn’t good at emotions, he never was. He feared weakness, and made little to no efforts to connect with anyone in the Empire what so ever. It was a cold life for him, but now he felt he had to do something, anything, to connect with you. He never realised it until you left, but Thrawn liked you, a lot, and not just for the sex or company. If anything, he loved you. And the thought of you disappearing again made him nauseous, completely sick to his stomach with anxiety, and that was something he had never experienced before. Pure and utter dread.

“That’s a fair point, I wouldn’t want her being left alone” Thrawn returned his gaze to you and he took his time to study you until you looked back at him. Your body hadn’t changed that much since he last saw it, but he noticed the stretch marks peeking out of the hem of your leggings, it was obviously from your pregnancy. The sight made his heart swoon.

If there’s one thing Chiss are always proud of, it’s having a family and a mother or father to have their kin. Thrawn’s gotten so used to the fact he was a father throughout the last few days, he forgot about all the worries and concerns he had about the Empire just by looking at Omani’s face. He didn’t even know her, hell, he didn’t even know she existed until recently, but he already felt so much pride. That was his daughter, a daughter that you gave him. And the thought of you looking after Omani for so long, and risking so much to keep her safe, made Thrawn utterly fall in love with you. Not that he wasn’t in love with you before.

“She was at the Senate today as well, wasn’t she?” Thrawn raised a brow, bending his knee up to rest his elbow on it. Okay, he was definitely sitting on the floor, or his bed maybe.

“She was, she saw you and freaked out” You chuckled, making the situation more lighthearted and trying to avoid telling Thrawn about how scared she was, you didn’t want him becoming guilty.

Thrawn sighed. “She smiled at me though, I guess that’s a starting point”. Your smile widened at his comment.

“Omani will come around eventually, hopefully when the war ends, then maybe-“ maybe we could be a family. You cut yourself off before you said anything else, wincing internally after realising you said too much and would probably be questioned by Thrawn about it. Your face was hot with embarrassment and you cleared your throat to waft away the tension.

“Maybe...?” Thrawn persuaded with curiosity, leaning forward and raising his other leg up so he was sitting more comfortably. You looked away from Thrawn and pinched the bridge of your nose, waving away his comment and trying not to get butt hurt about thinking too much about what you desired more than anything in the world.

“Just getting ahead of myself, that’s all” Your voice was quiet but clear enough for the Chiss to hear. You sniffed but no tears were in your eyes, thankfully for your sake. But that didn’t stop Thrawn from wondering desperately what was on your mind. He practically knew you when you were a baby, your parents knew his very well and he bonded with you the moment he met you; him being 5 years old and you, a new born. But when you became an adult, he wanted to know what you were thinking, what you were perhaps feeling, maybe - and hopefully - feelings towards him? He could never crack you, and now he was faced with the same issue.

“I won’t push, but whatever it is, it’s obviously bothering you” You sucked in a breath at Thrawn’s statement. He was right, he knew he was. Were you ready to tell him though? You only spoke to him once before now, after 14 years, but somehow your feelings for him have never changed. If anything they’ve grown stronger now that you’ve got a direct link; Omani.

“It is bothering me, and it has for the longest time... but I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just yet” You clutched the edge of the sink and ground your teeth, afraid you said too much all together. You felt like keeping your feelings from him was unfair, he done nothing but tell the truth to you and he proved his loyalty to you after saving you and Omani at the Senate. He might have been Empire, but you and Omani being rebels didn’t stop him from protecting either of you from harms way.

“Do you... remember the nights I’d come over to your office, and we’d just talk? Sex or not, but just... being in each other’s company?” It was a strange question, you knew it, but Thrawn wasn’t confused by what you were getting at, he nodded his head and urged you to continue. You chewed the inside of your cheek nervously and raised your hand up to your mouth to bite at your nails. Thrawn noticed this and reached out on the hologram, his blue, illuminated hand reaching out but unfortunately going right through you. He flinched back, his hand slowly returning to his side and his expression falling.

“Those were some of the best memories of my time at the Empire, with you, and only you” You looked at Thrawn with pure sincerity and he knew instantly you were telling the truth. His throat went dry at your confession and for a second he had no clue how to reply, your words caught him so off guard but he didn’t waste too much time coming up with words to respond with.

“The feeling is mutual, Rcati, you’re the only person I’ve really confided in” Thrawn looked conflicted as he let the words slip through his teeth, the hands you weren’t able to see below the hologram were clenched and his knuckles were light blue. He was struggling to get his emotions out, but he loved to hear you do it.

You said nothing in reply to his comment, you only smiled at him. Looking at you now, Thrawn thought you were stunning. You were glowing as you looked at him with such emotion, the tears visible in your eyes even though none of them spilled and the breathtaking smile covering up half of your face. It truly was a wonderful sight to see, it made him realise for the first time in years that he really needed something like this. The Empire was a tough place to work in, he never knew how much he needed you to keep him afloat until this very moment, even the moments before on the hologram.

You were his life, and you always had been, but he was sad that he was only realising that now. He had known you since birth, known you for 42 whole years and now did he know you were his reason. His reason for what? Life. To carry on. To push through the war until it was over and hopefully see you after it was all over. Omani as well. Maker, he needed Omani just as much as he needed you.

“What’s on your mind?” The Chiss asked in a small, quiet voice, as if someone outside was passing by his chamber door. You ruffled your hair once again with the discarded towel on the sink and rolled your neck around your shoulders, sighing pleasantly at the released tension.

“Us” You answered in a hushed whisper, your mouth snapping shut after the word slipped through your teeth and made it’s way to Thrawn’s attention. He smiled at your reply, looking down shyly at his clasped hands before peeking back up, his scarlet gaze piercing right through you. You felt exposed but you didn’t want to hide, he had seen through you many times before.

“Same with me” He seemed to lean in closer through the hologram, you got a sense you were leaning in too and trying to kiss him, but the distant echo of Rebels chatting to each other caused you to whip your head around to the entrance of the comunual showers. Thrawn seemed to hear it as well and his once calm expression was replaced with a disappointed frown. He wasn’t worried of getting caught, he was pissed your time was cut short.

“I have to go” You whispered, looking back to Thrawn with eyes full of reluctance. He nodded once, running a hand through his face and closing his eyes momentarily, you genuinely thought for a second he done that on purpose just to rouse you up, but you brushed it off your shoulder and cleared your throat.

“Till next time, Rcati ton” Thrawn smirked, his fingers still tangled in the back of his scalp as he leaned forward to the holo device to hang up.

“W-wait” You called out just before he hung up, his gaze raised on you once again and he bit back a smile.

“Take care of yourself, for me?” You blushed, head hung low but your eyes were still connected to his. Thrawn’s face softened and he sent you a small curt nod. “Ch'ah tsucarah” He spoke softly, catching you off guard slightly with his sudden use of Cheunh but you chuckled softly in reply.

“Rab nor rah vah k'ir ch'at rihn?” Thrawn tilted his head to the side, his hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck which stood on edge, he wasn’t anxious, he was just excited at the interaction between you.

“Ch'ah csarcican't, k'ir nah can'a about ch'ah” You chuckled.

“Ch'ah’ll can'a about vah veah ch'otco veah ch'ah ran'as, non ch'pae” Thrawn ushered in a quiet voice, laughing softly as he spoke which made you too laugh.

“Till next time, Mitth’rawn’nuruodo” You nodded, eventually tapping the red button to end the call and feeling a part of yourself leave with Thrawn the moment the bright blue glow of the hologram disappeared, leaving you alone in the refreshers once again and in the unpleasant white light on the ceiling.

-

“So we’ve got squadrons coming in left and right, we should relocate our star fleet to somewhere where the Empire doesn’t find our base” You said in a clear voice to those standing around the holo table, including Kallus and Zeb, who had recently returned from a mission with the Phoenix squadron. Hera was standing nearby, listening into the negotiation which you were the chairman of currently, listening in to people’s different ideas and hopefully coming to a mutual conclusion.

Kallus was recording down everything being said, typing frantically on his data pad and gathering all of the different ideas from everyone so you could look into it after the meeting and hopssully come up with an idea to settle things. He was a busy man, he worked his ass off and you noticed how much he cared for this rebellion.

He never changed throughout the years, even if he was a cold hearted Imperial once, so were you. You had your fair share of horrid deeds that you certainly weren’t proud of, and neither was Kallus. But you Teo seemed to be like two peas in a pod when it came to planning meetings and getting a mutual agreement. He was your right arm, always.

“I think we should take the fleet outside of the outer rim” Someone came forward, a young zabrak female with full suited soldier uniform and a sniper attached to her back.

“That might be a good idea, but the outer rim has more New Republic ally’s than outside of it. Still, I shall record that down- Kallus” You regarded the blonde man standing opposite you at the table, his dark eyes focused on you in a way you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You held your stare on him for a moment longer than necessary, before turning your attention back to the zabrak who smiled at you, grateful you took her suggestion into consideration.

“Any other ideas?” You asked, eyes looking around the table in one quick glance before turning to Kallus who pursed his lips at the sudden silence that fell on the group.

“I-uh, pardon me for asking Senator, but weren’t you at the Senate negotiations on Naboo yesterday?” A young rebel man raised his hand with a polite expression on his face. You tensed at his question and nodded.

“Is it true? Was Grand Admiral Thrawn really there?” Another rebel asked with a peeked interest, desperation to know about the events that took place yesterday, the events you were trying so hard to stop thinking about. Kallus’ eyes widened and he felt himself tense for you, this wasn’t going to end as well as you and him had planned.

“It’s true” You sighed, resting your hands on the edge of the holo table and trying your best not to look too uncomfortable about the conversation.

“Woah, how did you get out?” The same rebel asked with a look of astonishment, but you didn’t budge. Your face stayed stone cold and you exchanged an uneasy glance with Kallus who cleared his throat and adjusted his T-shirt collar.

“Save those questions for later, I need you all to focus on the fleet, please” You insisted, hitting your hand slightly on the table with your teeth clenched.

From afar, Kanan and Hera looked at one another, knowing fine well what was going on in your head the moment Thrawn’s name was mentioned. The two of them heard about the events at the Senate, and how you were the one who managed to get Thrawn to prevent any arrests from happening. There had been chatter around the rebel base, and Hera was fearing for you. If your secrets got out, you would be untrustworthy amongst the rebels. And that was the last thing she wanted for you, especially with Omani by your side.

“Meeting dismissed, I shall look at the suggestions and come up with something, for the time being please go and get some rest, it’s late” You waved away all of the rebels who had joined the meeting, bidding them farewell with smiles and nods of the head. Kallus stayed with you and walked around the table once the rebels were away, resting a hand on your shoulder and waiting for you to say something. Instead of words, you unexpectedly grabbed Kallus and wrapped your arms around him, tears brimming at your eyes and lip quivering as you gripped onto his jacket and sniffed. Kallus froze for a second but placed his data pad on the holo table, wrapping his strong arms around you tight and raising a hand to stroke your head.

“It’s alright, shh...” He soothed, rubbing your back and holding onto you as you fought back an army’s tears that started to spill down your face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been really stressful recently” You cried softly, holding onto Kallus for dear life as he leaned his chin on the top of your head and closed his eyes, the smallest crease next to his eyebrow as he listened to your sobs.

“You don’t need to apologise for anything, just let it out” He encouraged, continuing to stroke your head and doing his best to comfort you.

Leaning back, you looked up at Kallus with glossy eyes, cheeks stained with fallen tears and face hot with humiliation. Kallus cupped your cheek, studying your face before frowning at your state and sighing.

“What’s got you so worked up? Is it Thrawn?” Kallus asked with calm articulation, his hands keeping you in place as you wiped away your tears and nodded your head weakly. You couldn’t verbally say anything in fears you would start crying, and Kallus seemed to understand that. Beneath the worried expression on his face, he was angry. He knew he was going for the wrong person, he knew you’d never be over Thrawn.

But he loved you, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Ever since Kallus met you on the grounds of the Imperial Palace 16 years ago, far before you fell pregnant, he was smitten with you. Even if he was a higher rank than you, and trained you, and was meant to see you as a mere soldier and nothing more, Kallus always had a soft spot for you.

“I’m going to regret this” Kallus murmured, right before pressing his lips against yours and causing you to freeze in his arms. Your eyes shot wide open, you weren’t expecting this at all. His actions were so sudden and the feeling of his lips against yours made your brain cloud over with endless thoughts. It was nice being kissed, it always had been, but this wasn’t right.

Even though it wasn’t as good as a kiss from Thrawn, you closed your eyes and kissed him back, maybe just to feel something aside from the stress. You hesitantly cupped Kallus’ cheek and tapped it a few times, signalling for him to pull away. You didn’t want the kiss to go any further, you didn’t want to lead him on, and by the looks of it he knew what he had done was a mistake.

“That was nice” You commented with an assuring smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb and making him chuckle awkwardly at your words.

“I’m sorry, I felt like if I didn’t do that any sooner I’d beat myself up” He hung his head low, frowning and probably mentally strangling himself, but you didn’t like the way he looked so sad. He knew you didn’t feel the same way towards him, maybe you did like Kallus, but you weren’t over Thrawn. Either way, you tilted his chin up and kissed him once more. The blonde man sighed against your lips and closed his eyes momentarily before grabbing your hand and taking it away from his face, eventually pulling back once again and frowning.

“What was that for?” Kallus raised a brow, looking confused but also amused at the same time.

“I wanted to even things out” You smiled, nudging him playfully to try and get rid of some of the tension surrounding you both. He seemed to be pleased by your comment and laughed. The sting of rejection was soothed by your kindness and Kallus realised that you didn’t feel any different about your friendship with him. But still, it hurt.

“Are we gonna have to start giving each other goodnight kisses now? Cuz if so-“ You joked.

“No, don’t be silly- unless that’s what you want of course” Kallus joked back with a relaxing demeanour. You rolled your eyes at his comment and shoved him playfully, eventually bringing him in for a hug once again and feeling shitty for not feeling the same towards Kallus.

“Well that was weird” Hera whispered to Kanan and Zeb who were watching from afar. The two men nodded in agreement, confused stares on their faces as they watched you depart from the ex-ISB agent and make your way to your chambers.

How weird, indeed.

[nagisasstunningpersonality]

Korosuu Translation - Chapter One

Some notes before we begin: 

This is the only piece of official Ass Class content that - to my knowledge - is not translated anywhere. It doesn’t look like anyone has any plans to, so I’ve decided to take the task upon myself. This book is kind of like the korotans, but teaches maths instead of English. It also has a Chiba and Hayami focused short story, which is what I will translate here.

I am not fluent in Japanese. I’m a mere university student who has been studying for about two years now. Whilst I feel confident enough to get the general meanings of things, I have had to use a dictionary pretty heavily with this and some word meanings and grammar parts might be incorrect. I’m only making this because I want people to be able to enjoy the book, so it’s no professional calibre translation and I please ask that you take everything with a pinch of salt. I know there are mistakes and sentences that don’t feel right, but I think you can still get the general meaning.  

The tenses are weird because Matsui kind of wrote them that way, and I generally decided not to alter them. This is my first time translating prose (I’ve only done manga panels in the past), so I’m not sure if this is a common thing in Japanese books or not. 

Whilst I’ve naturalised some sentences, others are a little more hard for me to reword so a prewarning that they may come across as a little stiff and awkward in parts. I’m still learning with this. 

Okay now that’s out of the way, the chapter! 

Chapter One - Invisible Sniper Time

During the usual E Class’ usual lunch break, Chiba Ryuunosuke, Okajima Taiga, and also Takebayashi Kotarou are gathered together, and are enjoying chatting as usual. This was the usual scenery that happened every day.

However, the usual atmosphere was a little different that day. The trigger was something that Chiba murmured.

“That’s why Chiba, you’ve tried that method over and over again, yeah? I realised that it wouldn’t be enough, so right now I’m using it in combinations with other methods.” Okajima said with a dumbfounded face, whilst holding a camera.

“I get it, that’s why I wondered if you could do it.” Chiba answered in a way that might seem blunt to people who he didn’t know. Since he covered his eyes with long bangs, he was easily misunderstood by a few people, but his close classmates knew that with the same old warmth, he was a cool and collected guy.

Takebayashi heard that, and points out whilst fixing his glasses with his index finger “if you snipe with a single shot, the sound of fire will always arrive before the bullet. Korosensei will sense the trajectory in the direction of the sound and easily avoid it. Afterall, he’s a Mach 20 monster.”

“What are you talking about?” They were interrupted by Hayami Rinka. Alongside Chiba, she’s the girl with the highest sniper results.

“Nah, Chiba was saying there isn’t a way to assassinate Korosensei with just a sniper.” When Takebayashi answered, Hayami tilted her head.

That assassination had been tried many times by Chiba and two people. There were shooting results from the two top participants. However, it all failed due to the reason Takebayashi said, and the superhuman ability of the target teacher. A simple sniper alone cannot kill him first. That should be the conclusion made between the two of them.

Chiba saw Hayami’s expression and immediately understood her thoughts, and then connected them to words. “I know it’s impossible, but it feels regrettable to do nothing like this.”

“Yeah,” Hayami nodded.

“Class, please listen.” Karasuma Tadaomi entered the classroom, and stood on the platform as he spoke to everyone on the spot. “I’ll tell you whilst he’s gone. The government has hired a new assassin.”

They weren’t surprised, because this wasn’t the first time. The government has hired professional assassins several times, but it was the usual pattern to give advance notice when there was a risk of involving the students in the E Class.

“Karasuma Sensei, what type of assassin is coming this time?” Kataoka Megu, who was chatting close by, asks.

“A slightly famous person. According to the source, they’re called the ‘Legendary Sniper’.” When Karasuma answered, Chiba and Hayami’s faces immediately perked up.

“A nickname without a twist…” Okajima forces a smile.

“Their exaggerated name means they’re not ashamed of their great skill. In everything, they seem to have succeeded in sniping many times from an impossible position.”

“Impossible position?” Takebayashi shook his head at Karasuma’s words.

“If I’m talking specifics, they would be behind the building, but still hit the target on the other side with a bullet. Of course, without shooting through the glass or anything like that. Is that an interested face?” The last word that Karasuma spoke was directed to Chiba and Hayami, not Takebayashi.

The pair nodded at the same time.

“From this standpoint, you can’t help too much, but there’s probably something you can investigate. Especially for you two and the others, it might be a reference for future assassination?”

“I don’t think there’s any reference if the sniper kills Korosensei.”

At the sound of Takebayashi’s voice, Karasuma shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so. He can’t be killed by a human who doesn’t even know him at all. Even if this opponent is called the Legendary Sniper. Isn’t it better for you?”

-

Gathering information had never been so difficult. They searched their smart phones and their own laptops for sniper related incidents in the international news, and found many such articles. Most of it was written in English, but thanks to Nakamura Rio, who was close by to Takebayashi, it didn’t take long to read.

“That’s exactly what Karasuma Sensei said… Look at this, they were shot between the bullet proof limousine door the instant it opened. The line of fire should have been from this direction.” Chiba lifts the screen of the laptop he was looking at. Right there, there was an article that said the leader of a criminal organisation was assassinated under strict vigilance.

“Is that difficult?”

When Okajima looked at the screen, Chiba nodded.

“It seemed that it they were surrounded by bodyguards when they got out of the limousine, and the building they were trying to enter was an organisational building. There is no sniping point you can use to shoot into a limousine from over there.”

“Is it possible to hide and shoot?” Additionally, Okajima leant over.

Chiba shook his head. “They were only about ten meters away from the building. No matter how well they hid, they were probably able to shoot at such a distance. But this article isn’t sure where this sniper was.”

“That’s also true. They were shot from the front of the building whilst the police force were guarding. Not only the front, but all surrounding buildings were closed, and they were being monitored from above.” Hayami was looking at a case in Europe where a top enterprise was shot.

“The headline is also ‘A Magician’s Work? The Fear of the Invisible Sniper’. If this is a tabloid paper, I won’t do it anymore,” Nakamura said, looking at his laptop over Hayami’s shoulder.

“I found a number of different articles dealing the same case, so it seems like it really happened.”

“That’s right. But doing this is refreshing, hmm.”

Hayami thinks about Nakamura’s words.

“Hey, look at this. ‘Strangely, the bullets found on the scene were spherical, reminiscent of muskets’. Could this not be a hint?” At the point where Nakamura pointed, there was an English sentence she translated, and a small photo next to it was a silver bullet like a pachinko ball placed side by side with a rifle bullet for comparison.

Chiba also leaned to look at Hayami’s smart phone, and gave a big nod.

“Yeah, it helps, Nakamura. I think this is probably a really big hint.” Chiba, who usually doesn’t express many emotions, gazed at the screen whilst speaking with an unusually warm tone.

“Hey~, what have you been doing for so long?” Kurahashi Hinano called from behind Nakamura. When they explained clearly, Kurahashi replied with a smile. “Huh, it looks interesting doesn’t it? So, did you understand anything?”

“Originally, there isn’t enough information in online articles. I think we need to do something more.” Takebayashi answered.

Chiba nodded whilst Takebayashi was speaking.

“Right?” Kurahashi’s face perked up as she looked at Takebayashi’s laptop.

“If that’s the case, why don’t we go to the article and look at them?”

“That’s a good idea, but it’s all about Europe and America… right?” After answering Nakamura, Chiba looked at his own smartphone and frowned. “This article is in English, but it looks like the scene is in Japan.”

“What happened?” Nakamura used the smartphone and clicked on the screen that appeared. “Ah, there was also an article in Japanese. It looks like they did it for the news. It’s in Shibuya, Tokyo. It looks like they wrote about a mafia boss of the international expanding yakuza.”

“It’s decided~ This weekend, let’s have a picnic at the crime scene in Shibuya!!” Kurahashi pounded her hands on the table.

That’s the end! It took me quite a while to do this, so don’t expect the next chapter right away! I’ll try my best to complete the whole book, though! 

Chapter two

My comments under the cut 

I don’t really get why Karma and Nagisa are in the illustration, when they’re literally not even mentioned lmao. 

Karasuma acts like this is a regular thing? That they just get random assassins joining their class every now and then? I guess it’s OC time for those wanting to write missing episode fics! 

It’s really nice to get some proper Chiba and Hayami dialogue, I hope this will be helpful to those who want to write them. I also love the dynamic of Nakamura joining in. 

It seems like the students bring their own laptops to class? That’s an interesting canon addition. 

And can we just have a moment to talk about Kurahashi? Literally slapping the fucking table in excitement at the prospect of having an assassination picnic? Incredible. We stan. 

[groovybaybee]

Greener - II

Greener - I

(4.2k)

cw: mentions of abuse (not this chapter and nothing too intense but better safe than sorry) also alcohol consumption

There are moments in life that conjure up intense emotion any time you think about them. Happy or sad, whenever your mind flicks through its rolodex of memories and lands on it, you feel that moment come to life. You brain must have logged every detail of that time and packed it away in the back of your brain for you to stumble upon later down the road. Your mind takes you back to that moment and brings your senses along with it. My mother always reaches for these moments in times of strife, dipping her hand into a lucky dip of ‘happy places’ and allowing the sensation to wash over her. Her favourite is a family holiday to Spain, sipping ice-cold drinks as we swung our legs in the chilly waters of the pool below us.

 Not all the moments I remember are so positive, but I feel them just as strongly. Instead, I created my own ‘happy place’ to escape to whenever I felt overwhelmed.

 I stand, waist-deep, in warm water. Waves lap around me, hugging and kissing my naked skin as I breathe gently under the moonlight. The sky above me is clear and an audience of stars shine down on me. I bare my soul to the universe and feel love and appreciation in return. The night sky watches over me as I let my eyes close, leaning my head back, chin high. My shoulders relax more than they ever have as a warm but refreshing breeze wraps around me, hugging me tightly. I hear trees rustle somewhere behind me, whispering sweet sentences to one another as the sand beneath my feet reaches my ankles, anchoring me securely to the world, grounding and protecting me from floating away.

 I let my eyes open and I am back in my kitchen. No gentle breezes or salty air. Just my kitchen, with its colourful, mismatching crockery and photographs blu-tacked to the wall. However, there is a clear change in the room since the time I shut my eyes tightly, my chest feels looser, my throat no longer feels as though it is closing, and my breathing has slowed drastically.

 Raising my phone from my side, I return to the source of my sudden panic.

A news article, forwarded from my manager, Jim, a simple ‘Didn’t know you were dating’ preceded the link to the website. Of course, he was joking, not realising the stress I was about to feel.

 Quickly clicking the link, I remind myself to breathe deep and slow as I am redirected to a webpage.

 BACK ON THE HORSE? HARRY STYLES SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

Hunky heartthrob, Harry Styles, caught canoodling outside hot Los Angeles restaurant, Spago. Despite reportedly having only split with model ex-girlfriend, Camille Rowe, a mere two months ago, the pop sensation was witnessed cosying up to a new woman.

 I am skim-reading at this point, desperate to get to the end with some shred of mental stability. My eyes land on the articles singular piece of ‘evidence’, a video taken from across the street. It begins with Harry and I talking and laughing outside the restaurant, follows us as we migrate closer to one another, my head thrown back in laughter before we are nearly pressed together. I had not realised quite how close we had gotten. The video ends when Harry and I are blocked from view, Harry’s car obstructing the camera’s line of sight. No one would be able to tell we did not kiss. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably as I read the video’s caption.

 Keep it in your pants guys!

 It is all a little dramatic. A small part of me wants to laugh at the way this has all been exaggerated and made into a big deal. That amusement fizzles as I continue to read the article, pausing after reading the final line.

 All this has us wondering, has Harry really moved on so quickly?

 Good question.

 Quickly replying to my manager, I send the words ‘Blind date’, before glancing at the comments beneath the article.

 Big mistake.

 Despite the article not naming me directly, not something I am shocked or offended by as Harry is clearly the more famous of the two of us, the comment section of the webpage has not mirrored the same unawareness. Almost every comment mentions me by name, the majority questioning how we even know each other.

 I allow myself to be sucked into the vortex of curiosity, taking in every opinion possible. Many of the replies to the news make it clear that they do not know who I am, and therefore that is reason enough for me to be nowhere near Harry. A lot of comments debate whether or not Harry has fully dealt with his breakup, suggesting that this was a PR move to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. I make the mistake of googling her.

 Well I don’t think the jealousy tactic is likely to be effective.

 She is stunning. A French model. Could I be more of a cliched parallel to her? I try not to compare the two of us, however, a few comments bring attention to the bloat of my stomach and it becomes very difficult not to feel vulnerable after that. It was a blind date. Harry and I were set up. That is the only reason he would ever look at me twice.

 But he wants to see me again.

 I cling to that thought and close the webpage on my phone, pocketing it and deciding fresh air is what I need. Stepping through the patio doors of my house, I peek out into the sunshine, letting the warm rays soak into me instantly. The small house is built on a hill, the garden demonstrating this the most as it is split into two grassy tiers. I walk up the concrete steps until I reach the patio furniture at the top. Sitting myself on one of the wooden chairs, I take a second to appreciate the view; the back of my house shaded by the incline of the hill which allows me to peer over the top of my roof and look out at the hills. As a kid, I had pictured living somewhere warm enough for palm trees, now I am able to watch them arc in the wind.

 I did this, and this is far more important than a few words. I am alive, I am good, and I am kind.

 Pressing my toes into the soft, cool grass beneath me, I slip my phone out of my pocket and compose a text.

 Sat in my garden and I reckon the view would be fun to paint, fancy it?

 The soft yellowy horizon gives me a sense of security as the evening creeps in. There is so much beauty in the world and I am glad I took the time to sit out here rather than obsessing over some meaningless gossip. It will all blow over and people will either forget about us or realise that we are not actually together. A small smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine pinning this on Lucy and using it as an excuse to get a free drink out of her.

 My phone vibrates twice against the wooden table.

 I love that idea. Tomorrow work? (I’ll bring wine) – Harry

 I cannot help but grin at the small screen, quickly typing a reply.

 4pm? Catch the last of the sun that way. Also you don’t have to keep signing off!

 Only a few seconds after placing my phone back down on the table, I have to pick it back up to read his latest message.

 Sounds perfect. It’s harder to stop than you’d think – Harry

 Giggling at him, I lock my phone and set it down, excitement pooling in the bottom of my stomach. This time tomorrow Harry will be sat beside me, paint-covered and maybe a little bit tipsy. I make a quick mental note to go shopping for food to line our stomachs, not wanting to let him be exposed to my drunken self just yet.

 I spend the next day getting my house presentable, or at least as tidy as possible despite the numerous large, brown boxes which clutter my living room. I also spend the day doing errands, shopping for food and drinks Harry might like (probably going a bit overboard and buying enough options for five people rather than two), and picking up some art supplies for the two of us.

 Once home, I unpack the groceries, setting some of them out on plates and dishes, making an attempt at a charcuterie board I had seen on Pinterest the night before. Setting up the area we would be spending the most time in, I move the two small canvases I purchased earlier outside, along with paints and brushes and cups of water for rinsing. It seems a little bit amateur, but I do not have time to dwell as Harry texts me that he is just leaving his house and will be here in half an hour.

 Dashing back inside, I take the speediest shower of my life just to freshen up and rinse the day away. Chastising myself for my lack of planning ahead, I smear on a touch of makeup and quickly style my hair. I am still pulling on a pair of dungarees, clipping the straps into place, when I open the front door.

 “Hi,” I greet breathlessly.

 Harry is already smiling when I meet his gaze, looking down at me with an infectious grin. I allow myself a second to drink him in. Obviously, he is dressed more casually than two days ago, dressed in a simple but figure-hugging black t-shirt, a golden chain peeking out from underneath. Alongside them, he is wearing a pair of brown, straight-leg corduroy trousers. He looks good. It should not surprise me, but it does anyway.

 “Hi,” he offers brightly.

 Stepping aside to let him enter, I try not to check him out, mentally telling myself that I am still not certain where he stands re us kissing each other’s faces off. Probably for the best to err on the side of caution.

 Closing the door behind him, I walk us through the living room and to the adjoining kitchen, feeling a tad embarrassed by my decorating style. Splashes of colour litter the house, the walls are mostly covered in photographs, interesting drawings and potted plants.

 “When did you move in?” Harry asks, noticing the stack of boxes. My heart pangs slightly at the question but I try not to let the dread within shine through.

 “Few months now, I’m just terrible at unpacking,” It is not a total lie, so I do not feel totally bad about it. There is, however, a small part of me that resents not being completely honest with him about why a certain box remains closed and sealed. “I might have gone overboard with snacks, so please eat anything you want,” I tell him when we reach the kitchen and he sees the spread I had laid out.

 Suddenly, it all feels like too much and heat prickles my cheeks in embarrassment as I watch Harry eye the full countertops. I had bought far too much and probably seem incredibly eager. Bread touched three types of meat, touched three types of cheese, touched olives, touched sundried tomatoes. There was another plate full of fruit, washed and sliced and displayed daintily in concentric circles. Then there was the bags of crisps, pretzels, biscuits, and chocolate buttons. This was enough for a family picnic, not a light grazing, and definitely too much for a second date. If that is even what I could call this.

 “This is amazing,” Harry utters quietly, and I almost do not hear him, my internal monologue reprimanding me so severely it almost overpowers him. He turns back towards me, gazing at me softly, his face a beautiful light pink. “Feel bad for contributing so little now,” he says, a gentle teasing lilt to his voice which makes me smile, a breathy and grateful laugh falling from my lips.

 “Trust me, your contribution is the most valuable,” I say, stretching up into a cupboard to grab two wine glasses.

 We manage to carry a disproportionate amount of food outside, giggling as we stacked our arms high until I could barely see over the top of my pile. Once outside, we settle on the wooden chairs and Harry pours us each a glass of merlot.

 “Matches your hair,” he muses, smirking as he hands the glass to me.

 “Never heard that one before,” I tease, trying to ignore the voice in my head questioning if he thinks the colour is ugly.

 Harry settles back in his chair, looking out across the hills and valleys before speaking again, “This was a good idea,”

 “Yeah, the view is the main reason I bought the house to be honest,” I mumble into my wine glass.

 There are a few moments of silence. It is not particularly uncomfortable, but I decide that we could use some music. I dash inside to grab a speaker and connect my phone to it.

 “Can I leave it up to you?” I ask, holding out my unlocked phone for him to take, “I’m indecisive.”

 He lets out a chuckle, muttering a soft, “Sure.”

 Taking the phone from my hand, our fingers brush momentarily, and I have to remind myself that I am not in the middle of a romcom. I feel my cheeks redden at the interaction and quickly turn to my canvas. Placing the wooden end of my paintbrush in my mouth as I scan over the paints in between the two of us. The soft opening notes of The Chain begin to play, mingling with the warm breeze that swirls lightly around the garden.

 “Listen to the wind blow,” I sing under my breath, unable to hold myself back.

 From the corner of my eye, I see Harry picking up his own brush, dipping into a little bit of blue paint and brushing across his own canvas. I dip my brush back into the yellowy orange colour I had been mixing and paint the outline of my house. It is messy and a little childlike, but I am having a good time. Harry and I both begin to relax as we paint, singing along, and doing embarrassingly enthusiastic seated dance moves when the guitar solo plays.

 “I love Fleetwood Mac so so much,” I admit gleefully, catching my breath as I giggle and take a sip of my wine.

 “Me too,” Harry replies, a bright smile pairing with beautifully pinkened cheeks.

 “What’s your favourite song?” I ask happily, popping a raspberry into my mouth.

 Harry pauses for a moment, lowering his brush and giving the question some good thought. He makes it impossible not to admire him, watching as his brows furrow ever so slightly, lips puckering temporarily as his brain ticks over.

 “I always come back to Songbird,” he tells me, looking up at me and nodding to himself. His eyes look so bright when they catch the light, reflecting into mine. I almost have to look away.

 “It’s a beautiful song,” I admit softly, my voice quieter than either of us had expected, suddenly nervous again to be in his presence and having a conversation which means so much to me.

 “What’s yours?” Harry asks, his gaze not wavering for even a second. He is undeniably intimidating, not even due to his status in the world, but simply being beside him feels as though I have won some sort of contest. There is something in his general being that makes me feel both small and powerful all at once. Simultaneously, I cannot believe that he is here in my garden when he could be anywhere else with anyone else, nor can I believe the way he is looking at me, observing me with such delicate looks that it appears he is afraid of scaring me away.

 “Storms,” I blurt out. Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I explain, “Skies the Limit is my go-to, but Storms made me feel when I felt numb.”

 Realising that I have most definitely overshared, I quickly dip my brush in the nearest colour and spread it across the top of my canvas, accidentally painting the sky pink.

 “I think that’s really special,” Harry utters softly, his gaze still on me as I pretend to be focused on my painting and not the spectacular man beside me, or the way his eyes feel on the side of my face. “I want to make music like that, you know?” he says, turning back to the view ahead of us and finishing off his own skyline.

 “I think you have,” I confess, feeling his eyes back on me in an instant. I force myself to turn to meet his gaze, urging some sense of bravery to course through my veins. When our eyes meet, he is looking at me like water in the desert, some sort of miracle before him that his brain does not fully believe. His mouth opens, pauses, then closes again. A second later, a smile pulls at his lips.

 “I like your pink sky,” he tells me, grinning brightly, not breaking away to look at the canvas in front of me.

 I laugh, “Started as a mistake but I think I prefer it like this,” I admit, pursing my lips as I take a long look at my painting.  

 “I like the way your mind works,” Harry says, smirking when I turn to him with knitted eyebrows, “I feel like you’re so bright and full of joy. Just walking through your house felt like I’ve known you years… I don’t know if that sounds mental.”

 He looks at me cautiously, afraid he has revealed too much, and maybe he has, but I enjoy it more than I could even tell him. I like his perception of me. No matter what happens, how much he comes to learn and dislike about me, at this moment he likes me. And, oh boy, do I like him.

 The thought of kissing him pops into my head, bold and illuminated in neon. I let it pass, determined not to ruin the moment. Instead, I look at him, and he looks right back. We share a brief period of peace, the sun on our faces with a light wind blowing between us.

 “Oh!” We both exclaim enthusiastically as What Makes You Think You’re the One plays on the shuffle. Smirking at our joint reaction, we turn back to our paintings.

 For the next hour or so we fully relax into our little world, grooving along as we paint. There is a real sense of calm throughout the space, even the birds in the trees seem to chirp softer, almost as though they were part of our garden party.

 The only moment in which there is a break in the bubble of tranquillity is when Harry desperately reaches for a strawberry, stopping himself whenever his hand, covered in a rainbow of paints, gets close. Impossible to tear my eyes away, I watch him for a moment, a delicate smirk on my lips as he attempts to approach the task from a multitude of angles. He lets out a small sigh and I decide that it is my duty to intervene.

 “Need a hand there?” I ask, failing to hold back a giggle as I pluck a strawberry from the plate with paint-free fingers.

 “Thanks. Can you-- You could… Thanks,” Harry stammers while I hesitate as I raise the fruit to his face, temporarily feeling awkward about feeding a man I barely know.

 I quickly get over myself and lift the berry to his lips, already somewhat parted. Taking the fruit into his mouth whole, his lips graze my fingertips ever so lightly. Our eyes lock the second it happens.

 Things start to move slowly. My hand lowers into my lap. Harry chews the fruit and swallows, his tongue poking out to catch a stray bead of juice that had escaped from his lips to the corner of his mouth.

 No way are you letting yourself be turned on by this. So cliché.

 Despite the mental chastisement, I find myself drawn to Harry. The need to feel his lips on my own is overwhelming me. Every second spent not knowing whether he is a good kisser feels like torture, my mind in agony.

 It appears that he feels the same way, gaze hesitating over my parted lips, hopefully not focusing on my clear breathlessness. Our bodies seem to be migrating towards one another, some unknown gravitational pull guiding our chests together until out faces are almost touching. I feel his breath on my cheek and quickly I worry that mine does not smell as good.

 Why did you eat that slice of manchego?

 Surely, he won’t want to kiss me anymore. He must not have noticed yet. But he will, and I will be humiliated. Better to stop now, while for some reason he actually is not appalled by the thought of kissing you. Why does he want to kiss me anyway? He could kiss anyone he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. It is probably the wine.

 The wine has probably stained your teeth as well. God you’re a mess.

 I stop dead in my tracks. Swiftly, I pull away from him. It is harder than I had expected, his cologne sucking me in so that it feels like I have to stop breathing in order to separate from him.

 “Sorry,” I mumble.

 I cannot look at him. Unable to face the reality of the situation and see his bemused, beautiful face. I would only want to kiss him if I did look up at him, so instead I fidget with the hem of my sleeve, nails picking away at the firm stitching.

 “I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice is so quiet that it hurts my heart to hear him so small and dejected, especially since I was the cause.

 We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I can feel his gaze on me, soft and apologetic, but I am still unable to bring myself to make eye contact.

 “I’d be happy just being your friend,” I tell him.

 It is a lie. Partially, anyway. Of course, I would love to be his friend, but I also want to kiss him all over and have heart-to-hearts in the early hours of the morning. I want to hear about his first kiss, find out his favourite sweets and his happy place. I wonder if he is there now, desperately trying to escape the awkward bubble of tension surrounding us.

 “Yeah, I shouldn’t have assumed… I’m sorry.” Is all he says.

 “No,” I pipe up, a well of guilt forming in my stomach as I regard his sunken features, “It’s not you...”

 “It’s not you, it’s me?” Harry says with a quirk of a smile.

 I let out a breathy chuckle and we finally meet each other’s eyes and understand. It’s all alright.

 We keep painting. By the time the sun starts to set and the water for our brushes turns a murky grey, I have finished mine and sit teasing Harry as he adds the finishing touches to his own.

 “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Harry counters with a grin as he adds a sweep of dark red to his canvas.

 “Better be some painting,” I mutter into my wine glass.

 “Okay!” Harry exclaims excitedly, “She’s done. Ready for the reveal?”

 “Yes,” I laugh at his question, as if I have not been waiting to share for twenty minutes.

 Harry had insisted that our final products should be a surprise for the other, so for the last hour we painted in secrecy, occasionally peering out from behind our canvases to try and sneak a peek at the other’s.

 When we angle our paintings towards one another, the difference in our styles is clear. Mine is bright with exaggerated shapes, almost cartoonish. Meanwhile Harry’s painting is more true to life, a meta portrayal of the view, two little figures of him and me seen from behind at the bottom of the canvas.

 “I love it,” I tell him, the picture bringing a grin to my face as I observed the tiny version of myself; a little blob of shoulders and messy hair.

 “I’m calling it ‘Friendzone’.” he tells me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

 “Hey!” I whine with a gently nudge to his arm, however, the bout of laughter he has elicited really weakens my protest.

 Harry helps me clear up the garden before he leaves, carefully carrying his precious painting out with him. After bidding me a sweet goodnight, leaving no doubt in my mind that he had a nice time today, I finish cleaning up. As I am washing the two wine glasses, I peer over at my painting, smiling as I remembered Harry’s comments about my pink sky. Maybe being just his friend would be easy after all.

masterlist

[nordic-language-love]

Language Learning Log 2021 Week 11 (08.03 - 14.03)

Norwegian

45-minute online lesson

Read 2x articles

Watched 1x Distriktsnyheter broadcast (Nordnytt)

Watched 11x Exit episodes

Mysteriet om Nils ch 38 grammar (read aloud)

Chatted with Amanda

Japanese

Read 1 story from Japanese Short Stories for Beginners

Duolingo: Vacation 1 + refreshed various skills

Norwegian

My teacher recommended the show Exit to me, so I’ve been watching that this week. At first I was like wow these guys really are all cunts not sure I’m gonna get on with this but actually? I got pretty hooked on it (even if they are all cunts). And there’s a fair bit of Swedish in it too, so I get to practice my Swedish comprehension (it’s so shit I had to turn on subtitles a few times). I’m almost tempted to dabble in a little Swedish on Duolingo just to get the basics down.

What I have realised though is that I really need to practise listening to natural conversation more. There were times when the characters were talking quite fast and I could only really get the gist of the conversation or I felt like I’d missed something key and had to rewind and watch with subtitles on. Watching the news is useful but the presenters tend to speak slowly and clearly and not in a natural way, so I’m gonna make more of an effort to watch TV series. It’s not like there aren’t several I enjoy!

I’ve been slacking on writing practice this week, so I’m going to try and do more of that this coming week. I need to do more reading too... maybe I should start that Harry Potter book. I’ve been struggling to get back into reading in general lately, so maybe shaking it up with a Norwegian book will help.

Last week’s goals

Mysteriet om Nils ch 38 grammar ✅

Watch 4x TV shows/news broadcasts [12/4] ✅

Read 3x articles [2/3] ❌

Write 150+ words fiction [0/150] ❌

This week’s goals

Finish watching Exit season 2

Mysteriet om Nils ch 38 exercises

1x written task

Read a chapter of Harry Potter og Føniksordenen

Japanese

I’ve spent most of this week reading the first short story from one of my books. I’m pretty sure these books are aimed at people who are already at least N5/N4 but I’m still learning lots! And it’s also given me ideas for vocabulary I need to look up. For example, I learned the word for always, so now I need to learn never and sometimes. I also learned summer and morning, so now I should learn autumn, winter and spring, as well as evening and night. So that’s my plan for this week!

I didn’t really get much else done, but that’s okay. I think this week’s going to be all about revising vocab. Hopefully by learning some more key vocabulary I’ll reduce the amount of time it takes me to read a single 3-page short story, which will mean I won’t have to spend an entire week on it. I also need to get some listening in, as I didn’t do much of that last week. I’ve reached the point in Final Fantasy where the story’s almost done and I’m mostly doing side quests, which means fewer cutscenes and therefore less listening practice. So maybe I’ll mute the game and put on NHK while I play instead haha.

Last week’s goals

Read 1 short story [1/1] ✅

Duolingo: start Hobby 1 skill ❌

Kanji drills on at least 3 days [0/3] ❌

Continue playing Final Fantasy ✅

Review JFZ ch 8 ❌

This week’s goals

Learn seasons, times of day and adverbs of frequency

Recap other vocabulary from story + make a vocab list

Duolingo: start Hobby 1 skill

Listening practice on at least 3 days

Kanji drills on at least 2 days

Other

Exercise has been better this week, although I would’ve liked to have done more yoga. I really need to get out of the habit of putting it off until it’s too late. I’m not sure why I do it - I really enjoy it! And I feel so good after I’ve done it and don’t regret doing it for a moment! So why do I put it off?? I’m definitely gonna talk to my therapist about my executive dysfunction when he gets back from holiday.

I’m not sure how much I’ll actually get done this week as my bf has the week off and we’re planning to use it to sort out the spare bedroom. Plus obviously I’ll want to spend time just being with him, playing Mario Party and watching Buffy. So I may not reach all my goals this week, but I don’t mind. Relationship time is important!

Last week’s goals

Do a little reading on at least 2 days [1/2] ❌

Stretch on at least 3 days [3/3] ✅

Train pole/hoop on at least 2 days [2/2] ✅

Do something creative ✅

This week’s goals

Stretch on at least 3 days

Train pole/hoop on at least 2 days

Train at home on at least 2 days

Practice with fans