#the bookstore had a little kitty cat that lived there and I didn’t even know until the reading started and there was just a CAT

[hawnks]

behind the brightest smiles are the eepiest girls……..

[promptsinpanem]

What Are the Odds (1/2)

Summary: When Katniss benefits from a stranger's generosity, she decides to pay it forward, starting with her neighbor, Peeta Mellark. Modern AU

Rating: T

Prompt: The One That Got Away

It's the story of her life, Katniss thinks, crouched on the dingy tiles of her apartment complex's communal laundry room floor – maybe she just isn't meant to have good things.

Above her, a fly repeatedly bumps into the humming fluorescent light on the ceiling, like it's desperately trying to escape, but can’t figure its way out. Katniss can relate. 

She looks back down at the pile of her still-damp clothes that someone had tossed from the dryer onto a puddle of bleach on the floor. It's mostly stuff Katniss wears around the apartment. Ratty t-shirts. Underwear that no one sees these days but her. The real kicker is what happened after, when she tried to gather it all up, not yet knowing what they were sitting in. Yeah, she’d smelled the bleach, but the whole room always reeks of bleach. She didn’t think anything of it until it dripped onto the front of her pants, which, up until a few minutes ago, were probably the nicest thing she's ever owned in her life. And now they're ruined.

Last weekend, she and Prim had spent an entire Saturday in the city. They browsed the bookstore all morning and then shared a small frozen hot chocolate in the cafe. Lunchtime was spent wandering around the gourmet grocery store and grazing on cheese curds, organic granola served in tiny plastic cups, a sip of mango nectar, and tart clementine slices from the tables of free samples before scouring the nearby second-hand clothing shop for diamonds in the rough. According to Prim's friend Rue, this is where rich people donated their clothes, and you could find designer pieces for a fraction of the original cost if you only searched long enough.

In a rare stroke of luck, it only took a little over an hour when Prim squealed with delight as she held up a pair of black dress pants in one triumphant fist. In Katniss's size, no less. Rich, dark wool with a gleaming silver button adorning the front. At forty-two dollars, they were more than Katniss would have normally spent on herself, but at a ninety-percent markdown, Prim wouldn't let her pass them up. “Think of it as an investment,” she’d said.

Paired with a pearl-gray cardigan that Katniss got on clearance at Target and a smart white blouse she borrowed from her sister that's actually part of Prim's show choir uniform, she managed to look professional. Chic, even.

Until now. Dime-sized white splotches have already begun to form. 

The door creaks open, and Katniss wills whoever it is to just go away, go away, go away.

“Katniss? You all right?”

Oh no. She recognizes that voice right away. It belongs to her next-door neighbor Peeta Mellark.

Since he moved in last year, they've exchanged hellos when passing each other in the hall, and he smiles at her in a way that makes her feel feverish and fluttery.  Especially when he's still in the clothes he wears to work, dark slacks and button-down dress shirts with long sleeves that he usually rolls up past his forearms. She'll see him help carry in their neighbor Mags' groceries, hefting gigantic tubs of kitty litter – usually two at a time – like they weigh nothing. Or he'll be delivering fresh, homemade bread to Chaff, the disabled Vietnam vet who lives downstairs. And countless times Peeta has come to the door to bring back Prim's mangy cat Buttercup, who has a nasty habit of leaping from their balcony onto his, one time even knocking over his potted plants.

“You'd think I'm growing catnip instead,” he said with a grin the last time it happened, about a week ago.

“Maybe you are,” Katniss answered dryly. “Maybe it's all part of some plan to lure cats away from your neighbors.”

It was the longest sentence she'd ever spoken to him, and his smile widened. “Right. All part of my master plan, actually. But it's just the cats belonging to my pretty neighbors. Or...just the one. Then I finally have an excuse to talk to her.” He said it with such a sweet, almost shy, smile that it made Katniss want to press her cold hands to her rapidly flushing cheeks.

She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her t-shirt instead. “That, or you're just a serial killer in training.”

He laughed – a rich, masculine, musical sound. “Stealing cats, not killing them.” Buttercup hissed in response.

It was a nice encounter, but it left her feeling strangely vulnerable.  It's why she doesn't want him seeing her like this right now. “I'm fine,” she tells him in a voice as emotionless as an android.

He sits beside her. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks.

She motions to the fallen clothing, to the bleach stains. “Find and kill whoever did this?”

The weight of a comforting hand rests on her shoulder. Then, as if he thinks better of it, Peeta moves the hand to his own knee instead. “As much as I'd love to, uh, avenge you, I have a better idea.” He gingerly lifts her laundry from the pungent liquid. “There's some fabric dye back at my apartment. I can check to see if I have anything that matches.” He stands, shifting her clothes so they rest in the crook of his bare arm, then reaches to help Katniss up with his free hand. As she stands, she takes him in more fully. Instead of his usual work attire, he has on paint-stained khakis and an old t-shirt sporting the mottled remains of an iron-on that looks like it might have been a bakery's logo. She can just make out the letters K-E-R-Y, and beneath it, a golden loaf of bread.

They make smalltalk, initiated by Peeta, as they climb the two flights of stairs to their shared floor. Peeta's apartment has a layout identical to the one Katniss shares with Prim, yet it couldn't be more different. His is tidier. With freshly painted walls. His furniture matches. Her couch at home is stained and threadbare, something she fished out of the dumpster last Spring.

“Can I get you anything?” Peeta asks, a shy smile spreading across his handsome face. There seems to be more color in his cheeks than there was before. “Something to drink? I have, uh...”

She shakes her head. He's already doing her a favor. She doesn't need to take anything else from him. “No, I'm good.”

“Oh...well, if you're not thirsty, I can get you something to eat. I just did some baking earlier. They say I make a mean cheese bun.”

Katniss must visibly perk up at the mention of cheese, because Peeta's off to the kitchen in a flash before she can even accept. He's back in record time with a cheese-covered bun on a small plate.

“Sure, Peeta, why don't you go get me one,” she deadpans.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I'm a little over eager.”

Even so, she takes the proffered plate. It looks too good to pass up, and she's too weak to refuse it now. “Thanks,” she says. The first bite is soft and flaky and buttery, the cheese adding the perfect savory touch. She finishes it immediately, before they even have the chance to sit down.

“And, uh” Peeta says, “...at the risk of making things more awkward, I'm going to need you to take off your pants.”

****

An hour and about three more cheese buns later, Katniss and Peeta are seated side by side on his couch, her wearing a too-big, but incredibly comfortable pair of Peeta's sweatpants. Her own pants are on a drying rack out on the balcony. Peeta had somehow managed to match the color with his fabric dye. When Katniss first saw the end result, they looked so perfect she could have kissed Peeta right then, but her good sense stopped her before she could do something so stupid.

She presses her finger to the last few crumbs on her plate. “How are these so good? Are you a pastry chef or something?”

“No. Not anymore, at least. My parents owned a bakery when I was a kid, and I used to help out. It went out of business a few years ago.”

She thinks about those nice clothes he works in. Dress slacks. Those rolled up sleeves. “So you have some sort of office job now?” she asks.

“No.” He laughs. “I teach first grade at Panem Elementary. How about you? What do you do?”

She knows he's just being polite. She asked him first. But the question makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to talk about her work. What is she supposed to tell him? That she works two unfulfilling jobs that she hates for a combined seventy hours a week and she's still drowning in debt? Tell him about playing FreeCell on the computer at her boring receptionist job? Or that time at Save Mart that this drunk guy threatened her with a knife because she wouldn't sell him two bottles of Jägermeister at four a.m?

Peeta flashes her a kind smile, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Let me guess – based on how nice you look, I'd say you're some sort of high-powered executive.”

She snorts. “Hardly. I had an interview this morning. But I already know I didn't get it. They basically told me I'm not qualified. It was a long shot, anyway.” She tries to change the subject, anything to avoid some display of sympathy from Peeta. That’s the last thing she needs. “So are your parents retired now?” she blurts out.

“Mostly,” he says. “My dad sells pies out of a food truck in the summer and fall. And my mom does the book-keeping at our cousins’ shoe store a couple times a week. They both like to keep busy. Especially now that my brothers and I all moved out of state.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“It’s really not,” he says with a laugh. “I still see them on holidays. There’s always Facebook and the occasional text. How about you? Is your family scattered too?”

She should have expected that he’d ask about her family. Once again, he’s just being polite. After all, she’s the one who clumsily brought it up. But it's the last thing she wants to talk about.  Where does she even begin?

Her childhood had started off idyllic enough. Their lack of money was more than made up for by the abundance of love. Until her father was blown to bits in a mining accident, and her mother mentally checked out for a few months. Katniss had been eleven, and Prim only seven. Katniss became the de-facto head of the household. It was Katniss who did all the grocery shopping, walking to and from the store dragging Prim's old red wagon behind her. She prepared the meals. Washed the dishes. Did the laundry. Forged her mother's signature on permission slips. She did it all with a stoicism that easily fooled Prim. And even after her mother came back to them later that year, Katniss wore her self-reliance like armor

Katniss's mother, who'd been a med student before dropping out to raise her children, eventually got a job at a nearby hospital. It took awhile, but Katniss's relationship with her mother started to mend. The trust wasn't fully back, but Katniss worked hard to stop shrugging off her mother's attempts to – well, be a mother. It wasn't perfect, but it was good, the two of them working hard to ensure that Prim would get as normal a high school and college experience as possible.

And then in the early hours of New Year's Day two years ago, while on her way home from the night shift, a drunk driver entered the off-ramp on the freeway, slamming right into her mother's car. Neither driver survived.

Then came the news that her mother had let her life insurance lapse. Without the insurance money, paying for the funeral and living without her mother's income nearly broke them. Katniss maxed out her credit cards, got a second part-time job. Cut down her schooling to only half time until she dropped out altogether.

She doesn't want to drop this much personal information onto Peeta at once, so she just gives him the cliff notes version: her parents are dead and she's Prim's guardian. To his enormous credit, Peeta doesn't press her for details.

In the ensuing silence, Katniss fidgets and Peeta rubs the back of his head nervously until he springs out of his seat on the couch. “Would you like another cheese bun?”

She’s tempted. She can barely remember when she’s had food this good, and so much of it. She doesn’t have a shift at Save Mart tonight, and it’s not like she has to hurry home to Prim. When Katniss texted her saying she was next-door, Prim replied, Don’t hurry back, followed by a winking emoji.  “I should probably get going,” she says nevertheless.

On the way to retrieve her pants, Katniss spots a table in another room filled with things like packages of number two pencils and eight-packs of crayons, stacks of composition notebooks, boxes of tissues piled high in a precarious tower, and economy-sized bottles of hand sanitizer.  “Most people just steal pens from work,” she jokes. “This is impressive.”

Peeta laughs. “And next week, my plan is to disassemble everything from the playground and bring it here to decorate my apartment.”

“Just what this place is missing, too. Monkey bars in the living room.”

Peeta laughs and then sheepishly explains that this is for his classroom. A lot of his students can’t even afford lunch, let alone school supplies. So anything that the school can’t cover, he pays for out of his own pocket. Usually, though, the supplies he buys at the beginning of the year tend to run out before Christmas break.  It’s mesmerizing watching Peeta talk so passionately about teaching, and the welfare of his students.

They find themselves sitting down again, freshly-dyed pants forgotten, and Katniss asks what happens the rest of the year. Do they just go without? Or does Peeta fill his table with stuff then too?  In the middle of the school year, when everything he purchased has run out, and he’s out of extra money, he relies on crowdfunding. He brings the page up on his phone and shows Katniss the projects he has going. The first is for the basics: more pencils, crayons, notebooks, tissues, and sanitizer. The last two being especially important during cold season.

When it comes to the next project, Peeta explains how the roof at his school had leaked over the summer. Ruined the carpet in his classroom. The school patched up the roof, but didn’t have the funds to replace the carpet. Peeta shows her a couple pictures, and it’s honestly pretty gross. It looks like something died on it, and then someone rolled up the carcass in it, threw the whole thing in the river, and then it somehow found its way back onto the classroom floor. He shows Katniss a page with a couple large, brightly colored rugs to cover up the water damage. It’s expensive and kind of a longshot that it’ll get funded, but it would go a long way toward making his classroom more inviting.

Later, when Katniss is back home, she logs onto her ancient dust-collecting computer and finds Peeta’s fundraisers online. She donates five dollars. It's a drop in the bucket compared to what he needs to meet his goals, but it's about all she can spare. The rent is due soon, and she still needs to fill up the gas tank and get groceries.

****

It's become a ritual for Katniss and Prim to stop at the gas station once a week on the way home from picking Prim up from show choir practice and, after filling up, treating themselves to cherry Icees. Today, there's only enough cash in her purse for one, so Katniss lies and tells Prim she's too full from a late lunch.

As they wait in line, Katniss tries not to let her impatience show. She hates standing around, and despite what she told Prim, she's actually famished. Prim must sense this somehow, as she extends her drink in Katniss's direction. “You want some?” she asks. “I'm kind of full, too. We had a pizza party in 5th hour.” Katniss sips some of the icy beverage from the plastic straw, and it pacifies her a bit. But it's still hard not to get annoyed when they're in line behind Sae the Lottery Lady.

It looks like Sae's redeeming her winning tickets, the cashier doling out crisp twenty dollar bills only to get those same bills back when Sae decides at the last minute to purchase a stack of tickets so thick they're starting to resemble one of Prim’s textbooks. Katniss glances at the time on her cell phone.

“Can we get a lottery ticket too?” Prim stage whispers to Katniss.

Ugh. She tries not to roll her eyes, lest it seem like she's passing judgment. “No,” she replies simply.

“It'd be so great to win, though.”

At this, Sae turns around. “You can't win if you don't play,” she says with a wink. Sae should know. A couple years back she won a million dollars from a scratch-off ticket she purchased at this very gas station. It's where she buys all her lottery tickets now. It's silly, Katniss thinks. As if lightning is going to strike twice in the same place. If anything, Sae should be buying her tickets anywhere but this gas station, but the woman's nothing if not loyal.

Prim repeats her question, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion. It would actually be kind of adorable if what Prim wanted weren't so stupid.

“Fine,” Katniss grumbles anyway. She roots around her purse for some loose change. She needs the last dollar in her wallet for Prim's drink. “Maybe one of the one dollar tickets,” she says, though she already regrets it. A dollar could buy four bananas at the grocery store. Or a can of beans. Or a box of store brand spaghetti. All of which would be more useful than thirty seconds of hope.

Just when Katniss thought the transaction in front of her was done, Sae points out one of the twenty dollar tickets on the top row of the display, a ten-inch long rectangle of glittery gold card stock.

Katniss fishes a dime and two lint-covered nickels from the bottom of her purse. She just needs twelve more cents and she'll have a dollar. Twenty dollars, though, she thinks bitterly. On a lottery ticket. That's half a tank of gas. Or two family packs of chicken thighs when they go on sale at the market. Takeout pizza on her birthday. Twenty cans of beans. Her train of thought is interrupted by the cashier handing her something. “What?” Katniss blurts out stupidly. Her eyes cut over to Sae, whose ticket is being shoved in her direction.

“That's for you, dear,” Sae says. “I've been blessed, and I hope this does the trick for you too.”

****

Prim sits beside her in the passenger seat meticulously scratching the ticket's surface with a nickel from Katniss's purse, an intense expression on her face, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth ever-so-slightly.

Katniss almost hadn’t accepted the ticket from Sae. It was too much, and they barely knew each other. Not that that mattered much to Prim. She almost knocked the old lady to the ground giving her a big bear hug. Katniss reluctantly muttered her own thank-you and dragged an excited Prim back to the car after her turn at the counter. They had more important matters to deal with. Like dinner.

There’s almost no food in the apartment, but Katniss has officially crossed over from famished to hangry. They’ll just have to go grocery shopping another day. In the meantime, there’s always cereal at home, maybe eggs and toast or something. 

“Katniss! Katniss! Pull over!”

Irritation prickles at her, but she tries to tamp it down. “I'm not taking anything to the animal hospital. And you need to stop yelling when I'm driving.” That's how accidents happen, she wants to say. But she doesn't need to burden Prim with her fears. Driving has been a struggle for Katniss since their mother died. Even short trips to the high school or the gas station are stressful.

“No, Katniss! Look!” She waves the ticket wildly. “We won!”

****

“You have to match one of the numbers on this top line to one of the numbers down here,” Prim explains to Katniss. They pulled into the first parking lot they came to, and now they’re huddled around the ticket like it's a flame on a frigid night. “If you get a match, you win whatever prize is listed below it. See? There's a two up here and a two down here, and it says – ”

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” Katniss finishes for her, dazed.

This kind of money will change their lives. Sure, she'll lose about half of it to taxes, but she'll still have enough to finally pay off her credit card debt and her student loans. Make a savings account. Quit her horrible third shift grocery store job. Prim won't have to worry about taking out loans when she goes off to college next Fall. As impossible as it used to seem, Katniss can even go back to school and get her degree, too. She'll actually have the luxury of figuring out what she wants to do with her life and then be able to make it happen. It's like a million doors that she thought were locked forever have just opened up to her. It’s a way she hasn’t felt since she was eleven years old.

That night she and Prim look at college course schedules online. They point out classes the other should take, read course descriptions aloud.

“You should major in something practical, like business,” Prim suggests, “but then minor in music.”

Katniss laughs it off, but secretly imagines herself singing again, maybe joining one of the school’s ensembles.

None of this would be possible if not for Sae's act of kindness. Katniss has never been a believer in karma or everything happening for a reason. Even still, she should do the same thing Sae did.

Peeta.

He needs to be the first person she helps. Few people deserve it more than he does.

She’s so excited that after Prim goes to bed, she gets on her computer to look at Peeta’s fundraising page again. There are exactly two donors so far, including hers. How excited would Peeta be if he woke up tomorrow and his projects were fully funded? She debates for a moment whether to put her name or make it anonymous. He did her a favor, so this would make them even. On the other hand, this is a much bigger favor, one that he couldn’t afford to reciprocate. Better make it anonymous then. Under the comments section she simply puts: “Pay it forward.”

tbc

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet Final

Hi everyone!!

It’s finally here!! I decided to give you all an early birthday gift with this last installment. I want to thank everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged this story it truly means so much to me! This story is kinda my baby on this blog and I hope I did it justice. I’m excited for the future yall! And thank you for being on this journey with me!

Pairing: Aizawa Shouta x fem!reader

Enjoy the last chapter!

~~~~~~~~

The dim lights of the bookstore provide appropriate background for the employees closing up. Kona and (Y/n), now co-owners, are closing up for the night after a successful day of handling demanding children, strange grandmothers, and eager 20 somethings looking for a new hangout. It was long and tiring but incredible.

After the two of them finish writing up and closing the books and organizing the store for the next day, Kona heads up with (Y/n) into her apartment.

“Just so you don’t forget,” Kona starts, “you’re taking a few days off this upcoming week right?”

(Y/n) nods as they enter the apartment. Right by the door are a couple of suitcases and boxes and the pair pick them up and head back down to the storefront. “Yes Kona I didn’t forget. I’m just staying with Shota for a little bit.”

“And you need half of your life with you because?”

“Oh hush,” she chides, “I’m just moving some of my stuff into his place! Even though he lives at the school…”

Kona chuckles as they load up his car, “right, right. Whatever you say.” She sticks her tongue out at him as she shuts the car trunk. (Y/n) then slides into the passenger seat and she and Kona are on their way to the dorms at U.A.

After a bit of driving, they’re driving past the gate after security let them through. The young woman feels her anxiety skyrocket as things start to connect. This is her first time somewhat moving in with someone, her first time really meeting his students, and the first time she’ll meet his coworkers and learn more about his job. It’s exhilarating but frightening.

Kona looks over to her and places a hand on hers. “Hey, you’re gonna be safe here, otherwise I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

She snickers at him and starts to calm down. Upon entering the grounds, she sees heights alliance and is in awe of the tall buildings and the beauty surrounding them. She never realized just how big the campus was and now seeing it up close is how Shouta described it doesn’t do it justice.

And speaking of Shouta, there he stands right where he said he would be. Her lips upturn naturally at him and she can’t help but smile at her man. He’s hers, and she’s his. His hands are in his pockets as per usual as he sees you pull up, signature snarky grin on his face. When she opens the door, he takes her hand and pulls her into a hug.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He kisses her then, softly and wraps his arms around her waist not entirely caring who could potentially catch them. Most of his students should be in their dorms and Aizawa had a feeling he’s going to be introducing her to a lot of his coworkers tonight.

“Let me take your luggage for you,” he whispers in her ear and walks to the back of the car. Once he opens it, he stares at her in a deadpan. “Did you really pack all this stuff?”

“I mean, yes? Who knows how long I’ll stay here or if an accident happens. And besides I’ll need extra clothes just in case.”

He scoffs as he picks up your luggage and sees Kona carrying your extra box. “Is this your way of saying you want to move in together?”

That causes (Y/n) to visibly straighten. She had considered it, but maybe now is the right time to talk about it? “I mean, maybe? I’ve been thinking heavily about it. Is that okay?”

He holds her hand and brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Of course kitty cat,” he whispers huskily, “I’d love to move in with you at some point.”

Unfortunately, this act of intimacy wasn’t missed by wandering eyes. Upon walking up to the faculty dorm, two pairs of eyes were peering by the door in eager anticipation. Blue and green eyes look between themselves and matching sinister grins greet the couple.

“’Zawa she’s here!”

“This is her? She’s gorgeous! How could you keep her away from us for so long?”

“Well I met her first, Nemuri.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Mic!”

Hearing the two friends banter makes Aizawa roll his eyes and holds onto (Y/n) tighter as they walk past the troublesome twosome. “Hey,” Nemuri steps in front of the couple, “I’m Midnight! But my friends call me Nemuri and I think you and I are going to be great friends!”

The sapphire eyed woman sticks out her hand toward (Y/n) and the latter takes it and smiles at her. Midnight squeals and takes her away from Aizawa, skillfully sneaking in a “I’ll take her to see some of the other teachers,” and the two of them were gone. Aizawa rolls his eyes again, something he figures he’ll be doing a lot of over the next few days, and asks Present Mic to pick up the slack.

The blond man walks with the always tired man and sparks conversation. “You must really love her, huh?”

Shouta hums and nods as they approach his room. The two men put her belongings down and then head back out to the common room. His eyes soften as he sees Nemuri introducing (Y/n) to some of the teachers that weren’t dealing with students freaking out about the festival tomorrow. The large and beautiful smile on her face makes everything they’ve waited for and been through worth it.

“Yeah Hizashi, I really do.”

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

It had been years since the bookstore owner had set foot on a school campus, let alone for a school festival. Seeing the school at night was one thing, but seeing it in the day time is something else. The courtyard was dressed and set with tents, balloons, stalls and more. Her eyes lit up with childlike joy, but she wasn’t going there just yet. She had to meet her festival touring partner. (Y/n) walks down toward the front of the school and is greeted by a black car and outstep two people. One with a blinding smile, and the other dressed adorably.

“You’re Miss (Y/n) right? I’m Mirio! And I’m sure you already know Eri-chan here.”

She can’t help but smile at the energy the third year exuded. Shouta had told her that he had lost his quirk in the battle, but he is incredibly strong to be here right now smiling. The attachment he has to Eri is one you don’t miss. “It’s nice to meet you Mirio! Eri has told me so much about you.”

He smiles back at her and the three of them walk toward the school. Eri holds onto both of their hands as they walk through the festival. Eri is the first to speak up. “When will I see Midoriya? He’s performing soon right?”

Midoriya?

“Yes he is! And that’s where we’re headed. Do you want to be up front with me or sit in the back near Aizawa-senpai?”

Eri ponders Mirio’s question looking between both adults and then answers, “I wanna see Midoriya up close!”

Her response makes (Y/n) giggle and nod. The three of them speed walk toward the gym where class 1-A is having their music show. Once the trio reaches the gym, Aizawa spots (Y/n) and motions her over, letting Eri and Mirio to find a spot close to the front. The stoic man stands at the back, taking in the large crowd in front of him as he waits for his partner to join him. He does his best to avoid the stares and whispers of students about his class and about the strange woman that was allowed to come onto school grounds.

The entire performance is mesmerizing! Her eyes were blown wide the whole time; she knew they were incredible but to even put on a festival performance like this as first years? Her high school could never compete! To her right, Aizawa watched her in silent amusement at her childlike wonder at his students. He thinks to himself that this was the right way for her to see his students as just students and not victims of tragedy. He wanted the whole school to see it. And he knew his class would do just that.

Once that was over, the couple walked out into the gym lobby and waited for the large crowd to disperse. As they waited, (Y/n)’s mind began to drift off. This is his world and he’s openly sharing it with her. Although schedules had prevented the two of them from truly immersing into each others worlds, it’s nice for it to finally happen. The content woman hadn’t noticed the small smile that graced her features, but Aizawa had caught it. With how close they were, he reaches out his pinky to connect with hers for that little bit of intimacy they could do in public. The touch alone sends electric shocks through her body, finding out the man next to her does enjoy small acts of intimacy like this.

With the students moved on to the next thing, Aizawa leads them into the gym where his students are cleaning up. He spots Eri and Mirio talking with one of his troublemakers and his heart almost stops. He hears a gasp from beside him, most likely in recognition of what he saw.

“Eri,” she starts as happy tears form in her eye creases, “she’s smiling.”

The moment is short lived when Mineta interrupts the trio and begs them to clean up faster. As they finish cleaning up, Aizawa calls his class to his attention. He congratulates them on a job well done gives them their well earned praise. The class is excited but can’t help but keep sparing glances at the beautiful stranger next to their sensei. The only one who knows but is already nervous at the potential questions.

Aizawa lets his students go and is already heading toward the exit before they can bombard him with annoying questions. (Y/n) does her best to stifle her laughs because she can feel the questions lingering in the air as they leave his students confused. She can already hear the questions from different voices asking about who she is to their sensei and if they’ll see her more often. The noise fades when the couple walks outside to the rest of the festival to visit different vendors and stalls. Her ears pick up on something that surprises her is that there’s a fashion show? This school has everything.

She feels a tug on her pinky and looks up to meet unmoving eyes. Shouta directs them to a shaded and covered area that upon first glance, can’t be seen by passersby. He pulls her into the trees, checks for any onlookers, and places a sudden yet passionate kiss on her lips. She leans into his body, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him closer to her. Their lips move and mesh like the waves crashing upon the shore, natural and effortless. When they pull apart, he places his forehead on hers and intertwines their fingers. “I’ve been wanting to do that all morning,” he breathes over her lips.

A giggle escapes her lips as she pecks his lips in happiness. She wants to deepen the kiss, but knows that Eri is waiting for them. She pulls at his arm for them to rejoin the festival and he huffs, disappointedly. Noticing this, she pulls him close to her mouth in order for her to whisper, “and we can continue this later where we can be as loud as we want, Sir.” She winks and skips toward Eri and Mirio who seemed to be looking for her.

Aizawa is usually a very stoic and composed man, but hearing her whisper that made him not leave the shaded area for a couple of minutes.

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

The sunset over the edge of campus lit up the sky in beautiful oranges and purples. The festival went off without a hitch and it seemed that Eri had the time of her life. And so did (Y/n). The young girl was taken to the third year dorms to hang out with them and give Aizawa some much deserved alone time. He had finished chatting with Shinsou, his new mentee, while (Y/n) refreshed herself in the ladies’ room. Upon her return, she has to do a double take because she’s certain she’s seeing double. Two pairs of eyes turn to her as she slowly approaches.

“Oh Shinsou, this is (Y/n). You’ll see her from time to time.”

She waves at the lavender haired student and he lifts his eyebrows to acknowledge her. Looking at how close they are he speaks up, “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. Well I’ll see you tomorrow sensei and sensei’s girlfriend.”

(Y/n)’s mouth still hung open at the exchange that she was part of but also wasn’t part of. Shouta waves off Shinsou and starts walking in the opposite direction with her. Regaining her composure, she questions the man walking beside her. “So you’re just going around calling me your girlfriend when you haven’t even asked me?”

Aizawa turns his head toward her with his eyebrows furrowed. “I thought we established that back at the hospital.”

She laughs loudly as they approach the stairs leading to the roof. “All you did was tell that student I’m your girlfriend. You never asked me.”

All he does is hum and lead the woman up the stairs and to the rooftop where he had spent many hours before in his youth. With the moon starting to rise, he knew the fireworks commemorating the end of the festival would start soon and he wanted them to have the best view. Once the door is opened, she’s left stunned at the view. With the fire pits below them leaving little flakes and smoke to float into the sky as it transitions from purple to a deep blue.

“Shouta, this view is incredible.”

The awestruck woman doesn’t notice the change in demeanor of the pro-hero beside her as they walk further out onto the roof. Aizawa wants to capture this moment forever, just seeing her in this light on top of a place he can almost call home with fireworks about to start. He checks the time and then walks behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Be my girlfriend. Again.”

“That was more of a demand.”

“I’m only gonna ask once.”

She chuckles at his stubbornness and turns her head to kiss his cheek. “See that wasn’t so hard? All you had to do was ask.” He rolls his eyes and holds her tighter as they sway to the music playing in their heads. Maybe it’s the music from the night they met or the music from his student’s performance. The fireworks begin to light up the sky in front of them, decorating the dark night with an array of bright colors.

The show continues as the couple still sways to their own rhythm. Minutes later the show ends and applause can be heard from down below. The couple completely content with each other and the atmosphere they have created ignore the world around them. Aizawa is the first to break the mood by turning his girlfriend around so they’re face to face.

“The night we met, I almost didn’t go out with my friends.” His confession earns an eyebrow raise and a look of realization from his other half in front him. He takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips, grasping her palm and kissing the top of her hand.

“But I’m glad I got the chance to meet you and fall in love with you.” She hadn’t noticed it until it was too late. He was down one knee, at the place that has been a huge part of his life, eyes full of love and adoration for the future despite the trials and tribulations they may endure. He wants nothing more than for her to be part of his life forever.

“Will you marry me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank yall so much! Taglist: @kiribaku-queen @shinsouskitten @shinsotired @cupcake-rogue @prk-pyo @therealwalmartjesus @maat-the-prescriptive

[sockablock]

When in sudden need of a place to stay, Caleb Widogast finds a room for rent at a price so low he can’t believe his luck. Ignoring the concerns of his friends, he moves in and quickly finds himself tangled up in the life of one Essek Thelyss, a reclusive scholar who may be even stranger than Caleb himself...

(start) - (previous) - (next)

Chapter 2: A Name to the Face

The sun lanced arcs across Caleb’s face as he set his phone down on the nightstand, and yawned.

He’d gotten used to sleeping in strange places during the last few years of his life, and there was a part of him that missed the coziness of his room back in his and Nott’s apartment. But the other part of him, namely the part comprised of bruises from too-narrow walls—relished in this chance to stretch out a little.

Eventually, he managed to sit up. The mattress did not dip sullenly with his weight, indicative of its newness and quality.

He glanced around. The door was closed, though Frumpkin was nowhere to be seen. Then again, mundane cats were already hard enough to confine; as a feline of the fey persuasion, Frumpkin went where Frumpkin pleased.

Caleb took his sweet time making the bed, adjusting the blinds, peering out the window over quiet streets, before eventually rifling through his cardboard boxes for something proper to wear. He also made a mental note to, at some point, ask Mr. Thelyss how the laundry worked.

Then he straightened his collar, took a deep breath, and wandered out into the kitchen.

—

Jester was nose-deep in a box of cinnamon rolls when Beauregard emerged from the shower. Peals of steam curled past the doorframe and dissipated out into the hallway.

“I thought those were supposed to last us the week,” Beau said when she noticed her roommate. “Didn’t we decide we wouldn’t go back to the bakery until Thursday?”

“Oh, but Beau,” icing shimmered in the corner of Jester’s mouth. “Beau, they’re just so tasty. I can’t resist.”

Beauregard pulled the towel off her head and gave her hair one last muss-up. Then she slung herself backwards into a chair and stole some frosting.

“Fair enough,” she licked a finger. “Just be sure to save something for Yasha when she gets back.”

“Back?” Jester’s cheerful demeanor vanished. “Oh, no, did she leave again? I thought she was done doing that!”

“Oh, no she didn’t run off, I think she just went to some errands, or something?” Beau scratched the side of her head. “She mentioned something about seeing a butcher.”

“Oh.” Jester relaxed. “Well that’s alright, then. Though we don’t really cook much.”

“Maybe she’s trying something new. It’s better than eating rats all the time, right?”

Jester gave this due consideration. “I think she only did that once. And then Fjord threw up, so she decided to stop.”

“Hm,” Beau shrugged. “I guess that’s nice of her. Oh, hey, speaking of stopping, what the hell is up with Caleb? Has he responded? With pictures and actual information?”

Jester groaned. “He’s being a real butt about it. He’s obviously there, but he isn’t sending us anything good.”

Beau raised a cinnamon roll. “The bastard.”  

— 

In the light of day, Mr. Thelyss’s kitchen gleamed with tidiness and disuse. In fact, it seemed like only the coffeemaker and microwave ever got any attention from their owner.

Caleb added another step to his mental moving day to-do-list: find the nearest grocery store and get some cereal. And coffee. And maybe a loaf of bread, if he was feeling extravagant.

He settled instead for pouring himself a glass of water and vowing that he would at least pick up lunch once he actually ventured outside. He slid into the kitchen, found a neutral-looking glass cup, and filled it up in the sink.

When he turned, he realized that something was different about the counter.

The little box of cheesecake was gone.

There was a note left, however. It read: Thank you very much, Mr. Widogast.

So, Caleb thought to himself. This meant that his mystery landlord had come home at some point in the night. And…as his gaze drifted past the kitchen and over to the front door of the apartment…yes, there in the foyer was a pair of shoes and a fine, but thin, black cloak.

Caleb had never seen anything like it before. It seemed as if the pattern had been designed to almost be worn like some kind of long poncho. Its hem brushed just over the floor.

What kind of person would wear something like this? The amused thought of vampire briefly flickered through his mind, but he shook it off and chalked it up to spending too much time with Jester.

He glanced back at the note. Something in him also registered: charmingly polite.

He shook his head. Speaking of Jester, he still had a promise to fulfill…

— 

“Fjord, those are ugly.”

“What? I think they look nice—”

“Nice won’t cut it! I need something amazing! It’s been months since I’ve last seen Yeza. I have to really blow him away.”

“Look, what you see is what we’ve got. And anyway, what’s wrong with Delphiniums—”

Nott was standing on a small turquoise stool that some of the more vertically-challenged customers of the Blooming Grove required to reach the counter. Her finger was swaying dangerously underneath the nose of a long-time friend and even longer-time frenemy, Fjord, currently on register duty.

All around them, the sweet and mellow scent of dozens upon dozens of coastal flowers twirled and trilled and danced through the air. Large windows set into the pale green walls let in sunlight and a view of the gardens out back.

“They’re blue!” Nott screeched. “I don’t want blue, Yeza’s going to think I’m not happy to see him!”

“Everyone likes blue,” Fjord said defensively. “Just look at Jester. She’s practically got a fan club. Fine, fine,” he added, when her expression didn’t change, “I can do you some roses—”

“Roses are cliché.”

“They’re a goddamn symbol of love, Nott.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t just want a symbol of love, I want a symbol of…of passion. Of devotion. Of l—”

“Look, just wait a bit, and Caduceus will be back. He’s the one who actually knows the names of all these things,” Fjord sighed. “He’ll be able to tell you if those even are Delphiniums.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“How have you managed to keep this job, Fjord?”

“I don’t have to help you, you know.”

“Technically, I think you d—"

And then, their phones buzzed.

—

— 

Nott glanced back at Fjord.

“Do you think he doesn’t know?”

Fjord shrugged. “Let’s just see what he says.”

Nott groaned. “It’ll probably be hours until we find out.”

—

—

“He’s going to die tonight, then,” said Beau, kicking off her sneakers. The front door shut behind her with a click. “That’s, like, the first rule to committing a crime. Don’t let them see your face.”

“I think it’s kind of romantic,” Jester said. Now she was in the living room, sprawled across the couch. “It’s like…a forbidden meeting. Maybe he’ll never find out what Essie looks like. Isn’t that sad?”

“Essek,” Beau corrected, and set her keys aside. “And I don’t see what’s so sad about that.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jester lavished in her sigh. “The saddest and loneliest kind of thing. To never see who you’re living with? If you can’t even put a face to the name, you might as well be sharing your house with a ghost.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “That’s…a little dramatic, but I see what you mean. Anyway, this is a point against the guy. In my books, that is. And I’m keeping track.”

“Oh? How many points does he have?”

Beau joined her on the couch and crossed her arms. “Not many. He’s mysterious, and weird. Those are negatives. Standoffish, if he didn’t even greet Caleb on the first day. And if he isn’t a criminal, and is actually renting out a place that cheap, he must be a total idiot. Or desperate.”

“For what?” Jester asked.

She shrugged. “Who knows? The company?”

— 

Essek was, as a matter of fact, quite desperate. Desperate for another five minutes of sleep.

It was now long after the Mighty Nein had given up on their interrogation, though he was not aware of this. Instead, what was most on his mind was the strange…the odd vibrating right next to his head.

Blindly, he reached out to slap his alarm. His hand connected, but the noise did not stop.

Then he realized that it was coming from the other side of the bed.

He shuffled around to take a peek.

An eye was staring back at him. Large and blue.

“What in the name of the L—”

The cat yawned, and its mouth stretched open to reveal rows of teeth.

Essek hesitated. He rubbed his face.

“How did…what is…”

And then the puzzle pieces slid into place.  

He racked his brain for the name.

“F…Fr…Frumpkin?” he guessed.

The cat yawned again. This time, it followed the gesture up with a mrpf, and unfurled its body. And stretched.

“Hm,” said Essek. “He did…warn me, but…I am not sure if I approve of you coming in here like this. Without announcement, especially.”

Frumpkin stared back up at him. He tilted his head and put on his most endearing expression.

“Well,” Essek relented in the onslaught of this, “at least you don’t seem to be the kind that sheds. Actually…”

He leaned in as close as he dared, a pair of icy eyes tracking his every movement.

“…actually, I’m not at all sure what kind of kitty you are. Your ears are…very long. And your markings are…”

And then Essek realized.

“A familiar?”

Frumpkin blinked at him.

— 

Caleb had found the grocery store on his second try, and had also made note of a bookstore and bus stop on the way there. Now, after a long day of scouting out the neighborhood, he was back in his bedroom again, sorting clothes. No use in holding off, after all, not even if it made him feel slightly strange to be putting all his things away in someone else’s bedroom.

He picked up a t-shirt and examined the back. STAFF, it read. He had no idea for what. The Broad Barn’s secondhand clothing pile was vague at best and hazardous at worst.

Another part of Caleb, the part not fully consumed by the current task at hand, registered the faintest sound outside. It was ruled out as being not important.

Caleb produced another shirt. This one had a picture of a cat on it, red beams of light shooting out from its eyes. This had been a New Dawn present from—surprising to everyone—Yasha.

It had thus far found a long and happy life as the top half of Caleb’s pajamas. He’d tried to wear it in public once, and been bullied mercilessly by Beauregard.

On the other side of the room, past the drawers and the bed, was a small folding table that had been set up by Essek, likely as a desk. It was the sort of low contraption that eliminated any possibility of chairs, but it made a lot of sense for apartment living and was sized well enough for sitting on the floor. It was miles above Caleb’s old arrangement, a piece of plywood on a milk crate.

Right now, this new desk was covered in reams upon reams of notebook paper. Contrary to expectation, however, this paper was not lined with the standard narrow rule of most academic stationary. Instead, a pattern of lines and circles extended out from the center of the page, covering every inch in an odd spiral. Dozens upon dozens of these sheets were strewn about now, with hasty pencil-markings splattered across the page.

A particularly keen-eyed individual might have noticed that some of the markings were crossed-out. Redoubled, re-arranged, re-placed, or removed.

A particularly keen-eyed individual with the right kind of background would have noticed immediately that many of these runes were transmutative.

Back on his side of the bed, Caleb was humming.

— 

When the cat—the familiar, likely a fey one, at that—did not decide to claw Essek’s eyes out, he gingerly picked it up under its forearms and carried it out of his bedroom.

He entered the living room, and saw that it was empty. The curtains were drawn open, however, and at this point the late-summer sun was just beginning to crest low over the horizon.

Essek raised an eyebrow at Frumpkin. “So. Where is your master, hm?”

Frumpkin meowed. It meant absolutely nothing to Essek, but he nodded anyway on principle.

“I understand that you are…well, from what I think I know about ordinary cats, you might like to wander around. But the same rules that apply to your wizard apply to you as well, okay?”

He walked Frumpkin into the living room and put him down on the couch.

“I would appreciate it if you did not enter my bedroom without invitation. The study as well, yes? Meow if you understand.”

Frumpkin stared at him. Frumpkin opened his mouth. Frumpkin closed it again.

It was a vague enough gesture that Essek could not tell if this was a response. He sighed.

“This is why I never bothered with getting one of you, you know. And I’m not even talking about the food bills. Er…do you eat?”

Frumpkin repeated the gesture. Essek repeated it back at the cat in a burst of childish impulse, then caught himself.

Gods, talking to Verin yesterday must have put him in an odd mood. And his brother had kept going on and on about life back in Rosohna, about how wonderful it is, Essek, how much Mother misses you, Essek, how I wish you’d visit, Essek—all that nostalgia couldn’t be good for the mind. Especially when unsolicited.

Still, this did not stop him from checking his messages in the kitchen while he waited for his morning—afternoon—evening—coffee to brew. In the background, Frumpkin rolled over on the sofa. Verin had mentioned something that he’d wanted to talk about, that he’d send over later…

Essek opened up their conversation. Then he scowled.

— 

A solitary figure stalked through the dimming streets of Nicodranas. She stretched, working out the knots in her back, upper arms, feeling the scabs on her knuckles and their sting.

She grinned, wide and toothy, in the sunset.

Unconventional, but it worked.

— 

Caleb had a perfect memory, and never forget anything. As such, the three core tenets of his tenancy in this apartment were virtually scored into his mind.

Be quiet. Be organized. And do the recycling.

Now he stood outside the apartment complex. The winding streets formed a gentle little plaza where the neighboring buildings all shared an open space, which included the public recycling cans.

There hadn’t actually been that much to take out, aside from an empty carton of ramen, a few cat food tins, and some assorted items that Mr. Thelyss must have left behind last night. Still, Caleb had wanted to prove how serious he was about following the Code of Conduct, and so had made the journey downstairs to be a responsible citizen.

The breeze wound around his ankles. Nearby, a few kids were running around with their mother, and a jogger moseyed past their street. It was a peaceful sight, underscored by the distant call of gulls and a setting sun.

Caleb had just nudged open the lid of the recycling bin when the shouting began.

Actually, it was less of a shouting and more of a heated argument, augmented by the harsh syllables of a language that Caleb did not recognize.

If he had, it would have sounded something like this:

“—impossible! I refuse. I did not give my permission—”

“Permission? Why would she need your permission—”

“Because it is my house! And this is my city—”

“Your city? Brother, you’ve only been there a few months—”

“It’s been a year and a half, Verin. A peaceful year and a half, mind.”

“Really? Well, I am certain it will remain that. And anyway, she’s not even going there for you.”

“Hah! I have a feeling that she is visiting Nicodranas expressly to do so. The gala is just an excuse for her to come here and poke into everything I’m doing—”

“Look, look, don’t shout at me. I am just the messenger. If you’re so upset, go and call Mother—”

Caleb swung the bag into the can. As he closed the lid, his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself surreptitiously scanning the perimeter with the universal creep of eavesdroppers everywhere.

Quickly, he found the source of the sound. There was a figure standing in front of his building, pacing back and forth underneath the awning, waving one hand around in frustration. The shadows prevented him from getting a better look, but the figure seemed lithe, and very annoyed.

Caleb would have to slip past him to get back inside.

Tactically, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be incredibly engrossed with its contents. Luckily, it seemed to work—and out of the corner of his eye he even noticed the figure hastily stepping aside.

Then, unluckily, the figure followed him.

Caleb didn’t dare look up. But he could feel the stranger’s presence trail him all the way into the elevator, then settle down next to him as the doors slid shut.

Caleb went to hit the number four. So did the stranger. Their fingers collided.

“Ah—"

“Scheisse, I am sor—”

And then he stopped.

Caleb Widogast was decidedly not a man of the world. He’d never left the continent of Wildemount, for instance, nor could he claim to have seen everything it had to offer. But he had fancied himself rather well-read, and believed that he perhaps had experienced more than the average person.

This was the first time in his life that he’d seen a dark elf.

He knew that they existed, of course, but in the way that he knew the names of far-off places, as distant trivia irrelevant to his life. He knew, for example, that they were native to Xhorhas, and that many of their societies lived underground. He knew that their closest civilization was ruled by a powerful queen. He also knew that in less-polite circles, some Empire elites still believed them to be backwater savages and monsters.

This one was wearing a green t-shirt. His hair was a messy sweep to one side.

“—ry.” He finished, as quickly as he could.

The dark elf shrugged. His eyes—a pale slate gray—took in Caleb’s appearance, then the number they’d both pressed.

“I do not recall ever seeing you,” the elf said. His voice was still a little strained, as if something from before—that argument, perhaps—was bothering him immensely.

“I, ah, I’m new,” Caleb said.

The elf raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Then he turned back around to stare at the door. Caleb was more than happy not to engage. He just hoped he hadn’t stared long enough to offend a potential neighbor.

The elevator rose three floors. On the fourth one, it stopped.

He quickly ducked out, sandals pattering on the ground, and it was only once he’d gotten to the door of his apartment and started to punch in the code that he realized the elf was still behind him, still standing there, still annoyed, and so he turned—

— 

“Excuse me,” said Essek tetchily. “Why are you entering my home?”

The human blinked.

“Er…this is…where I live.”

“What? But—”

For the second time that day, Essek realized.

“Um,” said Caleb Widogast. “Would your last name...happen to be ‘Thelyss’?”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[fresafresitawrites]

hemera: goddess of the day

my second vignette in my creative writing class! posting this here so everyone can have fun reading and also cuz i havent posted anything in a while. it’s not that long, so if u can read thatd be so appreciated !!! inspirations: a party i went to with my art history friends and anne carson’s eros the bittersweet 

rest of the vignette is under the read more

I waited outside Hemera’s apartment building, wiping my shoes on the doormat and holding the champagne bottle she asked me to get. She was still 20 until next March and I turned 21 back in June, so for the next few months this would be my job.

The October air was crisp and sharp. The occasional gust of wind felt like needles on my skin. I’m glad that before heading to Hemera’s, my mom convinced me to wear the Sherpa-lined Levi’s jacket she bought me at a Black Friday sale last year—- 70% off.

 The door swung open.

“Andrew!” Hemera’s sudden embrace knocked me back a little. The rollers in her hair scratched the surface of my cheeks when she hugged me, and I was hit with the scent of coconut milk shampoo. A tropical wave juxtaposed with the autumn breeze.

“Hey, is no one else here yet?”

She didn’t let go of me. She hadn’t seen me in a while ever since she started a new job at an Italian restaurant near Union Square, and I’ve been working late-shifts at the bookstore since the holidays were around the corner. “Oh, here.” I gave the liquor store bag.

“You got it!” I closed the door behind me as I entered the lobby. “They use this brand at work, so I wanted to try it.” Her black nails tapped against the green bottle before handing it back to me. “And no, I actually told them to come at seven because I know if I asked you to come early you wouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh really?” I wasn’t actually surprised but I wasn’t going to argue with her either. She’s probably right anyway. I followed her up the three flights of stairs and into her studio, hanging my coat behind the door. She went back to unraveling her curls in front of the bathroom mirror. I leaned against the doorway. Her sink was covered in hair and make-up products.

“You would’ve said, vos! Jou’re gonna make me clean your room while jou do jour make-up again.” She exaggerated my accent. I’ve been a New Yorker for eleven years, but Argentina will always ring in my voice. “Anyway, can you clean you room? I have to brush out my hair.”

“No.” I started peeling off the foil of the bottle.

She turned around, snatching the bottle away from me.

“Not until everyone’s here!”

“All right, whatever.”

I was going to help her straighten the place out anyway. Hemera lived in a studio apartment that she moved into just last year, despite her mom’s disapproval. On the night of her move-in day, we lay down on the hardwood-- since she hadn’t gotten her couch yet-- and shared a bag of Doritos.

“Do you think she’ll be okay? All she has is the cat now.” She meant her mom. “Maybe things should be like they were back in like, the old times. She always talks about how full the house back in Mexico used to be, even my great-grandmother lived there. Three generations! With the kids and everything. There was so much noise… and now it’s just Pepino.” She rolled over to face me. “I miss my kitty already!”   

Hemera sometimes had this way of speaking where nostalgia tinted her voice with memories that weren’t hers. I could name more people in her family than my own.

The entire apartment was the size of my mom’s bedroom. The hardwood creaked with every other step, the pipes under the kitchen sink moaned like ghosts, and the walls were covered with floral wallpaper tearing at the edges, but Hemera treated her apartment as if everything was made of gold. I would too, honestly.

I cleared up the wooden coffee table by removing piles of open mail—mostly bills and Target coupons—printed recipes, and scripts from her theater classes. I didn’t know what else to do with them, so I just hid everything under her pull-out couch. On the kitchen counter, she had those trays of assorted cheeses and meats—to be fancy for her college friends. I rummaged through the cabinets and found her supply of Hot Cheetos to snack on while I reheated the pasta on the stove she made for the guests.

“Okay, how do I look?”

I followed her voice. Her hair was curled up in short rings, like black garden roses, and her eyes were dusted with purple and black eyeshadow. Or eyeliner, I didn’t know, but the glitter illuminated her tan skin. She was dressed in her signature all-black style. In a lace, spidery dress that hugged her curves and ended at her thighs. She sparkled under the dim lighting of her apartment, like a crystal in a cave. In Greek mythology, Hemera was the goddess of the day, but Hemera always reminded me more of Nyx, crowned in dark mist and black-winged.

In high school, Hemera spent most of her time woven in the arms of the upright bass player from our orchestra class. He was long haired and mysterious, as she liked them. She would ask me to French braid her hair before their dates, having me incorporate the artificial flowers he’d give her into her strands. This was something my mom taught me how to do so it’d take less time to get my sisters ready in the morning when they were younger. Maybe it was Hemera’s smooth hair, or the scent of her Jasmine perfume, or watching her finally leave, but my thoughts turned to poetry. The night he broke up with her she cried on the edge of my bed.

This was when she crawled towards me, placed her hand on the calculus textbook on my lap, and kissed me.

And in that moment, any romantic feelings I had towards her dissolved into a fog.

I read in an essay once how unrequited love is a form of escapism. Briefly, perfection exists in the form of a person who you believe is immaculate. Once the feeling is returned, you realize their judgment is flawed because they’ve decided to like you of all people. They lose their divinity. The Greeks spoke of a similar sentiment, Eros: the desire for what is missing. You desire only what you lack. Once something, or someone, is finally in your possession, you can no longer want it.

And where’s the fun in that?

“Hello? Andrew? Andrés Ibarra? Do I have to say it in Spanish? Does my ass look fat or not?”

She walked over to the full-length mirror, answering her own question and taking pictures on her phone. “Also, can you not be weird around my friends? You always talk about that time you swore you saw a UFO and I don’t think you realize how much of a weirdo you sound like telling that story.”

            I sprinkled some of the Hot Cheetos dust from the bag onto her pasta and stirred.

            “No problem.”

[thenovelartist]

An Impromptu Proposal, 28-29

<<Previous Next>>

28. Community service

When Adrien and Marinette returned from their trip to China, well rested and relaxed, there was one big thing they decided on: Adrien was going to go to counseling, and Marinette should probably see someone, too. Their kwamis did offer to help them, and while Marinette and Adrien agreed to take some of the help, they also thought seeing an outside specialist would be beneficial. Neither of the kwamis objected.

“Honestly, as fantastic as that vacation was, it’s kinda nice to be home,” Marinette said, stepping into their apartment.

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “Though, home is only home because you live here, too. Makes it feel like I belong here now.”

With a smile, Marinette looped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad to have this home with you.”

His own smile grew before he leaned down to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Love you.”

“I love you.”

“Do you want to wash off the plane and travel feeling?” he asked.

“Yes. Very much.”

“Are you joining me?”

“Well, since you’re offering, how can I refuse.”

…

When Marinette and Adrien finally got out of the shower, Adrien immediately collapsed on the bed for a cat nap while Marinette scrolled through the emails and phone calls she’d been purposefully ignoring for the last few weeks.

She was about to call Alya when her best friend beat her to it. “Hey,” Marinette greeted quietly, knowing Adrien was in the other room. She got up to shut the door to the bedroom so she wouldn’t disturb Adrien. “I was just gonna call you.”

“One step ahead of you,” Alya’s cheerful voice came through the phone. “Wanted to call and catch you up. But first, how was the trip with the hubby?”

Marinette sighed, relaxing into the couch. “Relaxing and much needed.”

“Do anything special?”

Marinette was going to ignore the particular teasing lit in Alya’s tone. “No. Not particularly.”

“Did you pay attention to the news?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then you didn’t hear Lila and Gabriel’s sentencing, I assume.”

Marinette stiffened at that. “They were sentenced already?”

“Yeah,” Alya confirmed. “You don’t exactly get to terrorize the entirety of Paris for several years and not get the luxury of a swift and painful trial. Anyway, Lila was pissed and fought all the while. She never got out that you and Adrien were Chat and Ladybug, so you guys still have a little time before that surfaces. Besides, you know I’ll do damage control over it.”

“The bonuses of being best friends with the ladyblogger,” Marinette teased.

“Girl, had I known who you were earlier, I totally would have helped keep your identity.”

Marinette pursed her lips to keep back the doubtful smirk. “Sorry, but I’m not sure I believe you. I knew how you were in school.”

Alya paused. “True, but you also know that I would have helped my best friend. But, I know how Ladybug loved her secret identity, which was probably for the best.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway,” Alya said, getting back on topic. “As for Gabriel, he surrendered shockingly easily. Because of that, they were a little more merciful on him. I mean, life in jail and community service isn’t pretty, but Gabriel may have the option of parole earlier than Lila does. That is… if he gets the clear from the psychiatric doctor. They were really worried for his mental state during the trial, so he’s in a specialty ward at the moment being cared for as a potential risk to himself.”

Marinette cringed. How was she going to tell that to Adrien? He was already a mess as is. Knowing that might be even worse. But then again, he’d find out one way or another. She’d tell him later, and then they could talk about it at counseling.

Speaking of which…

“Hey, Alya. Um, one of the things that Adrien and I agreed to was to seek some counseling help considering that we’re facing… all of this. And I was wondering—”

“If I knew anyone?” Alya finished. “I’ll do all the research for you, girl. I got you covered. I think that Adrien could really use it, poor guy. I’m glad that he sold the company when he did, though. He’s not dealing with the legal battles now.”

“I got to feel a little bad for the buyer, though,” Marinette said. “Having to deal with that mess.”

“Well… yeah,” Alya admitted. “But honestly, it’s so much better than Adrien dealing with it. That’s the last thing that guy needs right now.”

Marinette couldn’t disagree with that. Knowing her husband wasn’t the one who had to bear that weight on his shoulders along with everything else was a relief. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

“How are you doing?” Alya asked. “Because I know that we’re talking about Adrien being KO-ed, which is completely understandable, but what about you? This can’t be easy on you, either.”

“It’s not,” Marinette said. “But I think part of that stress is knowing what Adrien is going through and wanting to shoulder what I can and be a pillar of support so he doesn’t feel like the world’s caving in on him.”

“Honey, you are a good wife to that man. He better take good care of you.”

“He does,” Marinette said, smile on her face and a warm feeling in her heart. “He’s my partner; we take care of each other. I don’t think either of us know the limit of how far is too far. Particularly Adrien.”

Alya hummed. “I think you’re right. But don’t forget that you have your own stressors that you need to carry. Don’t try to carry everything on your own.”

“You’re right,” Marinette admitted. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good, because I care about you…” There was a pause at the end of the line. “Hey, give me a second, Nino’s calling, probably about the wedding venue.”

“Okay.” Marinette couldn’t help but grin. Nino had finally gotten the courage to propose to Alya a couple months back in between all this superhero chaos. They decided not to rush with it, because they were dealing with their own stress from it, too, but it seemed like they were moving ahead with it now.

There was a click signaling Alya’s return. “Hey, so I’m sorry, but I gotta jet. Nino’s picking me up in a couple minutes to go check out a wedding venue.”

“Then I’ll let you go. Hope it’s a successful endeavor.”

“Here’s hoping. Call you back to talk later, ‘kay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, girl.”

When Marinette hung up the phone, she suddenly felt Adrien’s arms wrap around her shoulders. “You’re the most incredible wife I could ask for,” he whispered.

“Were you listening?” she asked, reaching up to hold his arms.

“I was,” he admitted.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“Not really, and this cat has killer hearing.”

She couldn’t help but giggle.

“Thank you so much for everything,” Adrien said, squeezing her tight. “And I’m sorry if I make you feel like you have to shoulder any of my burden—”

“You don’t,” Marinette cut in. “I do try to because I love you and want to help you through this."

"It helps just knowing you’re there.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Adrien squeezed her tight, then pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, kitty. I love you so much.”

 ...

29. Kwami swap

Before either Marinette or Adrien had realized, Christmas season was upon them. Life was slowly returning to normal. Counseling was going well for both of them. Marinette decided her new year’s resolution would be to start looking for a new job. She was ready to get back into the workforce. Adrien, on the other hand, decided to continue his studies and find a university to apply to next year, but for now, he was looking into his options of courses of study. Honestly, for where he was, Marinette was very proud of her husband for beginning to take those steps.

This next year was going to be a good one, Marinette could tell. And she was very much looking forward to it. But for now, Marinette was looking forward to a very nice, underrated, mundane Christmas that wouldn’t be overshadowed by the fear of an akuma appearing in the middle of any party or dinner or event. They could open gifts and sleep in and have Christmas dinner without the constant fear of an akuma or two or three cropping up right when it was the least convenient.

At the moment, Marinette was taking a leisurely stroll around Paris trying to find the perfect Christmas gift for her husband.

“I’m hungry. Are we done yet?”

With a cranky little kwami in tow.

“Here,” Marinette said, taking a wedge of cheese out of her purse. How Adrien carried that stuff around for years, Marinette had no idea. She was certain she’d die from the smell. “Now, no more until you help me find a good gift for Adrien.”

“He’d be happy with your kisses. There. End of story.”

Despite being married for a few months, Marinette still blushed under the sarcastic kwami’s smug smirk. “Plagg.”

“What? You know I’m right.”

“Yeah, but I actually want a gift to give him.”

“Wrap yourself in a ribbon.”

She was going to smack this kwami into another country. “Plagg!”

“Fine,” the kwami whined. “Geez. I happen to know of a couple books he wants. Okay?”

“Thank you,” Marinette said. “Which ones?”

Plagg sighed. “We go to that big, fancy bookstore, and I’ll tell you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And then we get to go home, right?”

Marinette smirked. “Sure. After we get a gift for each of my parents, Alya, Nino, and Chloe.”

Plagg let loose a long groan before sinking into her purse. “Wake me up when we get there.”

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette shut her purse. Even though Plagg had proven himself to be the laziest kwami in existence, he was helpful enough when he wanted to be.

…

“Tikki, I will trade Marinette for you.”

Tikki giggled. “You don’t mean that.”

“You’re helpful,” Adrien began, listing things off on his fingers. “You don’t sass back. You actually gave me good suggestions for Marinette’s Christmas gift as well as gifts for her parents. You don’t smell like cheese all the time. And you’re tidy. Just to name a few.”

“Well… yeah, I can’t argue with you about those,” Tikki cheekily retorted.

“So, when Marinette gets back, we’re trading.”

Again, Tikki giggled. “You don’t have your ears pierced.”

“A small detail,” Adrien dismissed with a wave.

“I think you’d make a good Ladybug, to be honest. But I think you make a better Black Cat.”

Adrien shrugged. “I guess it has its perks.”

Tikki settled in his hair. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #219

“make a move and you pay for it; pick a lord and you pray to it.”

Do you actually love your grandpa? I don't really remember either of mine. I do from what I remember and have learned of them, though. Do you actually love your grandma? I don't remember my dad's mom at all, but I mean, I love her simply for being my dad's mother, who loved her. My mom's mom, yeah, even though she's. Hard to like a lot of the time. Do you have Facebook? Yes. What was the last thing you posted on someone’s wall? A birthday post. Do you have MySpace? My old one still exists, but I sure haven't been on it since it was current. What is your favorite kind of music? Heavy metal. Favorite soft drink? Mountain Dew Voltage is actually cocaine to me rip. Favorite food? Probably like... pepperoni pizza or cheeseburgers. I'm a full-blooded 'Merican. Have you ever felt replaced? OH, HAVE I! Have you ever worn false eyelashes? No. Do you ever regret making a friend? I don't think so. Can you cure mental illness? I don't know about cure, but you can certainly learn how to handle it better and alleviate symptoms. Is God good? Define "God." Cats or dogs? Kitties. Do you play video games? Yeah, but I don't play nearly the variety that I used to. Do you take medication for mental health? Yes. Can you really be racist to a white person? No shit? Do you have a favorite hair accessory? What does it look like? No. What’s your favorite type of insect? Butterflies. What’s your LEAST favorite type of insect? Larvae, like maggots. Disgusting. Who was the last person you Facebook messaged? What did you say? What’s his/her favorite food? Idk and I don't feel like checking. I rarely use it. What was the last song you listened to? Does it mean anything to you? "Thoughts & Prayers" by Motionless In White is a mood with my mad-at-God-24/7 ass. It needs to stop honestly. I've become so hateful about religion. Not towards followers, mind you, just the concept itself. I could write a novel on this, but I don't feel like it. Just me and organized religion don't get along anymore. Have you ever slept in a water bed? On a water mattress, yeah. How do you feel about having sex during your menstrual period? Never tried, not for me. Sounds messy. Does your ex have a job? My most recent, I guess you mean? Yeah. Have you ever slept in a car? Yeah, on long drives to like New York and stuff. What was the last term of endearment you used (babe, hun, dear, etc)? *checks phone* "Sweetie." How often do you use Flickr? Never. I can't log into my account anymore since Yahoo said "fuck u Britt," so there's no point. Have you ever been on a blind date? No. Do you have a crush on the last person you texted? She's my girlfriend so y'know like- Have you ever got into an argument with the last person you kissed? We very much disliked each other at first, so... guess, lmao. Have you ever liked somebody who was nice to you, but horrible to everyone else? Eh, that's a mystery... Juan was very sweet to me, but I know he had a bad rep. I didn't really see how he interacted with others. How’s your appetite atm? It's normal. I'm not currently hungry. Out of all the conversations you’ve had recently, which one has made you smile or laugh the most? Sara randomly and excitedly texted me to tell me "Welcome to the Jungle" was on at work, which was on the radio both when I was there and she was here, so she thought of how much she missed me lakdjsfkalwe I smiled my face in half. Do you look decent in your most recent photograph? Eh, it wasn't awful. It was for my school ID. What is one vacation destination that many people think is just fabulous but which you personally have no desire to visit (or revisit)? New York City. My sis went and said it was 1.) insane and 2.) disgusting. If you were five years younger but knew everything at that age that you’ve actually learned over the last five years, what is one thing you would definitely do differently? Go to the partial hospitalization program way sooner. What serves as the greatest motivation for you in your daily life? To earn a happy, content future. What activity that you have to do every once in a while that you dread the most? "Every once in a while," I'd say clean Mitsu's cage. She is such a strange rat. Enjoys pets, but being picked up is a no sir. When people hear what you do for a living, what is the most typical question or comment they give you regarding your job? N/A If you were left alone for one hour with nothing more than a pen and a notepad, what would you be inclined to draw or write during those 60 minutes? I'd probably write a poem. I know I wouldn't draw 'cuz fuck no am I doing so with a pen. If you could witness anything at all in super-slow motion, what would you want to see? Uhhh. Idk. Anything I can think of, like lightning, I've seen because of the Internet. If someone were looking for you in a bookstore, in what section would they be most likely to find you? Probably like, young adult fiction/fantasy, something like that. What do you forget to do more often than anything else? Lately, take one of my mood stabilizers. I need to get the box out... aaaand forget every day. I haven't felt any different without it tho so like... If you could teach everyone in the world one skill, what would it be? Compassion, maybe. You’ve been offered the chance to paint a billboard along a highway with any message you choose, as long as it’s only 10 words long. What is your message? I'm not spending time musing over something that serious lakaljdsfawe. Would you ever travel to Africa? Hell yes. I desperately want to go to South Africa on the Tswalu Kalahari tour. Whose house were you last at? Besides my own, my older sister's. Have you ever had a near-death experience? I guess this depends on how near death you mean. I've been in one car accident that my mom managed to make minor only by being a good driver; realistically, we should've flipped, according to the cop. My mom just acted quickly enough. Then I heavily ODed, but I was given more than enough fluids in time to keep me surprisingly okay. I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't told Mom so quickly, and I don't care to think about it. I'm fucking lucky and don't want to think about what could've happened. Have you ever met anyone who was overly addicted to a computer game? Tbh I myself could've been in this position when my depression was so bad, but then there's factors to that that lean towards it just having been a preference versus addiction. Idk. It's not a problem anymore so not worth debating over. Have you ever been fingered? That was the first cheat when you chose abstinence lmao. What do you do the most when you are online? Watch or listen to something on YouTube. What video game have you played the most? So in WoW you can actually type in /played to see how long you've played JUST that one character up to the years (or maybe days?) down to seconds and. I will never type it in lmao. Ongoing games are v depressing. Do you have scars you don’t like to talk about? No, those are thankfully gone. What is something you and your significant other do that may seem weird to others? Be helplessly and openly in love with imaginary demons while dating each other lmao (she's a Freeza fanatic). When and why did you last cry? The second day of school because of math class. When was the last time you drank? I think like... back on the 4th of July. Or some days after 'cuz I know Mom and I didn't finish the container in one night. Do you wear jewelry a lot? Just my piercings, really. Save for on my ear lobes because the holes on the left are fucked up, yay. I'm going to wind up just slightly stretching the first holes when I can afford a small kit; actual studs or hoops look stupid. Never wanted gauges until the holes got too stretched by the weight of hoops; now something needs to be there. Who in your household do you not have a good relationship with? My sister's (who doesn't even live here...) dog Bentley. I hate him and he doesn't like me. No, that doesn't mean I mistreat a pet. He's just a pain in the goddamn ass. Who in your life are you scared to lose more than anything? My mom. I don't know what would happen to me or how I'd cope at this time. Honestly, would you rather be single or in a relationship? I'm happier in a healthy relationship. Do any of your friends not get along at all? No. I mean, not that I know of. What are your 3 favorite internet sites? I'd be LOST without YouTube, then KM follows up close. #3, uh... Facebook or Tumblr, I suppose. Have you ever gotten anything autographed, if so by who & what was it? No. Well, I do have a little book of Disney World character autographs, but I don't think that really counts. Do you prefer Walmart or Target? We use Wal-mart. Who is your favorite model? Sara is a gd model don't even @ me about it. What have you done that is out of character for you? The Joel thing is the most anti-Brittany thing I've ever done for sure. I can't think of anything more current that stands out, unless it's- NO WAIT, this was quite a few months ago, but I firmly stood against an opinion my psychiatrist made known. He's very talkative and open as hell about his beliefs in current events, and he said something about pit bulls where I was just like... um no sir. I wasn't going to be rude though to HIM of all people so just said I don't base dogs by their breed and shut up. Awkward silence and we moved on. What do you feel strong enough to protest about? LGBT acceptance and rights. I already protest by having given up Chic-fil-a okay I care y'all. What’s the biggest blooper you’ve never lived down? Who knows... What is the best thing you have done just because you were told you can’t? Idk. I'm lucky to not have really been told that... What are you most thankful for? Thinking it all over, probably being born where I am. Boy is America FUCKED UP in some places, but boy would I be in a MUCH worse place if I was born in, say, North Korea, between my mental issues, sexuality, and opinions that can go to either end of the spectrum. How do you feel about thrift shops or flea markets? I love them! You can find the coolest, wackiest shit. What do you like to put gravy on? I hate gravy with a passion. Have you ever gone canoeing/kayaking? No. What one thing in particular makes you feel good about yourself? I genuinely think I'm a nice person that has other's well-being in mind. What is priceless to you? Love, in any form. What is one thing you know about your family history you’re proud of? Uhhh. I guess more than anything, I'm proud of my distant cousin for her unwavering love for and loyalty to her daughter when it came to escaping the Middle East and her dictatorial husband. Read Not Without My Daughter, it's great. Do you keep a budget? I don't have an income. What makes you feel rested and refreshed? Rested, a good night's sleep following being truly exhausted. Refreshed, oh man, gimme a hot, long shower. Who depends on you the most? Nobody. Could you ever be someone’s bodyguard? Hell no. Has one of your biggest fears come true? Yes. I was entirely convinced the world would literally end if Jason left. That night still doesn't feel real. Have you ever let your mom or significant other fight a battle for you? Colleen and Mom once fought after I'd ignored her, so I guess? It wasn't my wish or anything though for her to do it; Mom had shit to say by her own volition, and I wasn't going to tell my mother "no you can't do that." Did you create a checklist for your ideal spouse? No? Have you ever ridden on a subway or train and what did you like about it? Nope. Do you have to experience something to fully understand it? Yes. What embarrasses you instantly? A LOT A LOT A LOT!!!!! It is SO easy to embarrass me, including second-handedly. Do you think you could be a firefighter, why/why not? Hell no, I'm most certainly not in the necessary shape, and quite honestly I'm not that willing to risk my life for random people that could be assholes. What do you think should be censored? Idk. I have mixed feelings on censorship, no matter how stupid it seems. Eh... yeah, idk. Are you related to anyone famous or historical, if so who? Queen Victoria and William Clark. Would you ever donate a kidney to anyone, and who? Depends on who and obviously if we're even compatible. Have you ever fired a gun? No. What is the main quality you think makes a great parent? Sincerely caring for them, probably. Who is a female role model in your life? My mom, in some ways. What childhood dreams have you neglected? Jfc a lot, I don't want to think about it. What do you have trouble seeing clearly in your mind? My future, honestly. It's hard picturing my elderly days. Like I'm not suicidal anymore, I just don't really... realize I'll get there, I guess. I can't picture myself being old and alive. Would you travel to space if possible? No, too long of a trip. Are you an optimistic person? I'm a realist. Do you consider yourself more realistic OR idealistic? ^ Have you ever felt bi-curious? I started out accepting myself as bisexual through thinking myself as bicurious. I quickly realized "bisexual" was more accurate than "bicurious," but it was an easier thing to shift acceptance towards in regards to yourself when you thought you were straight for 21 years. Are you a fan of U.S. President Donald Trump? No sir. I agree with some of his ideas, but I hate him as an asshole person without a trace of manners. Do you know anyone with autism, mood disorders or learning disabilities? Multiple. I'd assume most people know someone who fits at least one criterion there. Are you green-eyed? Not exactly, but they definitely have a green hue to them. They're a gray/green blue. Would you consider UFC fighting and WWE real sports events? I think it's beyond debate that a lot of it is staged, but I mean, I guess to a degree? You still have to fight. It's physical exertion. Have you ever had an immediate relative pass away of cancer? No. Wait. I can't remember if my grandmother had cancer or not... but I don't think so. She was just old. Would you rather work in an office, warehouse or on a retail shop floor? An office, definitely. In my work-hunting as well as actual work experience, office work is probably the only job I could actually do that doesn't require a degree... Do you have a favorite wild animal? Why? You can't know me and not be fully aware meerkats are my favorite animal. Why? Ho boy. I love social species, and meerkats have such strong personalities, and holy shit are those little things brave as fuck. They're so GOSH DARN CUTE!!!! too, and their loyalty to each other is astounding. I love how playful and curious the little guys are, and... just wow okay, I could write an actual essay on how I adore meerkats so goddamn much. Do you have any unusual, uncommon phobias? I'm sure there are other people afraid of whale sharks, but I don't think it's common? And is an actual phobia of pregnancy uncommon? Idk. Do you prefer Android or iPhone? I hate my Android. I've had an iPhone in the past, and it was great. Are you a fan of sweet, sour, salty, or savory snacks? All, depending on my mood. Most often I'd say I like sweet. Do you believe climate change is real? We can't be friends if you don't. Do you believe in evolution OR creationism? Evolution. Do you think people can really predict the future? Nah. Have you been to a lot of shrinks? I hate that word. Just call them therapists. But yeah. How often do you clean your room? Not often enough. I need to dust... Any movies coming out soon that you want to see? I DESPERATELY wanna see the "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" one. Those books were my CHILDHOOD. What was the last fear you overcame? I don't know about totally overcame, but vocational rehab helped me quite a bit with answering the phone to numbers I didn't recognize. Have you ever hurt yourself trying to crack a body part? No, nothing on me really cracks. Well no, both my big toes do, but no, I haven't hurt myself trying to crack them. What’s the worst part about winter? The days where it's cold BUT ALSO WINDY asdkljfaklwej;awe Summer? It's too fucking hot and probably humid, too. Spring? POLLEN. Fall? Literally nothing. :') Are you allergic to anything? Pollen and silver. How many times have you changed a diaper in your life? Like, once. Which country has the most fascinating culture? Oh boy, idk. Who does your favorite song? Idrk what my current favorite song is. I say my all-time fave is "False Flags" by Massive Attack, but it's not something I constantly wanna listen to. I guess you could maybe say it's "Headache" by Motionless In White; I play and repeat that a lot. I've really been digging them lately. When was the last time you wore makeup? Shit dude, idk. Months ago. Do you prefer males or females or both? I'm generally afraid of men, but I mean, I don't "prefer" one over the other if he's a good guy. Where in your town do you go when you wanna chill with a few friends? I don't have any friends I go out with. But there's nowhere to go here anyway. Where’s the best place to get coffee? N/A Have you ever seen someone struggle with an addiction? My dad was an alcoholic, but he's recovered. He loved (idk if he still does it) fantasy football, too. Pretty sure I got my addictive personality from him, lol. When was the last time someone gave you flowers? Early 2017. Do you like cranberry juice? omfg NO. Do you play any zombie-killing video games? The Last of Us is fucking dope, but I didn't finish it before my PS3 broke. :'( I like the Resident Evil series too, and some of those games have zombies or similar creatures. And The Walking Dead game tears my heart out every fucking season. What is the dominating genre on your mp3 player/iPod? Varying forms of metal. Do you have a book shelf? No. What website do you spend way too much time on? YouTube is ALWAYS open. I constantly either watch let's players and a few other kinds of YTers, moving windows around so I can see it and do other things, or listen to music. Do you like wind chimes? I LOVE!!!!!!!!!! WINDCHIMES!!!!!!!!!! Do you have a fetish? No. Do you have a pet fish? No. Don't get me wrong, they're beautiful and calming, but not worth it for me personally. They don't have much of a personality at all, and cleaning a tank so much for just a fish isn't for me. Do you like kettle corn? (That sweet and salty popcorn) Yessss! Do you enjoy classic rock? Hell yeah, man. When was the last time you went for a walk, just cause? Not since I was at Sara's last. Do you listen to Type O Negative? No. Do you have any fillings or cavities? Yeah. Have you gotten your wisdom teeth taken out yet? No, and thankfully I don't need to. One was very close to needing to be, but it has just enough room. Do you actually read privacy policies when signing up for new things? "Depending on what I’m signing up for, I’m likely to at least skim it." <<< This. Did you have a lot of birthday parties when you were younger? If so, did you invite everyone in the class? I had a party every year up to... idk what age. And no, I only invited friends. Do you like when things are color coordinated? Yes. Have you ever participated in one of those “guess how many jelly beans, mints, etc. are in this jar!” contest? if so, have you ever won? Yeah, and no. Can you juggle? Nope. Have you ever mistaken a ringing phone on TV or in a movie for your own? Who hasn't? How often do you use bobby pins? Never. My hair's really too short for them. Well, I'd probably pin the right side up if I was doing something like cleaning. Do you live on an avenue, road, drive or something else? Road. What are your school colors? Blue and white. Have you ever taken a picture with Santa when you were little? Yeah. Have you ever rolled down a steep, grassy hill for fun? Actually yeah. Do you like Nerds candy? Yes I do.

[whiskas-pandastar]

Their Time in Crocus

Fairy Tail week 2018

Prompt Day 2: Crocus

Summary: What went down on the day when Team Natsu arrived in Crocus on the day before the Grand Magic Games and Natsu and Lucy went to explore Crocus.

Genre: Friendship/Romance

Rating:K

A/n: this is set one day before the Grand Magic Games.

"Hey Lucy...how long are you gonna sit here and read?" Happy asked dejectedly, sitting on top of the bookshelf where Lucy was reading.

Lucy frowned at him, "I don't know, maybe a few more minutes,"

"You said that half an hour ago." Happy rolled his eyes.

"Well, I just started reading!" Lucy shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh come on, let's go already!" Natsu whined. Lucy squeaked when she found Natsu lying on the floor just next to her feet.

"Natsu what are you doing?!" Lucy stepped away.

Natsu proceeded to ignore her, "This is festival time!" he exclaimed. "There's a whole new world out there!"

"Don't forget we're here to play the Grand Magic Games! We are representing our guild and so we can't cause any ruckus. We shouldn't overexert ourselves!" Lucy laid down her case. "I'm also feeling a little sore because of the second origin release." she stretched her arms a little.

Happy giggled, "Old lady... "

"Watch it, stupid kitty!" Lucy grumbled. "Why are you guys even here, I didn't ask you to come with me anyway," she said more to herself.

"Lucy, let's go!" Natsu and Happy started whining loudly, attracting looks from other people in the store.

Lucy hid her face behind the book, "Knock it off, both of you! People are looking!"

Despite her warning, the two of them continued their antics. Lucy quickly put the book away and grabbed Natsu's arm and Happy's tail and swiftly dragged them out. She didn't want to face the humiliation of being kicked out the store with them, which had already been done countless times before.

"Sheesh, you guys!" Lucy pouted angrily.

"Mission success!" Natsu and Happy gave each other a high-five. "Aye sir!" Happy chirped.

"Well? Where do you want to go?" she raised a brow, still not pleased with what went down at the bookstore.

Natsu grinned widely, "Thought you'd never ask!" He grabbed her hand and dragged her along with him.

"Wait a second- Natsu!" Lucy huffed, trying to catch up with Natsu's speed.

They ran into the shopping district, which was the most lively place in Crocus today.

Lucy was amazed to see the wave of people, children, youngsters,  couples and elderly people too. It felt like the whole of Fiore had gathered up to see the Grand Magic Games.

That only added to the weight in her heart, the nervousness that bubbled in her stomach at the thought of a tournament they had no idea about. 7 years had gone by, and they had to make up for the lost time. She had to uphold the guild's pride. They were all counting on her. She had to make them proud. This was her only way of paying them back for all they had done.

She knew she wasn't as strong as Natsu, Gray or Erza. She was aware of her limitations. But giving up wasn't an option. She had to fight for herself, and her friends. She wanted to make everyone proud of her. She had to do her best, no matter what.

Lucy was driven away from her thoughts as Natsu shoved an ice-cream in her hands. "Ice-cream. Eat it. " he said simply. It was her favorite flavor, butterscotch with fresh strawberries and kiwis. Lucy smiled, "Thanks."

As Natsu silently watched her lick down the ice-cream, Lucy asked, "Wanna try it, Natsu?"

Natsu turned his head with a grunt, "You know I can't do ice-cream,"

Lucy smiled, "Come on, one bite, here, II'll go get another spoon," Before she could go, Natsu swooped the spoon from her hand, "No need for that," and put the ice-cream in his mouth.

An intense blush spread across her face, "Natsu! That was my spoon!" she squealed helplessly.

Natsu with a gulp of the icy thing found steam blowing from his ears. "I can't take it after all!!!" He yelled rubbing his face animatedly.

"Good grief!' Happy laughed. Lucy couldn't hold in her laughter too long at the misery of the Fire dragon slayer. Lucy had already forgotten what she was feeling glum about. She decided to put all the bad thoughts away and enjoy her time in this new city.

"Hey, I heard that Fairy Tail is participating in the Grand Magic Games this year-" Their ears perked up at the mention of their guild name. Two men were sitting on the bench and drinking alcohol in broad daylight.

His partner, a skinny guy with a shrunk face, laughed, "Fairy Tail? The guild that's always losing?! They should call themselves Fairy Losers by now!" he laughed harder at his joke.

"I heard that their core members have returned. It seems that they were quite the thing 7 years ago." the stout guy informed.

"Hah, that was 7 years ago. Trash like that should remain in their history books." he said menacingly and snickered.

Natsu, who was growling with rage had balled his fists in anger. He was about to storm to them when Lucy's better judgement stopped him.

She put a hand over his chest, "Wait-Natsu. Let me deal with this." Lucy  strode over in confidence.

"Hey you!" she pointed at the guy. "You're from the guild Titan's Nose aren't you? The same guild whose master shipped banned magic goods and was caught by Fairy Tail? The same guild that begged for mercy to Fairy Tail and promised to turn good if they didn't report it to the council?" Lucy smirked at their speechless faces, "Looks like you need to revise your history books."

She was about to turn away when she  added, "Oh, and as for the Grand Magic Games, we're gonna kick your butt! Don't you dare underestimate Fairy Tail, you hear me?!" she walked away, taking her ice-cream from the stunned Natsu and Happy.

"You guys coming?" Lucy asked.

"Yes ma'am!" Natsu and Happy replied mechanically.

There were so many shops to explore here. There were antiques, bags, jewelry, home decor, books, magazines, spices, groceries, clothes, all in one place. Artsy restaurants and quaint cafés were sprinkled in between. Lucy had to admit that this place had a greater variety than the market in Magnolia.

"Huge sale! Great discount at Eve Boutique only for today! Hurry!" A salesgirl shouted out loud.

Lucy hummed, "Maybe I should go and check out some clothes."

Natsu and Happy grumbled, "Oh come on! We just got out of the bookstore and now you want to go clothes shopping?"

"50% off on all apparel, bags and shoes!" the salesgirl continued her drag.

Lucy's eyes sparkled as she quivered with excitement, "Sale on shoes?! Let's go!" She linked her arm with Natsu and dragged him in with her. "Hey-!" Natsu squirmed but it was too late.

They entered the bright shop that had loud, upbeat music playing on the lacrimas. It was an attractive shop that had cute clothes for girls with a neat display.

Lucy squealed, "I love it all!" all starry-eyed she picked up a pair of white boots and black pencil heels. She moved around animatedly trying on hair accessories and holding up a shirt in the mirror.

She held a black embroidered top, "Hey Natsu, how does this look?"

Natsu picked his nose in a typical disinterested fashion, "Huh, looks great." He said without looking at it.

"Lucy, look, it's double cat ears!" Happy tried on a hairband that had cat ears on it.

Lucy pouted, "Ugh, okay you know what, I'll quickly buy these boots. You both go wait outside the shop."

"Great," Natsu waved his hands in resignation.

"Aye." Happy murmured and they found their way out.

Lucy sighed, "Okay, let's see which one's my size,"

Less than a moment later, Natsu tapped Lucy's shoulder, "Natsu?"

"Lucy, try this!" Natsu excitedly held up a red pleated mini skirt.

Happy held up a white off-shoulder top. "And this too!"

"Eh?" Lucy was surprised. "What the heck you guys?"

"Come on, just try it on!" They pushed the clothes in her hands. "Wait a second, these aren't my size!" Lucy said with a quick look from the tag.

Natsu took another look and agreed, "Right, excuse me!" He called out to a nearby salesgirl, "Do you have a size smaller than this?"

The girl came over, smiling ear to ear, "Yes sir. Could you tell me the exact size you want?"

Lucy started to speak when Natsu answered immediately, "Small size, waist 59cm and Hip 88cm."

"Understood, I'll go get it immediately," the girl said and rushed away.

"What the- How does Natsu know my measurements?!" Lucy blushed red.

"With all the time Natsu spends with you, it's obvious Lucy!" Happy said simply as if that was common sense.

"What does that even mean?!" Lucy turned even more red, if that were possible.

The girl came over and handed the skirt to Natsu, "There, now go try it on!" he said pushing it into her hands and pushing her towards the trial room.

"Okay, okay I got it!" She pouted. She pulled the curtain and started changing. It was strange that Natsu was suddenly taking interest in her clothes. Although, Lucy had to admit, she felt a little happy that he chose something for her.

"Are you done yet?" she heard Natsu's impatient voice from outside.

"Geez, wait a minute, will you?" Lucy answered back while pulling the shirt over her head. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. The dress showed off her legs and her collar bones. She was used to showing her skin but this outfit had a different vibe.

"I'm pulling the curtain!" Natsu announced and immediately pulled over. Lucy turned and smiled, feeling a little abashed. Natsu stared at her intensely head to toe, making her feel self conscious. "Well?" Lucy asked, waiting for his reaction. He looked like he was in deep thought.

The salesgirl from earlier smiled, "That looks great on you ma'am! That is one of our bestsellers here," She looked at Natsu, "Your boyfriend has an excellent taste!"

Lucy jumped at the comment, her heart thumping furiously against her chest, "N-no no, we're not-"

"Take that off!" Natsu pulled at her shirt.

"Excuse me!?" Lucy backed away, crossing her arms over her chest. The salesgirl put her hands over her mouth, looking far too excited and invested.

"Try this on instead," He held up pastel purple backless crop top with cute unattached half sleeves and a black corset.

Lucy was amazed at Natsu's particular choices. Who knew the dragon slayer had a good fashion sense? Maybe she should ask him for fashion tips.

Natsu finally nodded, giving a thumbs up, "Looks good!"

Lucy couldn't help but feel shy once again at his open feelings. This side of Natsu was new to her. But she did enjoy it.

"They liiikeeeeach other !" Happy rolled his tongue.

"Shut up, stray cat!" Lucy yelled , feeling embarrassed.

As Lucy finalised her purchase, she noticed a few magazines on a rack near the counter. She realized that she had a copy of the latest issue in her house and all the clothes that featured in it were sold here. And then it struck her. Natsu was reading her magazines when he spent time in her house. Whether intentionally or idly, he was keeping the trends in mind.

Lucy couldn't help but smile. Natsu was such a sweet boy sometimes. Having him around always lifted her spirits. She could be herself and have fun. Even though Happy and Natsu troubled her and teased her from time to time, she knew they always had her best at heart and truly cared for her.

She couldn't imagine her life without them, even their usual barging in her house.

Lucy smiled all the way out, feeling elated after their little outing. They decided to grab a snack at the stalls and see a few more places around the town. Crocus being the flower capital, they donned flower crowns and garlands that were given to all the tourists.

They watched various street performances; magic shows, musicians playing music and dancers. The upbeat music had gathered a mob of dancing people and Lucy dragged Natsu along to join her. She smiled and laughed with Natsu and Happy, having a great time.

"Ah that was so much fun!" Lucy exhaled, the excitement still lingering in her bones. The dancing crowd was chattering as they dispersed in big groups.

"Lucy got too excited!" Happy giggled, flying in the air.

"All that movement made me more hungry!" Natsu complained, folding his hands over his head.

The density of moving people had increased as the performances ended and it became dark. Lucy had to keep pushing people to follow Natsu and Happy.

Happy sighed with exasperation, "Hungry already? You just ate two bags of popcorn!"

Lucy was finding it more and more difficult to keep pace with them. The mob of people seemed to sweep her away.

"Eh? So what? That wasn't enough!" Natsu remarked.

She was already losing sight of Natsu and Happy, their voices getting lost in the numerous sounds surrounding them. Her heart started thumping, the feeling of claustrophobia eating away at her mind.

Crushed by the onslaught of people, her dry throat couldn't get a voice out. It felt like she was drowning in the sea of people, getting swallowed by the earth.

Fear gripped her mind, "I don't want to be alone...Dont leave me, Natsu-!" She stretched her hand out helplessly, trying to reach him.

A warm hand grabbed her outstretched hand, "Lucy?" Natsu's voice sounded gentle and soft against the noisy town, close to her.

"Lucy where did you go? We got worried that you got lost!" Happy cried.

"Are you alright?" Natsu asked, scrutinizing her face.

Lucy gulped and nodded slightly, "Yes I'm fine." she managed to croak out. She wasn't sure what had suddenly gotten over her. The irrational fear and anxiety was something she had never experienced before.

Natsu seemed to notice her discomfort immediately. He clasped her hand firmly and pulled her close, "I'm here. Lets go." he said reassuredly.

And that was all Lucy needed to hear. He pulled her along with him, never leaving her hand even once. They walked through the maze of people until they were free from the constant rocking and pushing.

"I'm fine now, I promise." it was only when she said that was when Natsu finally let her hand go.

"Thank you, Natsu, Happy." She pulled them into a hug, effectively surprising them. Natsu and Happy exchanged worried looks. They knew Lucy was sensitive and quite frankly, they didn't always know how to react when she was like that.

When she pulled away, Natsu rubbed his neck and looked everywhere else, but at Lucy. "Uh, so should we return?"

"Okay," Lucy nodded. "But only after a dinner treat with me!" she winked.

Natsu and Happy rejoiced, glad that Lucy was back to normal and Lucy successfully threw off the awkward air between them.

After all, a good meal was what pleased these dorks the most.

A/n- after that dinner they meet the twin dragons and return to their dorm at 12. Hope you enjoyed this short story! :)

[moreenchiladasplease]

15 Questions Tag

tagged by @hannahdearr ! thank you! you’re so lovely <3

1. Are you named after anyone? 

Yes, I am. Safiyah is an Islamic name, one of the name’s of the Prophet Muhammad’s wives. It’s most common meaning is ‘pure’, but it can also mean ‘friend’. 

2. When was the last time you cried?

today. while I was listening to Paul Kim’s the road. i got emotional but what’s new? 

Paul Kim’s voice is just so lovely and he sang that song with such emotion. plus his expressions in the MV really got to me.

3. Do you have kids?

hahahahhahahahahahhah no. 

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

a whole bunch with family and friends. it’s quite fun.

5. What is the first thing that you notice about people?

mostly their eyes and their smile.  

6. What’s your eye color?

uh brown. I don’t know how to be more specific than that. no, wait... dark brown. there ya go.

I tried asking my sister to stare into my eyes and tell me my specific eye color and she shoved me away... so all you’re getting is dark brown  

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

um happy ending what am I crazy?? I don’t like to be scared shitless and I like my smiles thank you very much 

8. Any special talents?

what is talent? I'm very good at pretending I didn't break things...

9. Where were you born?

I was born in Los Angeles, California. 

10. What are your hobbies?

I like to watercolor and sketch. I’m also trying to learn how to embroider because... yeah. And I try and read four books a month but well... I’m so behind on my 2018 reading goals. And I very much like to eat. 

11. Do you have any pets? 

buckle down, it’s gonna be a long ride. 

I have two precious little furrballs. One calico kitty named Chiquita, and one grey tom cat named Rocky. And we’re currently fostering a kitten we named Ginger. 

Chiquita, for some strange still unknown reason, had a phase when she a wee babe where she ate our socks. Or would take them to her little stash of ‘toys’ under the couch. Which we didn’t know about then. It’s where she kept bottle caps, mismatched socks, more bottle caps, and tissue. She specifically liked polka dotted socks, which we found out when I wore my favorite pair of polka-dotted socks and she attacked my feet and tried to get them off me. Rest In Peace you fabulous socks you. She’s mostly obsessed with thread now. Not ribbon. Not yarn. Thread. She will lunge at you if she sees a stray piece of thread on you. Many a times I’ve screamed this way. But she’s harmless, I swear.

Rocky is pretty mellow. He’s such a sweetheart. He’s so patient with everyone, his sister included. Even when she smacks his nose. Which happens quite a bit : ) He has this thing with straws. He likes to kick them around and chew on them. And he pretty much will take any straw you give him, but he absolutely LOVES Starbucks straws. #basicbitch I think he like to unwrap them and then get the straw. Like a little prize. So now every time we go to Starbucks we get him a straw. He also likes to roll in dirt. Like he really loves it. He sees a pile of sand and just goes fucking crazy. And he gives such warm snuggles.

Ginger is kinda new to the house, so we don’t know that much about him. But he’s a tiny tiny baby kitten so he pretty much craves attention. And hates being alone. He’s incredibly active too. Wild. And so loving.

Oh god I’m writing an essay. I’ll stop now.

12. How tall are you? 

idk? is this something everyone just knows? like how much they weigh? because let me tell ya, I know neither. I think somewhere in the 5″ mark.

13. What sports do you play/have played? 

I used play soccer in school. I once scored a goal for the opposing team, unknowingly. Which was a bummer because it washy first goal and I was really excited and I was celebrating. My friend was just standing next to me shaking her head. So, yeah, I think that tells how good I was at soccer. 

I also played basketball and baseball with my brothers. I sucked at basketball. I did like baseball though. It was fun. We don’t play that much anymore.

14. Favorite subject in school?

It’s always been Language and Math. Algebra really but, Math overall, I guess.  

I just always like reading in Language class. And vocab because I would just whip out my thesaurus and have fun. Yes, I just used “thesaurus” and “fun” in the same sentence. Yes, I am nerd. Deal. 

15. Dream job?

I want to be a freelance artist. Work from home. Have my own online shop. Just live the dream. 

And Ione day, co-own a cafe/bookstore with my sister.

you know how it is. don’t do them if you don’t want to! : )

tagging @mllebabushkat and @kizunah and @theforgottencoolkid

[theoddcatlady]

Washed Overboard

“Jesus Christ, Anna, get your nose out of the book, we’re about to go snorkeling!”

I responded how I normally did to my sister- I raised my middle finger without tearing my eyes from the pages. I heard Rose gasp before she ran back to mom, whining about how I flipped her the bird and was being antisocial again.

Hey. My family dragged me away from my weekend of reading in my room where it was quiet and peaceful. My plans hadn’t changed even if the location had. On the ocean. Where my brother and his girlfriend were constantly making out below deck and you couldn’t get my older sister out of the water for more than ten minutes.

I heard my dad’s stride approach me before a pair of large hands covered my eyes. “Anna, did you flip off your sister again?” He asked.

I struggled free and set down the book, putting a bookmark in place. “There’s no photographic evidence,” I said before turning in my seat to look at him. “Are you seriously going to force me to snorkel?”

“Noooooo… but I’ll take you to a bookstore once we’re back home if you do.”

The cruelest of bribery. I chewed my bottom lip as I contemplated it before I said, “And we name the boat ‘The Midlife Crisis’?”

I got a gentle smack on the back of the head for that.

“Worth a shot.”

I got into my swimsuit and stood awkwardly near the edge, crossing my arms over my chest. Rose bounced over, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Yippee! You’re gonna love it sis. It’s SO gorgeous out here!” She trilled before she jumped in. The water was practically her second home.

On the other hand, I totally believe if God meant us to swim, he would’ve given us fins. And that says something considering I’m an atheist.

I took a deep breath before I dived in after her.

The water wasn’t too cold at least, Rose was already swimming off watching the coral below. I floated in place for a while, not moving an inch.

“Anna! You drowning?”

I shot a thumbs up above the water before I started paddling my feet. Rose was so graceful in the water, each movement smooth and calculated. The fish got close to her, unafraid of her because she was unafraid of them.

I screamed when a smaller fish darted closer to me. It darted off and hid. Yeah. I’m a little scared of fish. Just a little.

I was beginning to wonder when was the appropriate time to return to the boat when at the corner of my eye I caught a dark shape floating. A human dark shape floating.

I popped my head up, my heart pounding in my chest. Had something happened to Rose? I ripped off the goggles and started paddling to the body.

Closer I got confirmed it wasn’t Rose. It was a man. Too tanned to be my pasty white dad or sunburned brother, but they weren’t moving. Frantically, I paddled faster, screaming for Rose or my dad for help. I reached him and turned him over.

He wasn’t rotting. He was still warm to the touch. Also, bad time to notice, but he was really hot. And naked.

Rose popped up next to me, her eyes bulging from her skull. “Holy shit! Is he dead?!”

“I don’t think so, come on, I can’t drag him back to the boat myself!” I grunted as I attempted to do so, only succeeding in pushing my head below the water.

Thankfully Rose had been a lifeguard for the past two summers running. She knew how to do this. We dragged the unconscious man up to the ship, yelling for dad to help. Both him and my mom grabbed a hold of the guy and pulled him onto the deck. By the time I got my flippers kicked off and I climbed onboard Rose was already performing CPR.

I shook my head as Leo finally joined us above deck, his girlfriend Claire discreetly adjusting her bikini top behind him. He was so dead. The success rate of CPR was way lower than the movies and the TV shows would have you believe. Ick. I checked out a dead guy.

Water spurted from the guy’s mouth and he sat up in a shot. I screamed and nearly toppled overboard as I scrambled backward. The man gasped, his eyes wide as he rested a hand on his chest. His eyes darted from person to person. Rose sighed with relief. “Welcome back to the living,” She said, patting his shoulder.

This is when we all consecutively noticed how very naked he was. My mom quickly tossed him a towel to cover his ‘decency’ and my dad got him to a chair to sit down. He seemed very out of it, not surprised given he was probably just about to head into that good old white light before we fished him out of the ocean.

“Sis, get the first aid kit. And maybe dad’s spare trunks,” Rose said as she sat with him.

Of course I was reduced to running girl. Not like I found him or anything. By the time I returned to deck, he seemed more focused and was talking coherently.  His bright green eyes focused on me as I walked up, holding out the swim trunks. I felt my face grow a bit warm and I cleared my throat. “So, did you see a white light or anything?” I asked.

Rose groaned and face palmed. “That’s my sister Anna, she’s the one who found you. She doesn’t know how to talk like a normal person,” She said.

The man chuckled and took the swim trunks, resting them on his lap. Damn, he had great thighs. Focus on his face. On. His. Face. “Eh, I can’t remember if I did or not. Thank you, Anna. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted out there,” He said. Damn, his voice was sexier than his ripped bod.

Seriously! Focus!

I cleared my throat a few times and shrugged. “I mean, I’m not gonna leave you for the sharks. What’s your name?”

“Christopher. My name is Christopher.”

Despite nearly drowning, Christopher seemed to show no ill effects, only taking an Advil for the headache he had. And my whole family immediately fell in love with him. Particularly Rose.

Especially Rose.

“Here’s dinner,” My dad said as he plopped the steaks in front of us. Christopher seemed uninterested in dinner. Same with Rose. They were… very interested in each other, their eyes not breaking contact and their hands clutched together.

Mom pressed her lips together. “Chris? Rose? Are you hungry?” She asked, not so subtly hinting for them to break it up.

“Oh! Right!” Rose blushed and filled her plate while Chris raised a hand.

“I’ll pass. I’m not too hungry.”

Claire wrinkled her nose. “What were you doing out there anyway?” She asked.

Chris paused for a moment. “Oh, why I was out in the water?” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s embarrassing. I was on a boat with my friends last night, we were partying, and I guess I slipped. Ocean was rocking pretty roughly last night, I hit my head on the way down. I don’t know how I made it as long as I did,” He said.

“And you were walking around naked-” I cut off as Rose kicked my ankle.

Chris shrugged. “It was warm,” was his excuse. Rose giggled and set her head on his shoulder. Lucky her.

I focused on my steak dinner and let Chris continue chatting it up with my family. After I cleaned my plate I walked below deck, deciding now was the time to finish my book.

“Pssst! Anna!”

Claire poked her head from her room and gestured me in. Confused, I walked in. Claire was the same age as my little brother, sixteen, so there wasn’t much of a gap between us but she hardly seemed interested in talking to me. For a few seconds, Claire listened at the door before she sat on the bed.

“I think Christopher is full of shit.”

I nearly choked on my spit with how bluntly she delivered that. I pounded my chest before I sat down next to her. “What do you mean, full of shit?” I asked.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Please. He said he fell overboard last night. You didn’t find him until midafternoon. Yet his skin wasn’t wrinkled? Heck, he was still alive after being out there so long? And the ocean was hardly bad last night. I’m just saying it’s weird. Also. He was walking around naked last night. How convenient.”

Huh. I shifted my weight on the bed and frowned. “That’s… that’s a bit weird, yeah.” I heard a burst of laughter above deck, Christopher probably cracked another joke. “I don’t think he’s bad though. I mean, he’s been nice. Maybe he’s just embarrassed?”

Claire pursed her lips. “That’s what worries me even more. If he was out to sea last night with his friends, why the fuck hasn’t he asked for one of our cellphones to call them and tell them he’s okay? Why haven’t we heard on the radio that someone went overboard last night?”

Oh.

~*~

I couldn’t sleep that night. Christopher was sleeping on the top deck, dad was promising to take us all back to land tomorrow so we could reunite Christopher with his friends. Christopher laughed and said he’d kick their asses for not realizing he was gone.

Why did Claire have to make me all paranoid though?

I counted the waves splashing against my window. Maybe it would work like counting sheep and I’d be okay. One wave… two waves… three waves… a giant fucking splash…

Did Christopher fall overboard again? I kicked off the blankets and quick walked to the deck, my heart bouncing into my throat.

Rose was out there in her Hello Kitty pajamas, looking overboard. Her lips were in a perfect ‘o’ as she stared into the water. “How… I don’t understand, Christopher...” She said.

I heard Christopher’s voice, more melodic and soothing than ever. “Come with me, Rose. I can show you the reef in ways you’ve never imagined. You won’t have to leave the water again. And your chains with be of the beautiful silver and pearls.”

I was almost onto the deck myself when someone yanked my arm back below deck.

It was Claire, who’d gone white. “Cover your ears! Now!” She hissed, pointing to her own earplugs. I reached up, dazed, clapping my hands over my ears.

It was like a switch. What the fuck.

Claire dragged me further below deck, out of earshot of Christopher. “There’s more of them. Men, woman. I saw them swimming by the window,” She said, pulling out one earplug. “They’re all telling us to come overboard. I had to tie Leo to the bed with his t-shirt, he’s uber pissed.”

“What the actual shit is going on, Claire?!” I asked, glancing back up the stairs. I could still hear Christopher’s voice, not the words, just the tone.

Claire shook her head. She had no idea.

Oh no. Rose.

I pulled Claire’s earplugs from her and ran back above deck.

My parents were already up there, staring into the water. Rose was standing on the edge of the boat, completely naked except for the necklace I gave her last year. I could hear Christopher’s voice, with many others, talking to all of them.

I screamed Rose’s name at the top of my lungs. Rose jerked and turned around, seemingly trying to focus on my voice. “Rose! Get down from there! Please!” I screamed again, starting to run to her to pull her down.

My dad clubbed me over the head before I got too close. I hit the ground, my skull exploding in pain. I heard one splash. Two splashes. One of the earplugs rolled out of my ear. I heard Christopher again.

“Jump, Rose! Jump!”

I blacked out.

The next morning, when the sun started warming my face, I woke up, my head aching and Rose nowhere in sight. Neither was Christopher. I walked to the bench where he’d slept the night previous, the borrowed swim trunks were neatly folded on the seat.

I heard a splash and turned my head.

A scarlet, scaly tail slapped above the water, before a familiar head poked up. Christopher grinned up at me, gesturing for me to come closer.

I threw the swim trunks at his head before I ran below deck, screaming for my family.

Mom and dad were gone. Leo was gone. Claire was also gone. I was the only one left onboard. I walked back on deck. Christopher was already gone, along with his swim trunks.

I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around myself as I sobbed.

I was all alone. The only one not convinced to jump overboard.

[christopherwatsonbooks]

Covenant Spring, Chapter Three

Years went by. I worked a handful of jobs. Most aren’t worth talking about.

I moved out of the house as soon as I could afford it. I found a little apartment I could manage on my own. It had putty-colored walls and thin brown carpeting. The air conditioning carried the damp smell of everyone who had ever lived there, like a dirty refrigerator.

The day I moved out of the house, Dad presented me with a laminated wallet-sized card on which he’d carefully printed all the names and phone numbers he could think of, in case I was ever in an accident or needed help. He made me put the card into my wallet right then, even though I had most of the numbers in my phone contacts already. He kept talking as we loaded my stuff into the apartment, checking the smoke detectors and reminding me to lock the doors and windows when I was away, and to call him if I needed anything, even if he was at work. We made a date to go shopping for used furniture at the Goodwill store.

I walked him out to the car. He hugged me before he got in. I smelled his after shave, felt his soft middle-aged muscles beneath his store shirt. I was taller than he was now. It was the first time I had been close enough to him to really notice.

I sat on a box in my new apartment and cried. I wasn’t sure why.

. . .

I bought a used car, a crappy little oil-burning Toyota. I spent most of my spare cash on books, and read most of them. I hardly ever invited anyone over because I'm a dick.

I'm not trying to be funny. I know how I am around people. I'm not easy to get along with. I don't try to be a dick but there's just not that much that anyone has to say that interests me, most people anyway. Most of it is obvious or ignorant, or tedious social prattle, or just plain bullshit.

I find it all exceptionally difficult to tolerate. I suppose I could try, or try harder, but it’s not worth the effort to me. Inevitably, I’ll find myself having to say something meaningless just to be social or having to pretend that someone didn’t just say something stupendously asinine, just to be polite.

People think I'm arrogant because I don’t say much. It's easier to let them think that than it is to pretend to be friendly. When I attempt the required contortions, I wind up castrating my point, stumbling over my own attempted courtesy to the degree that I end up sounding like a moron.

The trouble with being nice for its own sake, with being courteous in the face of imbecility, is that the very people who require you to make the effort will mistake you for a pussy. Speak plain, and you’re a dick.

So I’m a dick. I don’t see that it’s my responsibility to coddle your delicate sensibilities or make you comfortable in your ignorance. I can’t help it if you jump when I slap my coins on the counter. Grow the fuck up.

There. I’m done.

It would’ve been nice to have had some company, though.

. . .

Dad I can talk to. We made it a point to have dinner together once a month. It's nice to buy dinner for your dad. He always offered to pay and sometimes I let him, when I saw he needed to. I would get the tip then.

“How is she?” I would ask. I didn’t have to say who.

“The same,” he would say. And we would move on, careful not to open that door too wide, easing it closed.

I felt I had to ask, to at least recognize that she was a part of things, if for no other reason than that she still took up space in our world, and so must be acknowledged.

. . .

Most of the time, though, I fantasized about women. I thought about them constantly. I imagined the feel of their smooth shoulders beneath my hands, the softness of them pressed against me, their warm scent. I ached for it.

I loved to watch women in bookstores, beautiful smart women opening book covers to feed their souls. Their slim fingers pulling their hair back, tucking it behind their ear, that perfect smooth curve of neck revealed.

You women, you moved through the world like goddesses to me. Do you know the power you had, cool and perfect so that it split my heart to see you. I never dared approach, because I would not have been able to bear had you turned away. But you being there gave me what hope I had. Like a dream of a kiss, better left sweet in sleep than spoiled by waking.

. . .

I'd had two girlfriends my whole life. The first was Leslie, in high school. She was plain, with clean, straight blonde hair and button-down blouses with khaki skirts and a little small mouth already trained in that smile some girls have, studied sweetness and insurmountable distance all projected with a twitch of dimple. We studied in the library, and sometimes we went to movies together. Leslie always called her parents right after we got there and just before we left to go home.

Hanging with Leslie was like eating vanilla ice cream. It wasn't as good as chocolate or strawberry but it was better than no ice cream at all.

She sent me a happy graduation card, signed “Love, Leslie.” She might as well have written any word in the language, for all the meaning it had. Love was just a word, something girls like her dispensed like heart-shaped candies, to be nice.

Leslie went to Rutgers on a scholarship, to study psychology. I saw her at the mall a few years later, on the other side of the promenade. She looked precisely the same, as if she’d been in storage since we last saw one another. I thought about going over to say hi, but I didn’t. I’d still be precisely what I’d been to her when we’d shared time together. A stranger.

Dear Leslie. I hope you’re doing well. Love, Danny.

. . .

The other woman was Cheryl. She was twelve years older than me and sold advertising for a local newspaper. I met her at the pet store where I worked for a while.

Working at the pet store taught me why so many women rescue strays and work in animal shelters. I saw them at the store all the time. They were either fat and wearing sweat clothes or heroin thin, with old faces, like books abandoned open to the elements.

Nadine was a bus driver, she came in every week and bought forty pounds of kibble and a big box of biscuits. She had seven dogs. When she told me, I said how it must be a handful to have so many. Nadine said better dog shit on the rug than a drunk asshole with no job on the couch.

Pow. I don't laugh at dog and cat people now like I used to. Just the obviously crazy ones.

Cheryl had an orange tomcat tabby named Rusty, neutered. I learned to remember the difference between neutered and spayed because neuter and nuts begin with the same letter. You use whatever works.

Cheryl wasn't a fat cat person. She dressed in business suits and had auburn hair. She wore lots of makeup that looked like she'd spent an hour on it, like the porn star anchors on cable TV news.

Cheryl made it easy to flirt. Cheryl taught me that I could say certain things to certain women in a certain way without fear that I’d be taken seriously. I said things to Cheryl that would have had Leslie calling her dad in a panic.

One afternoon, Cheryl asked if I'd ever thought about having sex with her. She said it was okay if I had.

I was twenty-two when I lost my virginity. Maybe you think that’s late. I don’t think it matters. Once you do it, you’re doing it. The rest is just practice.

All Cheryl and I did was have sex. It was all she wanted, and I couldn’t find reason to object. She showed me what to do and let me know when I got it right. She didn’t have a headboard on her bed, so sometimes the top of her head would thump against the wall, bump-bump-bump. Whenever I was on top I put a pillow between her head and the wall. I was a considerate lover. It's funny as hell now, to think about it.

Sometimes Rusty would jump up on the bed while we were at it. “Rusty, go!” Cheryl would say, her head thumping against the wall. And Rusty would obediently jump off of the bed. He’d curl around Cheryl’s bare ankles when she showed me to the door. “Isn’t he a good kitty?” Cheryl would say, and then tell me good-bye, and close the door in my face.

Cheryl would never come to my apartment. She let me buy her dinner, once. We'd been doing whatever we were doing for six weeks. At the restaurant she was nervous. She didn't say much and hardly ate. She tried to pay when we were done and became angry when I insisted on paying instead.

We didn't have sex that night. She said she was tired and I left her at the curb in front of her apartment and watched her click-clack up the paved walk and disappear inside without a glance behind her.

I called Cheryl the next day and left a message, but she never called back. She never came back to the pet store. At least not while I was there.

I drove by her apartment a while later. Her car was there, the light was on. I didn’t stop. I didn’t know what I would say.

Maybe if I'd been more like Rusty.

. . .

Here is the most remarkable thing I remember from those years. The one single most memorable thing.

I was standing beneath a shop awning one afternoon in the summer, on the little main street in our town. It had begun pouring rain, out of nowhere.

I'm deciding whether to wait or make a run for my car, when I see her. She's approaching from my right, walking like there's no rain. She doesn't have an umbrella and she doesn't care.

She's soaked to the skin, her blouse is sticking to her, her wet hair is pulled back from her forehead.

She stops by a car parked at the curb and applies lipstick in the side-view mirror, in the rain. The tops of her breasts glisten, the dark space between them opens as she bends over.

I see her as I write this. I can smell the wet asphalt, and the rain. There she is, in her astonishing glory.

I have constructed entire conversations we might have had, entire lives.

She looks up, and there I am before her. I say what I say, just the perfect thing to make her fresh-painted lips smile, to make her wonder if I might be worth some of her time.

From that moment, that space in the heartbeat slowing of the world around you as you await the next, the rest proceeds.

That's all you need, if you can get it. That alone can make up for everything else. You won't need a map to make yourself real.

I hadn't met CeeCee then.

. . .

The pet store closed, driven out of business by a big-box discount chain that opened a half-mile away. I had thirty days to find a new job.

[scurvgirl]

Witch AU

Hey, I wrote a thing today! 

Melarue and Anaris (the cat) belong to @justanartsysideblog

There is a shop on a street in Wycome. It’s a nice street, lined with well-kept white flowering trees. There are pools of petals under the trees, decorating the grey stones of the sidewalks. The shop is nestled in a with the rest of the old brown rowhouses. A small sign hangs outside of the shop declaring it to the world.

OLDE BOOKS FOR OLDER SOULS est. REJ. 16:78

Not many know of the store, but those who do swear by it. The shopkeeper can procure almost any book, they say. They review her store on google and yelp and get her recognition, which makes her happy. It means that she can provide a well-kept home for her child, and even slide some money towards her coven when they need.

The shop mostly caters to the local witch community, but non-witches are of course welcome. If they weren’t, she wouldn’t be doing so well.

Kassaran lives above the shop in an equally nice two-bedroom apartment. It’s old but kept in good condition. The wood trim is pristine, the tile in the entry way is clean, uncracked – even the clawfoot tub is polished and in good order. It’s the nicest place she’s lived in, and it’s hers. Hers and Ashokara’s, of course.

Every morning, she wakes, makes breakfast, rouses her daughter, and helps her ready for the school day. She then walks Ash to her school, only two blocks away. It’s run by another in the coven, but it’s not limited to just those in the coven. It generally caters to all the witch children within a ten-block radius. Witch children tend to need specific instruction, especially when their powers start making themselves known, and that age tends to vary. Ash hasn’t showed any signs yet, but Kass knows it’s coming. Her father may not have been a witch, but Kass can see inside of Ash, slowly uncoiling, getting ready to bloom.

Normally, after she drops Ash off at school, she returns to the shop, stocks it, and opens it up. Estelle doesn’t come by until later to help with the afternoon crowd, right when Kass has to be a mom and help Ash after school.

It’s just a regular day. Until she steps down the stoop with Ash in toe only to see main door to the building next hers open. There is a U-Haul parked on the street, back doors flung open.

“Kitty!” Ash declares happily, pointing up to the cat sitting on the top of the railing by the door. The cat turns its head towards Ash. Kass swears the creature smiles before letting out a friendly chirp of a meow.

“Yes, that’s a kitty, a very pretty kitty. Okay, say bye to the kitty! Bye, kitty!” Kass says, trying to hurry Ash along.

Ash waves, “Bye-bye, kitty!” She lets Kass direct her down the steps, and they’re off to school.

They thankfully make it by a slim two-minute margin, but not late is not late. When Kass returns to her shop and home, the cat is still outside, sitting happily on the railing. Kass arches a brow at the cat before walking inside her shop, ready to start her day.

First, she has to stock the shipments that came yesterday. It’s regular stock, which means it goes on the shelves. Irregular stock, meaning banned and magical books are kept in the basement level, and that’s only open to the coven and a select few other customers who meet her requirements. The door to the basement is warded heavily from any would be intruders.

The shop opens at nine, and is open until seven, eight for the witches.

She is halfway through stocking the shop when the ceiling rattles above her. The wall shakes, and she can hear the moving of heavy furniture. It reminds her that she needs to boost her soundproofing charms. She is just about to ignore it when one of the keys on her ward board starts to glow blue. Foreign magic but not hostile magic, and the key indicates that it’s close. The thumps become more rhythmic and Kass can guess what is happening.

She still has fifteen minutes until the store is supposed to open, so she heads over to the building next to hers. It’s an old flower shop, long abandoned since its previous owner was ousted by a coven in the city. Not Kass’s coven, they’re not interested in the investigation of magic, they’re more of a self-policing group. The lettering on the glass is still there, though.

GLASS STREET FLOWERS est. REJ. 16:22

The doors are open, and the cat is still there, now watching Kass closely with its sharp steel blue eyes. That is no ordinary cat. It’s not a familiar either.

Before she can question the cat, however, a heavily pregnant elf appears in the door. They appear winded after climbing down the stairs and before she can think it through, she’s stepping down her stoop.

“Hello! You must be a new neighbor. Would you like any help moving things in? Those stairs can be quite the pain.”

They stop in the doorway, tall and elegant, even with what looks to be a late pregnancy belly.

“I have it handled,” they reply in a smooth voice. They step down the stoop and go to the truck. The cat follows them on the railing, still watching Kass.

“It’s really no trouble. When I was pregnant with my daughter, moving up those stairs was horrific.” She approaches the van and moves to help them with what looks to be a heavy desk.

They turn and levy a sharp gaze at her.

“I have it handled,” they say, more stern. Kass nods and takes a step back.

“Alright, I don’t mean to step on your toes. If you need help, I’m next door. I own and operate the bookstore.” She drops her voice low, “I also cater to special, like-created people, understand?”

They watch her for a moment then nod.

“Okay, then, um, I’m Kass, by the way. Welcome.” She waves and heads back into her store. She needs to finish stocking and then open.

After she stocks the shelves, Kass flips the sign on the door and waits for the customers. Ten minutes later the bell rings and in walks a familiar elf.

“Welcome to Olde Books! Let me know if I can help you find anything,” she says cheerfully. They wander the store before walking up to the counter.

“You can call me Melarue, and I…would like to take you up on your offer, if it still stands.” They keep their eyes averted and voice low, though she wonders if the low voice is just out of habit. Witches, especially lone witches, do all sorts of things to keep a low profile, even in cities with a low Templar presence.

Kass nods and walks out from around the counter, “Yes, it does.” She gestures for them to follow her in the stock room in the back. “I have to move heavy boxes a lot, comes with owning the store. I have this crème I made, it helps with strength.” Kass pops open a drawer in the desk she keeps back there, removing the crème from inside. It isn’t the best smelling crème, but it’s not offensive either as she slathers it over her hands and forearms. She offers the crème to Melarue who runs a few safety incantations over it.

It’s not insulting, she expects it, really. Witches need to be careful, particularly pregnant ones. After their spells come up with negative on anything harmful, they lather the lotion into their hands and arms, just as Kass had done.

Together they walk back to Melarue’s van. Kass does most of the lifting, maneuvering the heavy desk out of the van and up into their new apartment. It’s identical to hers, the same two bedrooms, the same bathroom, same everything. The wood floors are in slightly better condition, though, fewer scratches. That will probably change after they have their baby and the little nugget starts walking.

“Where do you want it?” She asks.

They wave to the second bedroom but before she can put it there, they stop her, “Wait, no, that’s the baby’s room. The other bedroom, please.”

She heads into the room, plops the desk down, then moves it into where she has her desk. It maximizes space, she’s redone her room for space three times, and the current configuration is the best one.

“It’s alright, it didn’t really sink in that I was having a baby until labor.” It’s so strange to be in the sparse version of her apartment, what a vision to see it free of toys and clothes and the various plants she keeps. Her apartment was like this, once, when she first moved in. She was in her second trimester, alone, but blessedly free.

Shokrakar had found the building for her, had put in a loan for both the shop and the apartment. It took Kass a couple years to pay her back, but she eventually did. Now the apartment and shop are completely hers, she’s truly free. Though by the time she paid the coven back, she didn’t want to leave.

Melarue has managed to buy it all by themselves. That’s commendable. But she knows what it’s like to be pregnant, alone, and in a new place.

“I didn’t know what I was going to name my daughter until I had her in my arms and the name just came to me,” she continues. They watch her, brow arched in a calculating thinly veiled nervous manner.

“I asked you to help me move in, I don’t need the lecture.”

They are worried and defensive and Kass gets it. It’s why she doesn’t take it personally.

“Alright, um. I need to get back to my store, but I have an assistant coming in around one, I can help you some more around then, does that work for you?” She keeps her tone light and easy, sweet. She’ll call Shokrakar later, tell her about the newcomer.

“That’s fine. Thank you for the desk.” They shout her out and she waves as she heads aback over to the shop. There are a couple people in there and she greets them before helping with their purchases.

Melarue. An uncommon name for the Free Marches. For anywhere, she guesses. Then again, many witches have unusual names, many choose new names. Some places have more Templars than others and changing names can help cut the connecting string between incidents in different cities.

The cat isn’t their familiar, but still concerning. She’ll have to tell them to make sure the cat and Kass’s familiar don’t get into a weird territory thing. Duul isn’t an aggressive rabbit, but she can be…difficult. Such is Luck.

Kass manages the store until Estelle arrives. She’s a nice girl, new to the coven. High school drop out turned runaway turned now back at school where she’s safe from the people who hurt her.

“Watch the shop for me? We have a new neighbor and I promised them I’d help out.”

Estelle shrugs, munching on her carrot sticks, “Sure. No one comes in except Smelly George ‘round this time anyways.”

“Good, good – his sandwich is in the kitchen by the way,” she says before heading out to go help Melarue. She finds them upstairs, trying to lug what must be a forty-pound box into the kitchen. She bends down and hauls it up, letting them fall back on their butt and lean against the wall for support.

“You know if you do too much you could make yourself go into early labor.”

“I don’t need the lecture,” they snap. Kass turns to them, eyebrows raised.

“My apologies, just trying to help,” she says. She sets the box down in the kitchen and begins to unpack the cauldron set. Witches need more than one big cauldron, the big one, the one that goes into a fireplace, is only used for potions that either need that many ingredients or a potion that will have many imbibers. Smaller pots with engravings are usually more practical for the lone witch. Kass sets them in a lower cabinet. They’re heavy and it’s better to lift a heavy object up than try to safely maneuver it down, especially when pregnant.

She heads back out and down the stairs to the truck. There’s an old table covered with runes, but that’s it. No other furniture, which means that they don’t have a bed or a sofa or a crib. Kass frowns and lugs the deceptively heavy table up the stairs.

“Where do you want this?”

They gesture to the kitchen, “Under the window, please.” She does as they request and returns to them.

“Do...do you need a bed or a crib? I can make a few calls –

“No,” they shake their head, “There’s a truck coming with furniture I ordered. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Good, good, feel free to come get me when they come, I can help –

“I paid for them to move it, it is no trouble.”

Kass can hear the brush off. She gets it. Accepting help, especially when you’re used to being alone is not easy. Terrifying even.

“I’m here if you need anything,” she says. Whether they take the offer or not is up to them, but something tells her that they’ll take it. Eventually, on their own time, not when they’re feeling too bad about it or too cautious.

She leaves them to their apartment, checks in with Estelle, then goes to pick Ash up from school.

When they come back, Melarue’s cat is on the railing again.

“Hi, kitty!” Ash waves.

The cat mrows back at her. A new witch in the neighborhood, what a delightful surprise.

[samkat10423]

Adventures With Theo - 04-12-2012, 04:24 AM

Well, today I have to find me a job, 'kuz even though I am sorta rich... I got those 956 simoleons that I found under that mattress, doncha know! And I hided them in a pickle jar out behind my new houz. Oops! Guess I shouldn't have told you that. But you don't know that I hided them under that tree, so it's okay, doncha think? Leastways, I think it is. Anyways, I learnt early on, that simoleons don't last long in today's echonomy. So's I got to find some work I can do. Ispecialty, since I do want to go back home. Out-there spazes is not as fun as I thought it would be. For real! (And, you want to know a sekrit? I'm beginnin to think that maybe... just maybe, Mr. Spock might be a made-up Sim. Yeah! I know. It was hard for me to admit it at first too! But I've been lookin and lookin real hard like, and I haven't seen him anywhere! I even went to their Galactik Stores here, thinkin he might be there, sinz he has his face on all those sereal boxes. But no luck!) But back to my job search...I could prabably get work at the local diner, since I do know how to cook some, thanks to Emma Hatch. But I'm thinkin those Sims I met, might member me, and wonder why a famous geeky-guy Sim, was workin at a diner, doncha know! Same with the grocery store and bookstore. Akyuality, it's a prablem with all the stores here. I mean, I'm guessin those Sims go into the stores to buy stuff, and they might see me! So, I don't know what to do. But the good news is, I think I may have figyered out how to konfusicate them, a bit. I went ahead and chanjed my peerance! Yes I did! And all on my ownself. It's not as good as a prof...profess... real styler remakeable, but it'll have to do, 'kuz 'til my broked komputer is fixed, I'm tough out of luck, as Kayana would say. And that "Handiness for Dummies" book I got, is real hard to onderstand. I mean really, really hard! I read the first chapter, then tried to fix my komputer and almost got elektrikal-shooted! For real! I can tell you, it was scary! So's until I can figyer it out, my komputer will have to stay broked. Ooooooh! Ooooooh! Ooooooh! I almost fergotted! But I had this crazy dream. Leastways, I think it was a dream. I might be wrong, 'kuz I was asleep at the time. But in it, this Tedhi lady, from I'm guessin Champs Les Sims, 'kuz of her Frenchified accident, teeveportated me to her world! Not Champs Les Sims, but some other plaz she made up on her ownsome. And let me tell you! It was scary! For real!! I mean, I knowed it was a dream, I think, but it could've been real, doncha know! And that simbot, who kept sayin he was a thingiebot... Well, I think he musta been tellin me a fib, 'kuz Annie told me there's only simbots and simdroids. The rest are all just scrap metal and good to eat! And she should know, 'kuz she's a real, live simdroid bio-enjined by some geeky guys back in Sunset Valley, before it became illegal-like. Anyways, in my dream, this thingiebot, had this talkin cat, named Samkat, that he kept callin, "The Boss." But that can't be right, 'kuz the only Samkat I ever heard about, is that Supreme Empress Goddess of the Universe Samkat, that all them Llama Monkeys yammer on and on about. And she don't have no piktures or models of herself, 'kuz them monkeys of hers, say that that's making a crazy image, and it's against their rules. And I know that's for real, 'kuz I visited one of their monkeries once, and there weren't any piktures in sight! No talkin cats ether!

But there was this Sim outside, who was sellin T-shirts, that he made on his ownsome. He said he had to do it on the “sly,” ‘kuz samkat’s monkeys don’t like his crazy imagers of her.

Anyways, he even had a song about her, that he taught me. Oh! I'll sing it to you, 'kuz I sing real, real good doncha know. I do! And I wrote it down, jist so's I wouldn't fergit it. 'Kuz there are more than one verzhen. Yes, there are! But I like this one the bestest. "Grouchy kitty, crabby kitty, spittin ball of fur. Moody kitty, cranky kitty....Grr, grr, grr!"

Anyway, what was I saying..? Oh yeah! That thingiebot told me his name was Juicy Pinko....or somethin like that. It's hard to member when you're sleepin and argyooing with a mouthy cat and a pile of scrap metal, all at the same time. No lie! That Juicy Bot kept yammerin about beerd ladies. But I didn't see no beers. There was some ladies, but no beers in sight! And his cat kept hissin about hats. Or maybe it was rats? I can't rightly tell you, 'kuz I was busy watchin that thingiebot's mouse-stache wiggle up and down when he talked. I don't know what that was all about! (But you want to know a sekrit? I don't think that mean thingiebot gives his poor kitty any water, 'kuz she had to get some out of the toilet! Which is not as bad as it sounds, 'kuz I seen her flush it first, then purefry it with a kouple bottles of Sandy Whiskey, that I'm guessing she got from over at that ATS3 plaz on-the-line. And she musta liked it real good, 'kuz she jumped up on this top-hat and did a little dance! I thought at first that she mighta had some fleas, 'kuz cats get them, doncha know! But Mr. Juicy said, "The Boss does NOT have fleas!! Master always dances that jig after she's had a few too many!" Whatever that means.

Then right before I waked up, I was wearin this really cool Starzfleas unefarm. And let me tell you, I was h-o-t-t, HOT!!! I even liked my bunny ears, even though Captain Kirk won't let you wear them on his ship. Ain't regularation, doncha know! But they were all festive like, which was good, 'kuz it was Easter. But that crazy cat went off her nut, and started hissin' and spittin' and growlin' all meanlike! (I can see why that Sim made them T-shirts and wroted that song!) Then she snatched my hat offed my head, and ran meowin out of the room! It was konfusical, I can tell you! All I can figyer is, is that kitty thought it was a real rabbit, tryin to eat my head off. And she thought she was savin me. I tried to tell her, it was okay, but I woke up. And I was back here, with no unefarm and no hat. And that's real sad, 'kuz I looked really, really h-o-t-t, Hot! And those Starfleas unefarms cost a lot of simoleons. More'n I got. Plus, you got to order them on-the-line, from a speshel site, and until my komputer is fixed, I'm tough out of luck!

Anyways, I had to do my own remakeable, with the junky kloz I got layin around here. I don't think I did too bad with it, konsiderin I only had those kloz that were in the dresser, to work with. It's not as nice as my dream one, but what can a girl do? I went ahead and cut my hair with this knife I found, 'kuz I don't have a sizzors... Want to know a stranj thing I read, in that "Murder in Pleasantview" book? Seems back in my grandparents' day, they had giant sizzors that the Sims used to run around with! No lie! That's how that murder happened! Guess that's why the Electrojabber-Authority folks stopped makin them. 'Korz, with the prices in their kompany store, I couldn't afford them anyways. Which is why I used that knife, so my hair's kinda choppity looking. But I found this really nice hat that's got this veil, that I can hide behind when I go out, so that's good. No rabbit ears, but it's got this fake flour. Bad news was, the dresser didn't have any pants. Yeah, I thought that was weird too. So's I have to wear this jumper. It's okay, I guess, but I like pants beder, 'kuz they're great for when you have to climb out of windoz and stuff. And let me tell you, I've climbed out lots of windoz so's as not to be stuck with bar tabs and stuff. Oops! Guess I shouldn't be 'mittin that ether....

Anyway, guess I'll go into town and find me a job. Then, after I gets some more simoleons, and read the second chapter in my handy book, maybe I'll be able to get me one of them unefarms. Maybe...

So, I desided to try the diner after all, sinz I ain't got any spearience doing nothin else. I mean, I can pick some locks, but most Sims don't think that's a good skill. I think they might be wrong, 'kuz it's gotten me out of lots of jams, but like Kayana always says, "Every Sim has an 'pinion, just like they all have behinds." I don't really know what that means, but it sounds kinda good, doncha think!

Anyways, I went to the diner, but they're not hirin. So I didn't get that job. But I did meet a bunch of nice Sims, and they invited me to tag along to a new dance dome that's opened up in town.

And guess what! While I was showin them aleeon Sims how to shimmy, in walked Mr. Spock!!!! How cool is that!!! He was argyooin with some Vulcan girl, about needin to go to bed, 'kuz of pony farts. But I didn't care! He was there!

So, I went up to him, all kazual-like, and intredoozed myself all charmin' like, 'kuz I've got three charmin' skills. (I've been sekritly praktesing for this day in front of my bathroom mirror, doncha know!) But he didn't seem too happy to meet me, which is weird, doncha think! Ikspeciality since I told him, we was detained to be married!

But I don't think he beleeved me about gettin hitched, 'kuz he got all cold-like to me. So, I told him how I watched all his TV shows and movies, and knowed all about his 'ventures out in spaz. But he got all weird-like, and told me, he was not some "cheap TV character," and that I'd "better get lost" before he called the Peekeepers.

That's when I desided to show him I wasn't "just some crazy fan-girl" - like he 'cused me of bein - but his one and only truelove. So's I whipped out some flours I had in my sekrit pocket, and I tried to give them to him. To seal the deal, doncha know! (Want to know a sekrit? At first I was goin to just give him the engager ring I got for him, but what with him thinkin I wasn't seereaz, I desided to try the red rosies first. Do you think maybe, I made a booboo?)

Well, he got all nasty-like, and started yammerin bout his pony farts again, and that he already had a mate. So, I told him, I didn't care that he had a fartin pony. I came there to marry him, not his pony! And iffn his shipmate was so portant to him, she was sertainly welkomed to come to our weeding.

Well, that really set him off, I can tell you! He started turnin all green-like and said some nasty words about my telligents. Which got me mad. I mean, I know I'm not as smart as a Vulcan, but I'm not stoopid. I got that one logikgal point, after all. So's I told him he wasn't such a smartypants if he couldn't see his truelove, when she was standin there right in front of him. That really got him mad, I can tell you! He clenched his fists and everythin! "How many times, must I tell you, I already have a mate, you idiot?!! And for the last time, it's PON FARR! Not pony farts!"

[suitcasetales]

You Have Been Excused from Jury Duty

Those were the magic words in an email I received last Tuesday. It’s not that I wouldn’t have minded serving; it would have been a nice change of pace from work. But when the two weeks of jury duty exactly matched the two weeks of vacation Janet had scheduled, I played the “I work in a hospital and am married to a nurse who sometimes takes care of people with unknown COVID status” card. I guess it worked.

The next challenge is where could we go with a paranoid and scared-of- everything dog on such short notice? We googled ourselves silly looking inside a 5-hour drive radius and settled on the Outer Banks. Friday night at midnight Janet found this condo, we booked it Saturday morning and we drove to Kitty Hawk Sunday!

It is an interesting condo. The building is ocean-front but our condo is on the side so we only have a partial ocean view. The parking deck is level one; our condo is on the second and third floors but we have to go to the third floor to enter it. (The fourth floor condos are all one level.) Steps in general are a little rough on Cokie with her weakened back hip on the side with her mangled foot so we have been taking the elevator up to the third floor. For some unknown reason, getting her on and off the elevator has been easy. We have three balconies and the bedrooms and laundry room are downstairs on the second floor with the kitchen and living area on the third floor. We try to limit going up and down the steps as she will follow our every move.

The condo building has indoor and outdoor pools and large indoor and outdoor hot tubs. (Some of the fourth floor condos also have hot tubs on their balconies.) The COVID imposed limit is 5 people!

Our booking correspondence stated the outdoor pool was closed but people (including Janet) have been in it this week. There are two nice restrooms out by the pool and a zero entry, fenced-in kiddie pool. The ramped, terraced deck between the pool and the beach, includes a gazebo. The beach itself is quite narrow here but after walking a mile south along the beach this afternoon, our part didn’t seem so narrow. There are definitely sections of the Outer Banks that are in trouble. God forbid they ever take a direct hit from a hurricane.

The dog owners have definitely discovered these condos but unfortunately so have the cat owners. Perfect for some people; not so perfect for someone like Janet who is allergic to cats! Also, the pets are supposed to be less than 50 pounds but there are plenty of big dogs here this week. We have no pillows (“cushions” for the English) for the couches, no placemats and no coasters; we presume these have been removed under their COVID protocol. There is also no vacuum and no broom so their suggestion that if your pet sheds a lot you should sweep is not possible.

But for a last-minute trip during a long and drawn out pandemic, we will take it. We have had a lovely week. Once the morning fog has dissipated, the weather has been near-perfect. We have not tried to take Cokie down on the beach here; it is just too challenging and the crashing waves too close. Instead, we have been driving somewhere to walk her and we have been on some surprisingly beautiful hikes to places we, in all the times we have been here, never knew existed. An old dog can indeed learn new tricks.

Monday morning, we hiked in Kitty Hawk Woods Reserve, managing to snake together a couple of miles weaving and winding through its narrow paths. The wind on the beach was stiff but in the protection of the Reserve, we didn’t notice it. We ate our lunch sitting on the beach but soon retreated to the hot tub.

Tuesday, we went on a long hike combining all the dog-friendly trails in the Nature Conservancy’s Nags Head Woods Preserve. (We would love to return sometime without a dog to hike the other trails and go in their Visitor Center, still closed due to COVID.) 

The morning fog lingered a while but once we were headed to the beach with our lunch, the sun came out and we took a long walk on the beach up to the Avalon Pier.

Wednesday, we walked on the short and mostly boardwalk trail at Sandy Run Park in Kitty Hawk. This would be a nice and easy place for a family hike, even with a stroller. I think birders would savor all the places we hiked but at Sandy Run, the birdsong was most noticeable. 

That is a lot of turtles!

The afternoon weather was absolutely perfect — 79 degrees, no wind, no flies and no one smoking nearby. We settled ourselves in our beach chairs, reading, people- and dog-watching and enjoying the piping plovers (not the best picture but posted in case you don’t know what they look like), the seagulls and the pelicans.

But because we had not had a lot of exercise and it was such a beautiful day, we decided to go for a drive south and headed down Route 12 and over the new Basnight Bridge (the old bridge was called the Bonner Bridge) that connects Bodie Island (site of the handsome Bodie Island Lighthouse and ten zillion mosquitos)....

and Oregon Inlet to Pea Island. Home to a National Wildlife Refuge, dogs are not allowed on the west side of Route 12. We stopped and parked at the end of the bridge and walked through the sand out to the ocean, passing the historic Pea Island Life Saving Station. Cokie loved walking in the sand and almost went to the waters edge but there were people there and she does not generally like people.

Since we were down that way and would not likely return, we also drove over to Manteo, one of our favorite small towns. There were not too many folks around so we were able to get Cokie to walk on the boardwalks there and through a beautiful new neighborhood just east of historic downtown. We were pleased to see the independent bookstore still exists but alas, it is no longer the Manteo Booksellers. It also probably no longer has cats in it but that is a good thing!

This morning (Thursday as I write this), we went to Jockeys Ridge State Park and hiked out to the Albemarle Sound. Parts of this hike is hard on the ol’ hips as some places the sand is hard and easy to walk on while other places, it is soft and difficult. Plus you are either weaving your way around dunes or going up and over them. At least when you get to the Sound, you can cool off in the shallow water before heading back to the parking lot. Besides the enormity of the dunes, this Park is full of live oaks and has some really nice specimens.

The morning dew was still on this cluster and it was beautiful. And below, mushrooms growing in the sand??

After lunch, Janet and I walked on the beach again but this time we went south for a mile. We could not believe how bad the beach erosion was in that section. We thought “our” beach was narrow but further down, it was really bad. 

We took one final soak in the hot tub, dried off on the sunny deck, me overlooking the ocean and Janet reading her book. Not quite as warm as Wednesday, it was still a picture-perfect day at the beach.

Our last hurrah was to go and catch tonight’s sunset back on the Sound side. We even got Cokie to walk around some even though there were cyclists, walkers with strollers and people around. She probably wouldn’t do it again as she tends to have a very good memory about having been somewhere before and not wanting to do it again but hey, we are working on that. We just need more opportunities to practice.

If only I could get out of work like I got out of jury duty. Now that would be paradise.

[samanthabreedlove-blog]

FUCK Tampa. (part 2)

The bones of St. Pete have a lot character-- one might describe the architecture throughout as charming; the roads layout as a grid with Streets running east to west and Avenues south to north. The east side hits the waterfront where the piers reside, and to the far west are the beaches. From waterfront to beach is maybe about 20 miles, but downtown to the Grand Central District at 16th street is an easy walking distance. Everyone knows everyone in the scene, and for the most part everyone gets along. There are occasional minor spouts of drama, sure, but in general we’re united for good against our common enemy: ‘the Man’, Nazis, and anyone from Tampa.

Surrounding downtown are 15 distinctly historic neighborhoods fanning out on either side from Central Avenue, which divides the city down the middle into north and south. There’s Old Northeast, Roser Park, Jungle Prada, Crescent Lake and Snell Isle among others. Each whimsical neighborhood has a unique pulse, comprised of colorful craftsman houses, sprawling spanish style mansions with terracotta clay roofs, or little bungalows like my house in Historic Kenwood.

I purchased my house in 2004, a tiny pink tudor style built in 1941, with white shutters and a pointy grey roof located on 9th Avenue North at 28th Street. Originally constructed as vacation homes for snowbirds, little homes like this are super common in Kenwood. Inside my bungalow there are two teeny bedrooms on either side of the living room, dark hardwood floors throughout, and checkered ceramic tile in the kitchen. The bathroom’s shower faucet was dysfunctional, requiring a pipe wrench to turn the water on but in the five years I lived there, I never got around to fixing it. One winter we turned the Florida room in the front of the house into a makeshift bedroom where Faith lived before she got knocked up with her first baby Juliet.

My house becomes the hub for so many epic house parties; a revolving cast of roommates and couch crashers. An orphanage for wayward drunk girls and boys, at some point or another just about everyone close to me has lived there. The backyard, about 4 times the size of the house itself had a chain-length fence running the parameter so all my neighbors could witness the debauchery in real-time. The garage was separate. Early on, I turn this shed into a studio work space but eventually rent it out to a handful of people over the years who need a place to live despite the fact that the garage isn’t exactly what you’d call livable-- no bathroom, a/c or ceiling.  

In the summertime, my backyard has a kitty pool, a slip-n-slide and a constant keg of Yuengling. I’d mow the lawn only after the City gave notice of an impending fine, so the yard was always overrun with grass up past your knees. Here I lived until 2009. During these years, my little pink house will go down in history as one of the great party houses this side of the Bay, the last of which saw three kegs killed. A local metal band played a show that night in my garage, their mosh pit busted a huge hole in the drywall and some assholes started an uncontrolled fire in the alley. The cops came to break it up but we still had people sleeping on couches hauled out into the backyard come morning amid the hundreds of red solo cups littered across my lawn.

But, I am not technically from there-- my closest friends and I did not grown up in St. Pete proper, a fact which sets us apart. We remain “new kids” to the scene for years, in contrast to the original crew of rabble-rousers-- generations upon generations of brothers and little sisters indoctrinated to punk from a young age who’d been kicking it together causing trouble and setting dumpsters on fire since they were prepubescent.

Quinn, Emily, Carolyn, Alex, Diane and I are all originally from Seminole, a suburban enclave to the Northwest. Seminole is a “good” area, which just meant that any crime occurring was happening behind closed doors. In Seminole there are residential neighborhoods with names like Bay Haven, Imperial Point, or Rustic Pines, and tract homes that span for miles. Our local mall was desolate-- anchored by a depressing food court and a K-Mart, frequented only by the residents of a neighboring nursing home who would sit on benches all day staring out into the nothing. On the main boulevard is the only restaurant in town, Joto’s, a “family friendly” pizza joint where suburban moms and dads would hang out amid the local high school jocks, reliving  glory days over bud lights, televised football games and greasy food.

Anna grew up in nearby Pinellas Park, just to the east, best known for biker bars, white-trash trailer parks and an enduring meth epidemic. Anna lived in Seminole with her grandparents the years she attended middle school due to instabilities with her mom, stepdad and their ever-relapsing drug addictions. We met Anna back then but didn’t become good friends until years later when Emily and Anna will unknowingly be sleeping with the same guy. When the truth broke, they decided they liked one other better than they liked him anyway, and have been best friends ever since.

Quinn, Emily, Alex and I are Seminole High School class of 2002. Angsty outcasts, the rest of the school was all Abercrombie & Fitch; way too enthusiastic about attending and participating in sports related activities, pop music and having nice cars-- the four of us did not fit in. Surviving a fairly sheltered, very boring adolescence, our summer days were spent hanging out on John’s Pass-- an old fisherman’s wharf on the Gulf of Mexico where we would play board games or read books at a coffee shop located on the far East end of the docks. After nightfall we would hang out under a bridge where skater punks would use the uneven cement to facilitate flip tricks. While we’d watch them skate, they’d tell stories, cultivating for us an alluring mythology of downtown St. Pete: tales of out-of-control shows at State Theater and the Refugee a mission/music venue that fed the homeless population. The Refugee was run by a new-agey Christian man who fancied himself akin to a modern Jesus-- all walks were always welcome there.

There was the C.O.R.E., a radical bookstore on the far southside of town where you could buy extremist literature (even things that were government banned like the Anarchist’s Cookbook, prominently displayed on racks towards the front). They skaters would speak of long nights spent drinking quarts of malt liquor on dirty beach just east of the pier where you could look out across the Bay and watch the bright lights of Tampa on the other side.

The Globe had the best nachos. A buck would get you a cup of coffee, 50 cents more buys a few refills and because the Globe was open until 4am, it was an excellent place to stay out all night when your parents thought you were staying at a friends house. Josh Sullivan always worked the front counter, and was the coolest. Josh really loved ska music so he’d dance whenever it played on the stereo. He had a cat named Slap that he’d walk on a leash, and was the creator of JoshComics, an iconic local zine.

At the age of 17, we venture beyond the beaches and onto the streets of downtown. Overnight we go from good suburban girls to drinking Mickey’s at punk houses-- making out with older guys in studded jackets, bullet belts, mohawks and too many facial piercings. In 2002, when we turned 18, Quinn, Emily, and Alex all move into a house on 26th Street and 4th Avenue. I secure an apartment at 5th and 5th right next to the Coliseum. Soon after, Anna will move into a ground floor apartment in my complex. On Saturdays when she isn’t working, Anna and I will smoke pot on her big blue couch by the window discussing our plans-- when and how we will escape Florida; who was working that night at World Liquors, and if they would sell to us.

[deannawads]

Cover Reveal: Murder Most Lovely

I’m so excited to share the wonderful cover art Hank Edwards and I received from cover artist Bree Archer for our upcoming book Murder Most Lovely, Lacetown Mysteries Case One, coming April 30th from Dreamspinner Press.

Michael is looking forward to meeting his favorite mystery author at a local event, but instead he meets sexy hairdresser Jazz and becomes embroiled in a real-life murder investigation. Starting a romance among all the chaos might be the death of them.

Murder Most Lovely is the first book in a planned trilogy Hank and I have written following the adventures and romance of shy mortician Michael and the sassy hairstylist Jazz.

Blurb:

A killer at a small-town literary festival. Bumbling drug dealers. A kidnapped cat. Starting a romance among all this chaos might be the death of them.

Michael Fleishman is excited to meet his favorite mystery writer, Russell Withingham, at Lacetown’s Literary Fest. He is not expecting to cross paths with sexy hairdresser Jasper “Jazz” Dilworth—or become embroiled in a real-life mystery. As Lacetown’s only mortician and the county coroner, Michael is called to his first murder scene and is shocked to recognize the victim—Russell’s young lover.

Jazz only wanted to confront his ex, Russell, over his cheating. Instead, he meets the adorably awkward Michael and becomes a murder suspect. Soon Jazz is teaming up with Michael to clear his name. Along the way, they are helped and hindered by Michael’s sassy assistant, Kitty, the grumpy Sheriff Musgrave, Russell’s creepy PR rep, Norbert, and Michael’s lothario grandfather, who likes his manhattans strong and his women saucy. And of course, Mr. Pickles Furryton the Third….

PRE-ORDER TODAY

MURDER MOST LOVELY Lacetown Mysteries: Case One

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Mr. Pickles will be so excited when I get home, Michael Fleishman thought.

Well, he wasn’t really sure whether the taciturn cat would care if he had ten of his Brock Hammer novels signed by the author, but Michael would be excited.

He parked his tan Camry in the last available angled parking space on Main Street, unable to believe his luck finding a spot. He ordinarily would’ve walked, living so close, but he didn’t want to risk getting any of his paperbacks or the two hardcovers wet in the rain.

Lacetown, Michigan was crowded for the Great Lakes Literary Fest. Today was the first day of the three-day festival, and sadly the tail end of a late-spring storm front. The festival kicked off the busy tourist season for their lakeside village, and despite the rain, the streets were busy with fans and visitors hunched under umbrellas, hoping to meet their favorite author at the afternoon signing event. The lesser-known authors were trying to stay dry under tents in the town square, but most of the big-name authors had been moved indoors for their signings, the bars and restaurants serving as makeshift bookstores.

And in Michael’s mind, there weren’t many big names in fiction he wanted to meet more than Russell Withingham.

He’d checked the festival website before leaving the house and knew Mr. Withingham would be inside Kelsey’s Bar & Grill. There was a small line forming outside already, so Michael grabbed his bag of books and his umbrella, and then hurried to join them.

A woman he didn’t recognize in line in front of him smiled, and he nodded politely. There were always strange faces in their little town during the summer. Tourists mostly, and this weekend, literary fans.

The crashing sound of waves drew Michael’s attention behind him. Main Street ended at Lake Shore Drive, and on the other side, a boardwalk overlooked their unswimmable portion of Lake Michigan. Large waves crested, crashing in places over the spacious boardwalk stretching the length of town. He spied a few unfortunate tourists who didn’t have the presence of mind to see the obvious safety hazard of being out there when the lake was unhappy.

Hoping no one would be hurt, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and tried to keep his umbrella from poking the lady’s in front of him. Fleishman Funeral Home only had gigantic golf umbrellas for services, and he was glad for it when the rain picked up and a gust blew mist onto his glasses. He shoved them into his front shirt pocket, knowing there would be no use keeping them clean until he was inside.

“Shit, I thought this rain was supposed to let up this afternoon,” a deep masculine voice from behind him said.

Michael turned and drew up short.

“Whoa there, pal. You could take an eye out with that thing.”

For a heartbeat Michael froze and stared.

The man had a long face and wheat-colored hair swept back from a low brow and into a ponytail. Eyes the color of cognac had just enough sparkle to make Michael smile and conjure thoughts of mischief and long summer romances.

And you’re staring at him like a ninny!

Michael hastily stepped back to avoid poking the gorgeous man in the eye with his umbrella. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, watch it,” the lady in front of him snapped. “You’re soaking me!”

Michael jumped when he realized his big umbrella had slipped beneath hers and was funneling water right onto her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, stepping back the other way.

“Whoa, whoa,” Ponytail Guy said again, reaching up to take hold of the eye-level pin on Michael’s umbrella. “How about I just join you?” And then he stepped under the huge umbrella with Michael.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Michael managed, squirming a little. “There’s plenty of room.”

The man used both hands to brush a few wayward strands of blond hair off his face, his tanned skin glistening from the rain. He wore a ring on a long well-manicured index finger. Smiling, he held out a hand. “I’m Jazz Dilworth.”

What a strange name. Sounds like something in a mystery novel.

He quickly shook the proffered hand. “Michael Fleishman.”

Jazz flipped a thumb behind him. “I work across the street at Misty’s Makeover Palace.” He furrowed tidy brows. “Fleishman, like the funeral parlor?”

“Yes, the same.”

“Eew,” the lady in front of him said with a distinct Valley girl attitude.

Michael maintained his polite mortician smile. Sadly, he was used to the reaction.

Hence his lackluster love life.

Expecting Jazz to make some equally grossed-out remark and leave the shelter of the umbrella, Michael looked back at him.

But Jazz was smiling, his white teeth radiant and even. “That explains the planet-sized umbrella. Only ever see those at funerals and on golf courses.”

Michael’s facial muscles softened, and the smile he gave Jazz was more genuine, relaxed. “Yes, they come in handy.”

Jazz grinned. “I bet they do.”

This man was gorgeous. He had to be younger than Michael. But more importantly, he had the potential for being gay since he was a hairdresser. Well aware of his stereotyping, Michael was nonetheless hopeful.

He wasn’t the best flirt, but sharing an umbrella with an attractive man in front of a bar acting as a makeshift bookstore felt like the opening of a rom-com, so he was ready to give it the ol’ college try.

“Are you a fan of the Brock Hammer novels too?” he asked, glad his glasses were in his pocket. Jazz stood so close, Michael didn’t even need them to clearly see his handsome face.

Jazz scoffed. “Used to be.”

“Oh.” Michael’s heart fell. So much for common interests. “Did you know this line is to meet the author?”

“I know, all right. The fucker’s been ducking my calls for weeks.”

Michael flinched at the man’s crass remark. “You know Russell Withingham?”

“Married to him,” Jazz said. “Separated.”

So he is gay…. Michael shook his head. “Wait, what?”

Those warm brown eyes met his, and Jazz smiled. “Separated,” he said again. “Permanently. He’s supposed to still be making my car payment, and I just got a call from the bank. He hasn’t made the last two payments.”

Michael didn’t know if he was more disappointed to find out his favorite author was a jerk, or excited to know the man under his umbrella was gay and single.

Well, possibly single.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael offered.

Jazz shrugged. “Nothing for you to be sorry for,” he quipped. “In fact, I should be thanking you for sharing your umbrella with me. Nothing worse than running into an ex with your hair all soaking wet, looking like a hot mess. I wanna be a vision when I tell him off. You know, make him regret losing me.”

Michael couldn’t help his involuntary head-to-toe sweep of Jazz’s body. He was a vision. Jazz carried some extra weight on him, but Michael liked men of a husky build. They seemed more solid and down-to-earth. Any man who would give up all the hunkiness Jazz had to offer had to be nuts.

Oh, the things Michael would do with him if he could. I’d drip hot candle wax on each of his nipples while I rode….

Awkward, Michael cleared his throat when he realized Jazz was staring right at him. Michael’s face heated. Thankfully the guy couldn’t read his thoughts. “I’m sure he’ll regret it. You look great.”

Jazz’s grin widened, and he tugged a little on the vest he wore over a white V-neck T-shirt. “Thanks.”

Still feeling warm in the face—among other places now—Michael smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

“I used to love Russell’s books. Was totally a fangirl.” Jazz leaned in and spoke softly. “The first dozen were great. Now they’re crap, if you don’t mind my saying.”

While Jazz was simply whispering closely so the other fans might not hear, Michael relished his nearness. “Yeah, that’s why I only brought the first ten to get signed.”

“Ten?” Jazz’s brows shot up.

He worried his upper lip. “Is that too many?”

Jazz laughed, a free, easy sound. “Oh, Russ will be thrilled. Trust me.”

Granted, Russell Withingham might be a bad husband, but Michael loved his books and didn’t want to annoy the man.

Looking for something to discuss besides Jazz’s ex, Michael said, “Your boss, Misty, does work for me sometimes. She took care of one of my clients for her funeral yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know. It was Beatrice Neibolt.”

“Misty doesn’t like working for me,” Michael confessed.

“I know,” Jazz agreed. “I heard all about it.”

“You did?” He had no idea Misty disliked styling his clients so much that she might be complaining about it.

“Yeah, creeps her out,” Jazz said. “I don’t know why. You stay in this business long enough, eventually you get a call to give a client their last do. I don’t know where they’re going in the next life, but I’ll be damned if any of my clients get to the other side with their hair a wreck.”

“You’ve cared for the deceased before?” Michael asked, pleasantly surprised. Most people were freaked out by what he did for a living. Running a successful funeral parlor and being appointed county coroner should have brought him prestige and respectability, and he supposed it did in some circles. But working with dead people left most folks unsettled, rather than endearing anyone to him.

“Sure,” Jazz said with a casual shrug. “I don’t see the big deal.”

Grinning wide, Michael fished in his pocket for the leather business card holder he never left the house without. He flipped it open and withdrew a card. “If you’d like some extra work, I’d love to have you.” He heard how that sounded and quickly added, “Um, have you do some styling for me. I mean, for my clients.”

Jazz smiled as he took the card. “I knew what you meant. And Misty will be thrilled.” Then he dug in his front pocket, the jeans just tight enough in all the right places that when his hand filled the denim, it accentuated his nice package. “Here’s my card. You can get my references from Misty, if you want.”

Michael was still smiling as he took the card and carefully placed it into his card holder. “I’m sure that you’re more than qualified. You said you’ve been in the business a while.”

“Knocking on thirty years.”

Michael scoffed. “Did you start in preschool?”

“Hardly,” Jazz laughed. “A good hair colorist and access to the finest beauty products all culminate for the perfect illusion.” He leaned in. “I’m forty-one.”

“Me too,” Michael said. “But you don’t look a day over thirty-one.”

Jazz put his hand on his chest. “Oh, you flatter me.”

The line inched closer to the door.

“Jazz, is that a nickname?”

“Short for Jasper. I can be a little jazzy, and I love music, so there you go. But I can’t play or read music.”

“Me neither. No artistic talent whatsoever.”

Jazz frowned. “Your work has a bit of art to it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m rubbish with the hair. That’s why I need Misty for my female clients.”

“Good thing you met me today.”

Now he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. Good thing.”

Far too soon for Michael’s liking, they reached the door, and he gestured Jazz ahead of him. He had to close and shake off his umbrella before he stepped inside, which sadly ended whatever private and possibly flirtatious moment he’d been sharing with the gorgeous Jazz.

Jazz scanned the bar, jaw set.

Helping him out, Michael pointed to the back corner, where a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, a black velour blazer, and burgundy ascot sat behind a table with mounds of books. “He’s over there.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said, his shoulders relaxing. He gestured to Michael’s umbrella. “Mind if I hold that till I get up there?”

Michael realized Jazz wanted it to hide from his ex until he got closer. And while not wanting to get involved, Michael liked the idea of having a chance to spend more time conversing.

Jazz held the umbrella over one shoulder and turned so it blocked his profile from Russell’s view. Michael stood behind Jazz and watched as drops of rain ran down the side of his neck. He longed to let his tongue follow that rain beneath the neck of Jazz’s T-shirt. But that wasn’t something he did, and not only because he was a Lacetown business owner. He needed to work on relaxing and letting go of his inhibitions. At least that’s what all his exes had told him. One even went so far as to say Michael’s clients had more warmth than him.

Ouch.

“So you live here?”

Michael blinked. “What? Oh. Here in Lacetown?”

Jazz grinned. “No, here in the bar.”

A blush heated Michael’s cheeks. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“I like that.”

“What?”

“Woolgathering. It’s not used that often anymore. I like it.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you. And, yes, I was born and raised here.” Michael cleared his throat and looked away, then back. The bag of books suddenly seemed very heavy, and he switched shoulders. Jazz held his gaze, warm brown eyes locked onto Michael’s.

“So what happened between you two?” The words were out before Michael could run them through his mental filter to see if they were appropriate.

Jazz’s forehead furrowed. “Me and Russell?”

Panic zinged through Michael. “I’m sorry. That was a very personal question, and we just met. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jazz took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Russell likes his side dishes.”

“Side dishes?” Candied yams popped into Michael’s mind.

“You know….” Jazz glanced at the woman in front of them, who seemed to be leaning back and listening. He moved fast, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her forward and away from them as he said, “Careful there. Looked like you were about to tip over. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before you get to meet Russell Withingham.”

“Oh, no… I wasn’t… I wouldn’t….” The woman’s cheeks flushed, and she took a step forward.

“There you go.” Jazz turned back to Michael with a grin. “Where was I?”

“Side dishes,” Michael managed, even though his mouth was dry. There were six people between them and Russell. And then what? They’d exchanged business cards, but would Jazz even call? Could Michael bring himself to call?

“Right. Side dishes. Like, you know, a twink on one side, maybe a bear on the other. It happens, I know, and some couples get off on inviting other people to the party, but I’m a one-on-one kind of guy. Maybe if he’d asked me about it, like, before we said our ‘I dos.’” Jazz sighed and peeked around the umbrella. “Five more people. He’s really moving them along now.”

“Are you sure he won’t be mad I have ten books?” Michael asked, even more nervous now. He didn’t want to piss off his favorite author.

“Oh, honey, by the time I’m done talking to him, he won’t be able to count to ten.”

“Oh?” A flutter of nerves went through Michael. What if Jazz went off on Russell before Michael was able to get his books signed? Would Russell be so upset he would storm off and leave those still waiting in line with their books in hand?

“Three more people,” Jazz whispered and winked.

“I’m sorry he cheated on you.”

“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t just him cheating on me. That makes it sound like it was a one-time or one-person event. He was dipping his quill in every ink pot in town. Or, to put it in a way you might appreciate, he was embalming every warm body in reach.”

The woman ahead of them turned and gave Jazz a wide-eyed look.

“Oh, please,” Jazz said with an elaborate eye roll. “You’ve heard worse. You know you have. Do not start with me, you will not win.”

“Next!”

The voice was bright and sharp, and it got the woman in front of them moving. Michael peeked around Jazz and his umbrella shield to see the eavesdropping woman gush to Russell Withingham as she handed him a couple of books. Russell’s smile was cool, and he appeared tired but attentive as he spoke to her. Despite Jazz’s feelings about his not-quite-ex, Michael liked that Russell seemed to be genuinely listening to a fan.

“Remember, people, there’s a three-book limit.”

A tall, wiry man standing close behind Russell’s left shoulder had a blond swoop of hair that fell across his forehead while the rest of it was a glossy raven color. He had a pursed mouth and a sharp, pointed nose as he surveyed the crowd. His cool gaze landed on Michael’s bag of books, and it snapped up to latch on to his face.

“That’s Norbert, Russell’s mini-Hitler PR rep from the publisher,” Jazz said. “He’s a real treat to have around.”

“He looks mean. I don’t think he likes me. He just glared at me.”

“That’s his standard expression. Don’t worry about it. He’s more creepy than mean.”

“Are you…? Will you be yelling at Russell?”

“Not yelling. Maybe speaking sternly.” Jazz arched an eyebrow. “You afraid I’m gonna scare him off?”

“I wouldn’t say that….”

Jazz flashed him a dazzling smile. “You were in line first anyway, so I don’t know how I ended up in front. You go first. Get your ten books signed.”

“His assistant said we can only get three signed.”

“So what? Smile and flirt a little. Russell can’t resist a hot guy who flirts.”

Michael nearly collapsed. A hot guy? Had Jazz really just called him a hot guy? No one had ever come out and said that about him, let alone to his face.

“You’re up,” Jazz whispered before he stepped back, keeping the umbrella up on his shoulder to remain hidden from Russell’s view.

Totally befuddled after Jazz’s compliment—since when was Michael hot?—he stepped up to the table. “G-good afternoon.”

Russell looked up, his expression bored but polite. “Good afternoon.”

“Um,” Michael began, glancing at Norbert quickly, then back to Russell.

Jazz said to flirt!

Was Michael even any good at flirting anymore?

Forcing a deep breath, he found his composure and offered a genuine smile. “I didn’t realize there was a limit on books to sign. I mean, how can you only pick three Brock Hammer novels, am I right?” Laugh, Michael, laugh! He thought his chuckle sounded flirtatious as he added, “You wouldn’t be terribly upset if I had, say, ten books, would you, Mr. Withingham?” He added quickly, “I’ll buy the hardcover of the newest book in the series as well of course.”

“The limit is three,” Norbert snapped. After what Jazz had called him, Michael could imagine the man clicking his heels and raising his right arm in a Heil Hitler.

But Russell smiled. He raised his hands, not taking his eyes off Michael. “Oh, Norbie, rules are meant to be broken.” His volume increased a bit as he continued, “If Brock Hammer always followed the rules, he’d never solve a case, right?”

A murmur of agreement and chuckles wafted through the crowd, and Michael heard Jazz’s faint utterance of “Bitch, please.”

Russell gave Michael a wink, then held out his hand. “Let’s see which ones you brought, Mr.…?”

“Fleishman,” Michael said, feeling giddy as he fished out his books. Impulsively, he added, “But please, call me Michael.”

“All right, Michael.” Russell took the first book and glanced at the cover. “A Hard Day to Die, Brock’s first adventure. You have great taste, Michael.” Then, if Michael wasn’t mistaken, Russell gave him a lecherous grin.

Not to get ahead of himself, but did two men think he was a “hot guy”? This was turning out to be a fantastic afternoon!

When Michael spied copies of Russell’s upcoming release on the table, he picked one up excitedly. The Bitter Winds of Death was Russell’s first book without Brock Hammer, and it wasn’t even scheduled to be released until next month!

“This one too, please.” Definitely a fantastic afternoon!

“Wonderful,” Russell said.

Norbert told him a price, and Michael handed over his credit card. After swiping it on his tablet, he held it out for Michael to sign, his face pinched into some version of a smile. The new book was added to the new Brock Hammer mystery as well as the ones Michael brought with him, and Norbert muttered under his breath, “That makes twelve.”

Since Russell didn’t seem to mind, Michael ignored the odd man.

While Russell extolled the virtues of Brock Hammer and his own literary prowess as he signed each book, Michael kept stealing covert glances at Jazz, still concealed by the large umbrella. After Jazz’s confrontation with Russell, Michael would have to get his umbrella back.

A perfect excuse to talk to him further.

Maybe Michael would ask Jazz if he had plans after this. They could go get ice cream or—no, how lame is that? Ask him for coffee or a drink, not ice cream!

Though that’s not what he really longed to do.

Michael nodded and smiled as Russell relived each of Brock Hammer’s adventures, all the while his mind conjured images of Jazz, that luscious hair unbound and spread across a pillow, those strong hands gripping the sheets as Michael sucked him hard….

“How’s the signing going, dear?” a syrupy voice crooned.

Michael studied the newcomer in surprise. A young man in his very early twenties sidled up behind Russell. His hair was brown with blond highlights, and he wore red skinny capris, chucks, and a navy-and-white tank top that showed a defined but narrow chest. He was twirling a sucker in his mouth in a childlike yet lewd fashion.

One of the “side dishes” of twink Jazz had mentioned?

“Wonderful.” Russell beamed up at the young man with that same lecherous smile he’d offered Michael. Turning that grin back on Michael, he held up the second hardcover Michael had purchased. “The Bitter Winds of Death is a mystery, but not a Brock Hammer story. You do realize that, right?”

“I do, yes. I’m excited to read it. Thank you so much,” Michael said, carefully placing it in his bag with the others. “Thank you, Mr. Withingham.”

“Please, call me Russell. My father is Mr. Withingham.”

The young man glared and possessively put his hand on Russell’s shoulder, pressing against the back of Russell’s chair and his arm, staking his claim like a puppy peeing on a fire hydrant.

What was that look all about?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jazz planted Michael’s umbrella down like a gentleman’s cane and gestured irritably toward the young man. “You’re a married man but bringing your paramour,” he said with mocking flair, “to signings now? You really have gotten so gauche since I left you.”

“Jasper!” Russell cried, eyes wide. He stood up at once, shaking off the young man’s touch and looking over his shoulder like he’d been caught red-handed. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Jasper.”

“Which is why you brought Dylan.” Jazz scowled, stepping forward. “And I live here now. You would know that, if you were sending me the money you owe me.”

Every eye in the bar turned on them, an awkward silence falling over the customers. Even the bartender stopped mid-martini shake. Michael clutched the bag of books to his chest, unable to look away or step back.

“Mr. Dilworth,” Norbert hissed, eyes and mouth serpentine slits on his pale face. “You’re causing a scene.”

“That heinous haircut of yours is causing a scene,” Jazz threw back without even glancing at the fuming PR man.

Michael’s gaze darted back to Norbert, waiting for a response, but Russell spoke next. “Norbie, be a dear and see if we have any more copies of Sea of Discontent in the back. My stack is getting low.”

Norbert’s mouth gaped as wide as his eyes, the shift in expressions so dramatic it was almost comical. Then all of his features melted into a calm, placid look that actually sent a chill down Michael’s back. He bunched his hands into the small of his back and tipped his head. “Yes, I’ll check at once, Russell.”

Jazz was right. Norbert was one creepy character.

“I hate to agree with Norbie,” the young man named Dylan all but spat his name. “But I think he’s—”

Russell raised his hand, and Dylan looked just shy of murderous. But apparently, when Russell said jump, his minions didn’t ask how high—they just obeyed.

“You got my money?” Jazz demanded, not deterred by the interruptions.

Michael shuddered at the authority rolling off Jazz in hot, sensuous waves. Jazz was obviously no man’s minion.

“Now, Jasper, dear, let’s have this discussion, but privately.” He gestured off to the side, looking nervously at his fans.

All of Jazz’s cocky posturing was so damn sexy, Michael started to get an erection, which he quickly concealed with his bag.

Good gracious, Jazz was flaring up Michael’s imagination and hitting all his hot buttons! He hadn’t met a guy who stirred him up like this in… well, ever.

Pursing his lips in thought, Jazz gave a curt nod. “After you, then. I don’t want you sneaking off when my back’s turned.”

Russell turned his grimace into a smile, and then he gave an elaborate bow to his fans. “If you’ll excuse me. Marital disputes, you know,” he said, his laughter sounding forced.

A few awkward chuckles answered him.

Michael watched them walk away, Jazz still holding his umbrella.

He knew where Jazz worked, so he could get it back another time. But his curious nature won out, and he watched the two men arguing in a semiprivate corner of the bar. The aggressive way Jazz pointed in Russell’s face and the author’s resulting cower weren’t helping Michael’s below-the-belt disturbances.

A crunch crunch sound drew Michael’s attention away from the argument and to Dylan. His arms were pretzeled tight and he was crushing the sucker with his teeth, the white stick bobbing up and down between clenched lips as he glared at Jazz.

Jealous much?

When Michael looked back at the argument, Jazz was stuffing a wad of bills into his pocket. Dylan saw it too and threw up his hands in disgust. Jazz stormed back, right toward Michael, his face livid.

Michael took a step back in surprise, but nothing could have shocked him further than when Jazz said, “C’mon, Michael, let’s get out of here.”

Hesitating for the barest of seconds, Michael glanced at Dylan—Jazz’s comment had shocked him as much as Michael—then hurried after Jazz.

Jazz stepped out into the rain and popped open the big umbrella, then held it out so there was plenty of space for Michael to slip beneath too.

“That smarmy, sneaky son of a bitch,” Jazz cursed, glaring down the street.

“What did he say?” Michael made sure to keep his bag of books close to his stomach, being huddled under an umbrella with the very sexy Jazz Dilworth a potent aphrodisiac. Damn, his cologne smelled good—tangy and sweet at the same time. Michael’s mouth watered.

Jazz regarded him for a moment, and the tension left his shoulders. He offered an apologetic smile. “You must think I’m a real drama queen, huh?”

“Oh, no, not at all.”

“When we decided to split up, it was easier not to go through the courts. Russell is famous, ya know? All I could imagine was our life becoming an episode of Gay Celebrity Divorce Court.” He sniffed a laugh. “We spend decades fighting for the right to marry, and we fuck marriage up just like everybody else.”

Michael barely contained his laughter. Jazz had such a crass and colorful way of talking.

“Anyway, we always kept our investments and bills separate, except for the house. Russell didn’t want to sell it, and I didn’t want to make him. So we made an agreement. He’d pay my car off and send me a check once a month until I got back my half of the down payment. He actually made out better than I did, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out. But I’m not stupid. I wasn’t signing an annulment or divorcing his ass until I got all my money back. Legally everything is still half mine. I did that finger-fucker a favor, and he can’t even stick with it.”

“Probably spending his money on the twink,” Michael said.

Jazz shot him a look. Before Michael could apologize, Jazz laughed, slapping Michael on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Probably.”

Jazz didn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t drop his hand from Michael’s shoulder. Their gazes locked, and Michael’s pulse quickened. He licked his lips, wanting to kiss the man, ask him out, or simply say something clever, but his mind wouldn’t work!

That hand slid away. “It was nice meeting you, Michael. Don’t judge me too harshly for all my drama.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he insisted. “I mean, I didn’t.”

Nodding, Jazz offered him another grin, then held out the handle of the umbrella. “Thanks again.”

Michael fumbled with his bag and slipped the strap over his shoulder before taking the umbrella. “You’re welcome. Um… can I walk you back to your salon? It’s still raining.”

“Nah, I’m good, but thanks.”

“Oh, okay.” Michael couldn’t conceal his disappointment.

“You’ve got my number. Don’t be a stranger. Maybe we can grab an ice cream some afternoon?”

“Ice cream?”

“Sure, everybody loves ice cream.” Jazz let out a breathy chuckle and brushed Michael’s hair off his brow, pushing it back into place with his fingertips.

The gesture was so quick, probably just instinctive from a hairdresser, but Michael’s knees went watery and he had to stifle a whimper.

“I’ll catch you on the flipside, Michael.”

And with that, Jazz darted into the rain, looking both ways as he hurried across the street, leaving Michael standing there speechless.

PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY!

from Cover Reveal: Murder Most Lovely