#the queen of the quad has returned

[the-music-keeper]

Objective #1 is done and I just finished listening to the Dichterliebe cycle!

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ trois ] | sylus

summary: he still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. she’s not you. the body type and stature don’t match. still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate in his journey to find you.

warnings: human trafficking, graphic depictions of violence, minor character deaths, reader has hair, reader implied to be femme, mild language, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, sylus is still murderous

tagging: @world-of-hearts @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva @libriomancer, @queenofstresss, @aeanya @socutesotall @babyx91 @syyyy4ever @karolamurdock

notes: limerence | part 1 | part 2

now playing: o fortuna - carl orff

He recalls it like it was yesterday.

You, clad in black, bearing enough skin to tease. Your back was to him as you fiddled with something, none the wiser to his molten stare. 

He’d watched you from the rail of his club’s second-floor balcony. Thoughts consuming him as guests trickled out, drunk, merry, and sure to return. He waited until the last of them left—until his staff scuttled about, clearing off tables and reorganizing expensive bottles at the bar—to make his move.

You were a guest headliner—someone he occasionally invited to perform on stage. Lux was known for more than just its atmosphere. 

The entertainment was unmatched, and the women were attractive. Sylus couldn’t deny how the scene became more…interesting with you around. You even managed to draw out a few of his enemies for him to snuff out, the bastards greedy and wanton in the face of fresh meat.

With a smirk, Sylus descended the stairs. Stopped behind you, watching you struggle to unlatch your heels from your ankles. 

You glanced up when he poured himself onto the red leather ottoman across. So close, his knees bracketed either side of yours, and he’d caught a whiff of that warm scent you carried. 

Wordlessly, he drew your foot into his lap. Your expression warped into one of brief astonishment before it was replaced by something sultry. A mask you often donned when putting on a show, though he was curious to see what truly lay beneath it. 

You leaned back on your palms whilst he undid the buckle. He glanced up, a chuckle dredged from his chest as you dragged your toes down his quad in thanks. It was flattering. Felt nice, little tingles ricocheting up his spine. 

He hadn’t pursued the touch of a woman for some time, too busy solidifying his position in the underworld to entertain temptations of the flesh. 

He was here on business. His personal reservations could wait. 

Sylus patted his thigh, signaling you to give him your other foot. You had been dancing all night. Smiled pretty, made him money. The least he could do was reward you for your generous contributions. Show a little empathy. 

You obliged, an appreciative hum in your throat when he freed you of your shackle. Reluctantly, gently, he let your feet slide to the floor. Contemplated massaging them–they were soft and agitated. But he was here to preposition you, not seduce you. 

Not yet.

Sylus leaned forward in an easy slouch with his elbows resting on his quads. Tapped his fingers together, studying you. 

You were quite a sight beneath the red throb of the lights overhead. The imperfections lining your features made you all the more appealing, hiding beneath the glamor you posted up with your Evol. He could easily see through it, thanks to his Aether Core.

He knew about that, too. The power you housed. Part of why you were such a showstopper, your Evol allowing you to make these elaborate costume changes and transitions in the midst of performing. 

He didn’t know the full extent of your abilities just yet. Figured they were more than cheap parlor tricks. But having the power of illusion on his side was something he couldn’t get on without. 

Clearing his throat, Sylus spoke low and even, voice slightly above the dull pulse of the music turned down in the background. 

“How would you like to be a permanent employee here?” 

You quirked a brow. Pitched forward with a hand propped under your chin, your eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That easy, huh?”

“What? You thought I just came here out of the goodness of my heart?” Your eyes flickered downward, and you leaned in, toying with the first button of his shirt.

He was surprised by how simple you’d made this for him. No coercion, no ultimatums. It’s as if you were waiting for him to preposition you, coiled like a spring itching to be released. He couldn’t help wondering if you knew the full extent of what he’d ask of you. The people he’d employed were more than just pretty faces. But that conversation would come later once he’d earned your trust, your loyalty. 

Nonetheless, he put back up the businessman front as he stood. Twirled the strap of your heel on a slender finger, and he peered down at you with a lazy smirk, offering you his hand to help you up and to seal the deal. 

“Then it’s settled. You work for me now,” he replied coolly. Matter of factly, no room for you to back out.

You stood with his help, your hand in his electrifying. You bore a look of amusement as you shook it, sensing there was more to this ‘job’ than what was shown at the surface. You were signing a contract with the Devil and didn’t even know it. 

“Cool. Do I get a welcome basket or something?”

Sylus snorted. Beautiful and cheeky. He could tell this would be the beginning of an interesting partnership. “I could arrange that.”

The mirth around you dwindled, and you studied him for a beat before you grew antsy. Held out your hand as the moment subsided, tapping your foot expectantly.

“Can I have my shoe back now? I should probably get goin’ before you try to coerce me into being your secretary, too.”

He canted his head, feigning ignorance. Woundedness. “I thought I’d hold onto it as a memento.”

You huffed out a laugh. “A memento for what?”

“For our new friendship.”

You snorted. “That’s real creepy, Mister.” Made a grab for your heel, yet Sylus held it just out of reach. You tried for the shoe again, your fragrance overhauling his senses as your warm chest brushed against him. 

He suddenly found himself wanting to smell you all the time, wanting to feel the heat wafting off your skin more often. And that pretty smile you wore—he had to have it for himself. 

You looked at him with a devastating curl to your lips, hands on hips. “Do you tease all your new recruits like this, or am I a special case?”

He chuckled, something tugging in his chest. “Consider it a part of the onboarding process.”

As you stood there, silently scrutinizing each other beneath the strobing lights, he found his interest in you sinking deeper than surface level. And he suddenly wanted to know about everything that made you tick. 

He felt a magnetic pull towards you, like the moon drawn to Earth. Something he couldn’t quite place. He’d be remiss to say he wasn’t curious to see where this partnership could lead. 

The deal was sealed that fateful night, even if it hadn’t been in black and white. He owned you. 

And over time, you would learn that you owned him, too.

—

The present comes sliding back in, banishing his memories to the furthest reaches of his mind. He’s caught reminiscing like you’re already dead. Catastrophizing, assuming the worst. 

He knows better. You’re tough. Stubborn. Still, he doesn’t err in his steps to find you. There’s always that just in case. Just in case your Evol failed you. Just in case they incapacitated you long enough to sell you off.

He’s panting. 

Not from the exertion of fighting and killing. Rending flesh from bone, turning men to ash as he saps their energy to use as his own. Not from painting the ship’s walls with the soot of burned bodies, leaving a statement for anyone who dares to steal from him again.

No.

He pants with an effort to restrain himself. 

He could sink this ship if he so chooses. But there are still innocents onboard, trickling out in onesies and twosies. Still goons charging at him from the exits with weapons poised at his chest as if they know who he is and what he’s after—laid out the red carpet, pulling out all the stops.

And he still has yet to locate your whereabouts. 

He ducked in and out of vacant rooms after reaching the cruise ship's lowest cabins. He funneled henchmen into the hallways one by one, snuffing them out like coals. Followed their source, gritting his teeth as the trail came up cold.

He eases into another area once the fray dies down. An inky darkness greets him. He crouches when he hears a lifeless, robotic voice speaking. Rattling off descriptions like it’s reading a menu. 

Sylus’ blood turns to icicles in his veins. Could this be the auction he’s been seeking all this time?

He peers over the partition, blocking him from sight. Spots a gentleman clad in a suit, his back facing Sylus as he sits in a leather armchair.

Two more men similarly sit on opposite sides of the room, forming a triangle. Various animal masks conceal their faces. 

Fixed in the center is a ceiling-high, glass display case with three figures clad in black standing in its center.

Two bodyguards flank the smaller being shrouded in an onyx cloak. One guard reaches up to peel back the robe’s hood, and Sylus’ breath catches. 

The figure is inherently feminine, clad in a lingerie set. Gaunt, like she’s been deprived of a proper meal for days. If not for the henchman with their hands manacling her forearms, Sylus is sure she would collapse. 

They’d dressed her up all pretty like a doll. Tried to make her look more appealing, though Sylus was sure these men would buy her regardless of how emaciated she looked. 

He still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. She’s not you. The body type and stature don’t match. But still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate.

The metallic voice chimes in overhead again. The bidding starts at one million. The gentleman before Sylus raises a white paddle, soundlessly placing his bid. Sylus’ stomach churns. He’ll kill everyone here, he swears it.

He observes passively for another moment. Bristles when the girl in the case weakly attempts to free herself from her captors. They shake her in warning, and the veil slips off.

Sylus swallows thickly, his power prickling on his fingertips. He waits until the bid reaches five million before he makes his move. Soundless as the tendrils of his Evol snake around five necks. Before they know what’s amiss, five sources of life are siphoned, sinking into Sylus’ body. 

The woman gasps. Throws herself against the glass, pounding on it with weakened fists. Begs Sylus with quivering, blood-crusted lips to save her. 

He’s detached as he snaps his wrist, the entry of the display case easing open. She studies him a moment longer in her quiet panic. Looks between him and the open door, unsure of what to do. 

Sure, he’s disappointed that she isn’t the woman he seeks. She isn’t you. But he wouldn’t hurt her. That would go against all the effort he put forth tonight to bring this human trafficking ring to its knees. 

He signals for the girl to leave with a cant of his head. She snatches up the cloak, hurriedly draping it about her shoulders before skittering out of sight.

Sylus’ mouth pulls into a rigid line. Nostrils flare. He burns with malice, breathing deep to quell the urge to burn this ship to the bowels of the ocean. Still, he has faith that you’re still on board somewhere. He just has to look harder.

Dipping out of the room, he enters another. Goons no longer pursue him, either thoroughly snuffed out or they fled in the wake of Sylus’ ire. 

He’s startled when he hears an enmeshment of grunts. One high and light, and the other gurgled and strained as if being choked. He darts from behind the partition in this new room, and the sight that welcomes him makes his body flood with something glacial.

He pants again, but this time for an entirely different reason. 

A wave of relief crashes into him. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

In the center of a case similar to the one he’d seen just moments before is you. And you’re in the midst of choking out a guard with the links of your cuffs. He’s red-faced and fighting for his life, clawing at the links until bloody, jagged lines marr his neck. It’s to no avail.

With one final jerk, bone snaps, and the sigh of a life fleeting signals his demise. Your breaths are labored as you sit amid your carnage—four guards taken out similarly, haloing you—fixing Sylus’ with a reposed look.

“Took you long enough,” you puff with an inkling of a smile. And he doesn’t think he’s ever found you more beautiful, even beneath the sweat and grime and blood—thankfully not yours—that you’d accumulated throughout your capture.

Sylus moves on autopilot when his wits return. With a waggle of his fingers, your cuffs fall free from your wrists, accompanied by the shackles around your ankles. You must’ve put up quite the fight. He swells with pride despite the moment, and if you knew the doubts he housed about your safety, you would surely fight him.

He pries the display’s door open with his Evol and conquers the space between you in three long strides. Kneeling on the floor beside you, Sylus ingests your features. Smooths your sweat-slicked hair away from your face. Turns your head this way and that, scrutinizing you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assure on an exhale. Wrap your lithe fingers around his wrist as if to soothe, and it’s like he’s been shocked by static. He studies you a moment longer, painting a frantic triangle between your eyes and mouth before taking your hand in his, trying to haul you up.

“Let’s get you out—”

“Ow!” you hiss, flinching back. Sylus’ eyes glaze over you before taking in your ankle's swollen, purpling state. His eyes narrow, and he resists an urge to growl. 

If he hadn’t already killed all of them, he’d make them pay for hurting you.

“Might’ve sprained it,” you laugh, wincing at the stickiness of your voice. 

He peers at you fondly before scooping you into his arms, mindful of your injury. You instinctively curl into him, your arms loosely winding about his neck, and you nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder. 

With his adrenaline slowly draining, Sylus cautiously moves you back into the hallway. Steps over the viscera and carnage he had caused, severed hands and errant teeth littering the once clean, blue, carpeted floors.

He has you back. You’re safe. A little bruised, but you’re safe. And he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so grateful. 

Slowly, the pair of you are consumed by the shadows of his Evol before morphing out of existence.

—

“Where will they go?” you ask with a wistful, faraway look in your eyes as Sylus’ coat blankets you, flapping in the breeze.

Luke and Kieran were herding the girls from the semi from the docks into awaiting vehicles, accompanied by a slew of Sylus’ staff members from Lux. They were patient and understanding as they gave the girls blankets and water, ushering them into Jeeps and SUVs to be transported to safety.

You watch them from Sylus’ arms, and he catches a glimpse of the girl you were all those years back. Hopeful and optimistic despite being in captivity yourself, knowing that no one would come for you. 

With his eyes transfixed on you, he speaks low and even. “Back to their families.”

You gaze at him, your eyes glazing over with a swell of tears. A moment of rarity between you, where you drop your defenses and grace him with a peak of the woman that resides beneath that callused exterior you outwardly project to the world—a means of protecting yourself. 

“What if they don’t have families?”

He shifts you in his arms, a smirk touching his lips. “Then we’ll do everything we can to help them find their place in this world again.”

You look at him with a reverent gleam to your irises. Shyly nuzzle into his chest, your voice so small, he has to strain to hear it.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Seriously.”

Something tugs at his heartstrings. He merely nods, walking you through the line of vehicles. The click of his loafers on the pavement echoes whilst he takes you towards the moonlight, nestled against the horizon. 

—

“You’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion, sweetie,” Sylus husks, and it surprises even him how soft he sounds. 

You must feel so smug, having the big, bad Boogeyman fretting over your well-being like this. He could crush you with his bare hands, yet he’s cautious as he strokes some of your baby hairs away from your forehead, your temple cool to the touch.

“Not sleeping,” you rasp, your lips pulling into a disarming smile. You don’t sound convincing, your voice heavy with sleep. But could he argue with you? “Just resting my eyes a bit.”

He snorts, your smile infectious. He lapses into silence when your smile fades and your breaths even out. Reluctantly withdraws his hand, watching you slumber atop his bed, and you just look so natural between silken, red sheets with the firelight waltzing over your visage. 

It’s been an eventful night. You deserve some rest. He feels better, having you safely tucked away in the penthouse, far from the arms of men with impure intentions, far from your memories. Should anything else come up, he knows you’ll be alright with the twins and his employees downstairs keeping tabs on you.

Regardless, his brows furrow with worry. Unlike him, you haven’t this miraculous ability to heal as quickly as he does. 

As if summoned from his thoughts, Mephisto appears through a flurry of inky smoke on his wrist. Sylus scratches the crow’s chin affectionately before fixing him with a serious, crimson stare. “Keep an eye on her,” he implores. 

Said crow hops from his wrist onto the side of the bed near your face, and in his way, he signals to Sylus that you’ll be left in good hands. Or wings.

With a final sigh, Sylus peels himself from the bedside chair. Stuffs his hands in his pockets, sparing one final look at your snoozing figure from over his shoulder. He can’t help how his lips twitch, something like affection warming his veins as he stands in the doorframe.

He exits the penthouse, down the elevator shaft, and through the stilled halls of Lux. Dumps himself into the balmy arms of the summery night. 

There’s still unfinished business to attend to, and now that he knows where Fate’s stronghold is, he figures he’ll pay an old friend a much-needed visit.

And maybe teach him a thing or two about stealing from The Devil.

[dragonfirerogue-writes]

Maybe something where Wednesday's lover has a isfj personality type (Introverted and observant) and never talks, always covers their face with a veil and is basically an npc towards everyone with the exception of Wednesday?

Wednesday x reader

Nothing escapes your eyes. Every detail within your range is yours to perceive. But every detail isn't yours to relay. No, you aren't meant to reveal all you see. No matter how the resident gossip queen, Enid, tries to pry information from you, it's always the same.

"It's not mine to tell. Ask them yourself."

Others seek you out only when they need you. Outside of that, you are invisible to them. A spectre only to be summoned. It's as if the veil that covers your face makes everyone blind to you though you only wear it to mitigate the information overload around you.

There's only one who saw you first. One who came to you for information and kept returning to you.

"Back for more, Ms. Addams?"

"You're the only source I trust, L/N."

That brings a smile to your face. Something that hasn't happened in ages. Perhaps this girl is as special as she seems.

-----+++++-----

You rarely enter Jericho outside of Outreach Day. There's too much information, even with your veil. But Wednesday insists you help her in her investigation and you agreed. However, you must be blindfolded when out in the streets. So your hand is on her shoulder as she makes her way. You can feel that she's surprised that you can keep up with her quick pace.

There's a chime of a bell and the aroma of coffee assaults your nose.

"Ah, the Weathervane. Is this our destination, Wednesday?"

"Yes. I have your veil ready."

Another smile graces your face as you remove your blindfold. Wednesday takes the honor of putting on your veil for you. When your eyes open, information files into your senses.

The person at the far table is drinking a sugary sweet concoction that's more syrup than coffee.

The person sitting by the window is stressed about finances.

The person in the corner is on the run.

The person at the counter is-

Eyes widen at the information this boy is inadvertently giving you. It's not your secret to tell, but you also promised to help Wednesday. Deciding on the latter, you grab the goth's sleeve to pull her attention to you. You can't look away from the boy at the counter. She sees the line of sight and the worry on your brow.

"Wednesday!" The boy calls out. "I'll have a quad ready for you asap."

Said girl looks between you and the boy. You've started to tremble slightly. More and more information pops up the longer you look at the boy.

"Maybe tomorrow, Tyler," Wednesday says. "I have to tend to my friend."

Before you know it, you find yourself back into your room. The dark and quiet, however, does not do much to quell the pulsing of your brain. You let out a sigh. Your eyes don't open. The only thing you hear is the sound of Wednesday's breathing.

You hear her steps as she gets closer. There is a trust there you've never given because your eyes are still closed when she approaches you. But you tilt your head towards her to show that she has your attention.

"What did you see?"

"That boy. That Tyler. He is the one who ravages this town. Our school."

"He's the monster!?"

"Yes. But he will not admit to it. At least not until he knows he's in the clear." You face your body towards Wednesday. "Do not engage recklessly, my dear."

You feel gentle hands on your cheek.

"Cara mia, with you by my side I am never reckless. You're too important for me to leave you."

Darkness is your friend. Silence is your comfort. But the lips of your lover, your Wednesday, is your salvation.

[egyptonlinetours1]

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[calraquin]

The Same Look Before

Angst Day for #PoppyWeekend I have never written a fic on Tumblr before but I really wanted to participate somehow in the amazing #PoppyWeekend that @penda-bear put together so here we go at 5:30am.  Poppy x MC angst with Ina x MC as the angst source.

Summary: Farmville really does look gorgeous like this; 1 part jovial and 2 parts turned on. Poppy recognizes that look, she’s seen that exact look before. The last time it graced across Bea’s face Poppy had been the one to put it there. And yeah, that had felt a whole lot different than this.

Tagging the folks I know I think may want to be tagged, please let me know if you want removed. @somin-yin @stanzoeywade @shows-simp-card @barnibumblr @jmojellybae @somewillwin @belvoiresqueenbee

The Same Look Before 

Chloe is going on and on about how her hamster had died, or was it her cousin? It doesn’t matter, Poppy had stopped listening a while ago. At this time of night, situated after the late afternoon classes and before the frat parties the quad around them was mostly dead.

Like Chloe’s hamster..or cousin. 

The smaller blonde had about 5 seconds left before her empathy meter overflowed and the Queen B side of her returned.

Speaking of Queen B’s: Poppy’s attention gets drawn to the science building as the big wooden doors open and Bea Hughes walks out, with the illustrious Professor Kingsley by her side. They talk together quietly, their heads getting unneedingly close as they whisper back and forth. 

She narrows her eyes as she watches them walk down the quad steps. Neither woman is presumably aware that they are in public or that they have an audience to their obvious misconduct. 

Poppy may be a bit self centered but anyone surely would be able to tell these two are fucking right? To her left Chloe makes an awful half-cough, half sniffle sound as she prattles on; okay maybe Poppy is more than a little self centered but the point still remains. 

She knows Bea was stunted growing up drinking cow infested water but she has to know how brazen they are being, right?

The women stop at the corner of the building, Professor Kingsley steps closer, way too close for a professor to ever be and dips her mouth closer to the goat herder's ear. Whatever she whispers causes Bea to break out into a laugh and for a tinge to rise up on her cheeks the same color as her scarlet hair. 

Farmville really does look gorgeous like this; 1 part jovial and 2 parts turned on. Poppy recognizes that look, she’s seen that exact look before. The last time it graced across Bea’s face Poppy had been the one to put it there. And yeah, that had felt a whole lot different than this.

-

Two weeks ago in her Zeta dorm room she straddled Bea’s waist and had ever so slowly started removing her makeup. It probably came off like she was teasing to the point of torturing but really, the blonde had been stalling. She was channeling her inner Robert Frost, deciding upon a fork in the road; did she really want to cross this line with her mortal enemy? Her nemesis that she already couldn't stop thinking about?

Bea started squirming, clearly getting past the point of her patience’s precipice. She sighed and asked, “So Pop, do you plan on using those hands somewhere else before dawn hits or does this spa not offer a happy ending?”. 

Poppy had smirked down into the evergreen eyes of her enemy and responded, “No. I will use my tongue for that.” 

She watched the redhead swallow slowly as a pink blush blossomed across her high cheekbones. 

Poppy spread the small town girl’s legs apart but her vision never left Bea’s face. She watched the redhead swallow slowly as a pink blush blossomed across her high cheekbones and her dilated eyes hungrily bore into Poppy’s own. There really only ever was the one road to go down at this point wasn’t there? 

Neither woman spoke for a while after that. Well, at least not in coherent sentences.

-

That exact look was now echoing across Farmville's face but this time it was accompanied by her finger lightly running down the professor’s arm in a promise of what was to come. 

Poppy had felt that touch as well. Knew the fire it left in its wake.

“Uh, Poppy? Hello?”.

The Queen B’s thoughts were abruptly broken by Chloe’s face “Are you okay? I was telling you about my gerbil-”.

Ah, so it was some type of deceased rodent after all. 

“But you were just staring at Farmville like she was the last Prada dress you’d ever own.”.

Poppy stands up annoyed at being caught and not having the space, mental or emotional capacity to unpack the last 5 minutes. Her eyes zero back in on Bea and Professor Kingsley across the quad now as they turn the corner.

“More like she was last year’s dress in this year’s collection.”

The very blonde, blonde scrunches up her brow in confusion; “Wait, is that the same or different?”.

 “Whatever, I don't have time for this!.” Poppy huff’s and starts strutting away, “Are you coming to the club or not?”.

Chloe rushes after her Queen B, astonishingly managing to run and speak at the same time. 

“But you said clubs on Wednesday’s were for desperate low life's to find each other for sad unattractive one night stands? Did that change now too??”

[softspideys]

Average (Frat!Tom Holland x reader)

summary: tom holland is the handsome, popular, and charismatic king of your campus. so why has he taken an interest in you?

warnings: none

word count: 3,000

pairings: frat!tom holland x reader

a/n: I personally prefer respectful frat boy tom to jerky frat boy tom. inspired by this glorious photo. I hope you you like it:) 

When Tom Holland first spoke to you, your immediate instinct was to assume it was a joke.

You’d just arrived at the party his frat was throwing and immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. You were never totally comfortable in situations like these, but after a couple drinks you tended to be more social and easygoing.

“Hey,” a voice said as you finished pouring yourself some of the suspicious-looking Jungle Juice. You turned around and almost did a double-take.

You knew who Tom was; his roommate Harrison was friends with your roommate Jess, but you’d never spoken to him. He was popular, but there were no rumors about him being a player or an asshole or a creep like there were with some of his frat brothers.

Now he was smiling at you, looking casual in jeans and a black t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled over his curly hair. “Hey,” you answered, once you were positive he was talking to you. There was no one else around you, but still.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, no thanks,” you said, gesturing to the cup in your hand. “I’m good.” You figured he was just being polite, but then he continued to speak to you.

“You’re Jess’s roommate, right?” he asked.

You nodded, a little surprised. You honestly didn’t even think he was aware you existed. But then it hit you—he must be looking for her and probably recognized you from one of her Instagram photos or something. “Yeah. I don’t know where she is, though. I just got here.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ve only met her a couple times—she’s friends with my roommate Harrison—but she talked about you a lot. I’m Tom.” He held out his hand.

Slowly, you shook it. “Y/N.” This was weird. If he wasn’t being polite and he wasn’t looking for someone else, then why was he talking to you? You had to get out of there. “Um, I have to go now. It was nice meeting you.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “See you around, maybe.” You smiled a little instead of answering before practically fleeing the kitchen and joining the party. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and you didn’t see Tom again.

You thought about him briefly afterwards, but decided not to dwell on it. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he saw you by yourself and took pity on you.

A few days later, Jess ambushed you while you were doing homework in the library. “You talked to Tom Holland at the party on Saturday?” she whispered excitedly.

“Yeah, for like a minute. It was before I found you. Why?”

“Harrison told me he was asking about you. Want me to pass along your number?”

“No!” you said quickly, feeling your face get warm. “Wait. What do you mean, he was asking about me? Asking what?”

“You know, just like . . . what your deal is, and whatever.” She shrugged. “He probably wants to hang out with you.”

“Me? Why?” The thought made your heartbeat quicken.

Jess rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Why wouldn’t he? You’re a total catch. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

The conversation was making you more and more uncomfortable. Tom was good-looking and popular and probably had tons of people lining up just to “hang out” with him. What was so special about you?

Despite your doubts, you found yourself giving in. “Okay,” you said finally. “I guess you can give him my number.”

Jess smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Awesome. I’ll tell Harrison.” She leaned closer, suddenly serious. “And look, I wouldn’t push this if I didn’t think it was a good idea, okay? You know I got your back. Tom is really nice.”

She had a point. “I know,” you said grudgingly. “We’ll see if he even texts me.”

~ ~ ~  

Tom texted you the day after Jess passed your number on.

hey it’s tom, we met at the party on saturday :) i got your number from jess. i was wondering if you wanna hang out sometime?

You spent almost an hour reading it over and over, trying to figure out if there was any hidden meaning in the short message. Finally you wrote back: sure.

You expected him to invite you to another frat party or something similar, but instead he asked if you wanted to grab coffee and do homework. Midterms were coming up, after all.

So you met him at a cafe on campus on a chilly Thursday afternoon. He was there when you arrived, sitting at a table in the back. He looked cozy, all bundled up in a hoodie and sweats. You bought yourself a hot chocolate and sat across from him. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled at you. “How’s it going?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Pretty good.”

You looked around. He’d picked a two-person table, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t pull up a chair. “Is it just going to be us?”

His smile faded a little. “Uh, yeah. Is that okay? I thought—I mean, you can see if Jess is around or something, but—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, wanting to kick yourself. “No, this is fine. I was just asking. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, okay.” He relaxed. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You just didn’t seem very, uh . . . excited.”

You cringed inwardly, clearing your throat. “Oh, sorry. I’m not very good at texting. Ask Jess.” You smiled a little at the thought of your best friend. “She’s always mad at me because I take hours to respond and then it usually just ends up being one word.”

Tom laughed. “Oh man, my brother Sam is the same way. I have to send a message to him in all caps that says SOS EMERGENCY PLEASE ANSWER NOW if I want him to answer within the hour.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, three actually. There’s me, then the twins Sam and Harry, and then my youngest brother Paddy.”

“Wow,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Your house must’ve been pretty crazy growing up.”

“You could say that.”

Before you got to the cafe, you told yourself that you only had to stay for an hour. One hour, and then you could make up some excuse as to why you had to leave. But as time went on, you realized you were actually enjoying yourself. The conversation flowed naturally, and Tom was a good listener. He didn’t seem to mind when you eventually lapsed into silence to get some studying down, and the two of you worked quietly for a while. He even offered to refill your drink when he went to get another for himself.

“Got any plans for dinner?” he asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence you’d grown used to. You looked out the window and saw it was getting dark out.

At first you thought maybe he was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat with him. But as quick as the idea occurred, you shot it down. That was silly; he’d already been here with you for a few hours now. Maybe he was meeting other people after this and wanted you to take a hint.

So you lied, “Yeah, I’m meeting Jess at a dining hall. I should probably get going, actually.”

“Oh, right,” he said, glancing down at his homework. “Uh, same here.” You both quickly packed up your stuff and left the cafe, pausing before you officially went your separate ways.

“That was fun,” Tom said. He hesitated, and you braced yourself to hear some excuse as to why he would never talk to you again.

You certainly weren’t expecting him to ask shyly, “Would you want to hang out again?” You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him right. But he just looked at you, waiting for your response, and after a pause you nodded.

“Yeah. I would like that.”

Tom’s answering smile was practically blinding. You couldn’t help but return it. “Awesome,” he said. “Um, I’ll text you?”

“Okay,” you said. “See you later.” He smiled at you for a second longer before he turned and walked away, a happy sort of bounce in his step.

You couldn’t help it; you walked home with a dumb grin on your face.

~ ~ ~

True to his word, Tom texted you a few days later to ask if you wanted to hang out again. This time you accepted readily.

At first, the two of you just got together to have coffee and do homework. Then he somehow managed to figure out part of your schedule and would meet you on your way to class. Even if he had a lecture on the other side of campus, he insisted on walking you all the way to yours.

He started texting you more, sometimes sending you funny videos or memes, but also sharing random thoughts and asking questions. Now you checked your phone frequently, trying to get in the habit of responding quickly or initiating conversation with him first. You followed each other on social media and you noticed he’d liked all of your Instagram photos. Just to be funny, you liked a couple of his too, but then wondered if he would find it weird.

“We’re friends,” you told Jess when she noticed you smiling at your phone. “That’s it.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious,” you said, because you knew what she was insinuating and there was just no way Tom Holland would be into you like that. Sometimes you saw him around campus, always surrounded by a laughing group of friends and admirers. He was like the sun, and you knew you were lucky to even be in his orbit.

“We’re having a party on Friday night,” Tom said to you one afternoon. The weather was nice, so you’d claimed a sunny spot out on the quad to do some homework.

“Cool.” You were more focused on the essay you were writing than the conversation.

“Are you gonna go?” he pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe if Jess goes I’ll come too.”

“Well . . .” He trailed off, and you looked up to see he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. “What if we went together?”

You stared at him. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, it certainly was not that. “Like . . . me and you? Like . . .  as your date?”

Tom was blushing now, steadily avoiding your eyes. “Um. Yes?”

Alarm bells were going off in your brain. If Jess were here she’d be throwing a parade, but you knew there had to be a catch. Out of all the people on campus, why was he asking you?

You opened your mouth to say no, but then he finally glanced up at you. His expression was so earnest and hopeful that you found yourself saying, “Sure.”

“Really? You want to?” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “Yeah, it sounds fun.”

There was that goofy grin again, lighting up his entire face. “Okay,” he said. “Cool.”

You knew you should be excited, but there was a nervous pit in your stomach that just wouldn’t go away. It was still there when you arrived at Tom’s frat house that Friday. You didn’t recognize the brother at the door on security duty, but he took one look and waved you inside, no questions asked.

You were a little confused; you came by yourself last time too and had to say you knew Harrison. But the brother merely said, “Tom put you on the list.”

The boy in question was in the kitchen, talking to a few of his brothers. He noticed you walk in immediately and his eyes lit up. “Hey! You’re here!” To your surprise he gave you a hug, and you tried not to focus on how good his cologne smelled.

“You look nice,” he said when he pulled away. In an attempt to feel more confident, you’d worn your favorite pair of jeans and a cute top, even allowing Jess to do some hair and makeup magic on you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Um, so do you.” He was just in jeans and a purple flannel, a black baseball cap twisted backwards on his head, but he still managed to make it look effortlessly cool.

“Thanks.” He paused. “I’m, uh, really glad you came.”  

“Me too,” you said quietly. He smiled at you and the knot in your stomach tightened.

Tom barely left your side the entire night. He introduced you to some of his fraternity brothers, whose names you forgot as soon as they said them. A few of them had brought dates too, and while they were all friendly and welcoming, you couldn’t help but feel frumpy and plain standing next to them.

It didn’t help that there were some not-so-friendly girls coming over too. They gave Tom hugs and kisses on the cheek before eyeing you critically. You could practically see the invisible thought bubble forming over their heads each time they looked at you: why is he here with you? You wanted to tell them that you were wondering the same thing.

The longer you thought about it, the worse you felt. It just didn’t make sense. Tom had practically half the campus falling at his feet; why wasn’t he with someone more talented, better looking, charismatic? Why had he picked you? You were so . . . average.

Maybe it was some kind of prank, some kind of fucked-up tradition in his fraternity: find a shy girl, get her to fall in love with you, and then break her heart. That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked, tearing you from your thoughts. You realized you hadn’t spoken in several minutes, just staring off into space.

You swallowed. “Could we, um, go somewhere quiet? Please?”

He studied your face for a second before he nodded. “Of course.” He put one hand on your back, gently guiding you out of the crowded room and up the stairs. You followed him down the hallway until he stopped at a door with a sign that said TOM & HARRISON.

Oh. This was his room. 

He ushered you in and you noticed he left the door slightly ajar, so you could easily leave if you wanted to. Still, you immediately took a seat at his desk, not wanting to even go near the bed. Tom didn’t seem to mind, falling onto it with a loud thud and a content sigh. Neither of you spoke for a minute. Finally you glanced over at him and saw he was already watching you, a tiny smile on his face.

You couldn’t take it any longer. “Is this, like, a prank or something?”

“What?”

“This. Like,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “all of this. Is it a joke?”

Tom’s smile vanished. He scrambled to sit up, scooting towards the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about? Why would you even think that?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to figure out why someone like you would be doing all of this with someone like me.”

He looked lost. “Doing what?”

“You know . . . hanging out with me, texting me, inviting me here . . .”

He stared at you for a second before he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I mean . . . I like you. I thought that was obvious.”

“But why?” You were frustrated to find you were near tears. “You could have your pick of anyone on this campus. There are so many girls in this house alone right now who are prettier and funnier and more interesting than me. So why . . . why me?”

Tom slowly stood up and came over to where you were sitting, kneeling in front of you. “Because I think you’re pretty and funny and interesting,” he said, looking at you unflinchingly. “None of those other people matter to me. I don’t know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you’re, like . . . not good enough or whatever, but it’s not true.”

You bit your lip as he took your hand. “I’m just . . . not used to this. Usually people tend not to notice me.” 

“I did,” he said simply. “And I really, really like you.”

“I really like you too,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Tom said gently. “Just trust me, okay? I would never hurt you like that.”

He was being honest. He always had been, but you believed him now. You took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Tom blinked in surprise before he nodded. You leaned in and kissed him softly; his lips were a little chapped and tasted sweet and sort of fruity, like the juice from his drink. His hands came up to carefully cup your jaw, holding you in place. It made your head dizzy and your knees weak; it was perfect.

It was like a dam broke. Suddenly you couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t figure out what to do with the happy, fizzy feeling in your stomach. You pulled back a little, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his nose. Tom giggled like the touch made him ticklish and you thought to yourself, You were so silly to deny yourself for so long, to think you didn’t deserve this.

You knew better now. You knew you did.

[sugar-petals]

Can we get a new Tarot reading for Yuzuru please

yes, our boy! new format:

YUZURU HANYU: Tarot Q&A Session (Multi-Topic)

questions covered: his programs & practice, the olympics, social environment, future plans, predictions

is he working on a new program currently?

THE CHARIOT (r) - plans on pause. yuzu hasn’t entered creative mode and victory drive yet. analyzes mistakes in former programs.

how does he feel about uniting with brian/the coaches?

THE EMPRESS - happy, blessed. enjoys the fruitful work. feels very comfortable and taken care of. missed tracy taking him under her wing.

how does he feel about his skating these days?

TEN OF SWORDS - defeated and struck down, he is not content with getting silver. yuzu is currently devastated 😔he hit rock bottom and replays his falls.

what will his olympic program be like?

TWO OF WANDS (r) - something extra fiery, mad, ultra competitve. aries energy gone rogue. the opposite of seimei. less dramatism, lot of action. bulldozing everything in his way. power flex, he burns it all to the ground. people will think he lost his mind, we’ll see extreme aggression in his movements. no more sweet elegance, it’s gonna be an explosion nobody can handle. goddamn, yuzu will stop playing.

result of the olymics?

THE LOVERS - success! his peak. podium for sure. yuzuru is showered with love. adorable sportsmanship. javi could be there for a reunion. a big choice to make. maybe a partner reveal, an engagement, collab, or love triangle. in any way, the result will be positive.

overall mood in team japan right now?

THE DEVIL (r) - liberated. casting away anger, old habits and obsessions/illusions. blowing off steam, moving on from worlds.

how are the chances of him landing the quad axel?

TEN OF CUPS - yes! he’ll complete his journey. in a wholesome way, like the birth of his baby so to speak. can land it healthily. his parents are proud. big hugs. very good sign.

in what state of mind is yuzuru currently?

PAGE OF COINS (r) - deflated, lax: yuzu has a hard time practicing, needs motivation to be diligent and learn new things.

what would he want to tell fans?

SEVEN OF CUPS - "anything could happen. anything could be a pipe dream. things are uncertain for now. i have many options to carry on."

how's his body?

EIGHT OF WANDS (r) - his energy feels delayed, slower than usual. he feels he lacks energy to generate speed on the ice.

yuzu's thoughts about his olympics preparation?

TEMPERANCE - calm. he's realistic and 50-50 about everything. manages his emotions about it, no extreme nervousness. he tries things out, wants the prep to be balanced.

is he romantically involved at this time?

NINE OF COINS (r) - nope. this card in reverse talks about renouncing from pleasure and even loss. he could've broken up with someone.

family life?

JUDGEMENT (r) - he keeps a lot of stuff from work hidden, things are routine, no new things going on.

psychologically, what is his primary goal?

KNIGHT OF WANDS - yes, a burst of excited, chaotic energy. achieving the 4A, being more competitive and impulsive. he wants to be bolder on the ice.

will he retire after the olympics or stay in competition as before?

FIVE OF CUPS (r) - will retire and rebuild. moves on from guilt and sadness about it, recovers, reaches acceptance. heals an old wound, probably the earthquake’s emotional repercussions. new chapter.

how will he be like as a coach starting out?

KNIGHT OF COINS (r) - yuzu won’t be confident and up to date to get good results/goal-setting at first. chaos, lack of perseverance, and instability reigns in the camp 🙁doesn’t yet know how to involve himself and be a reliable rock to his students since he’s so used to being the student himself. might not pick this career.

who could be a successful skater he’s coaching, how will they be like? 

SIX OF SWORDS (r) - someone who ironically refuses his help and doesn’t change their technique. his most successful student will be the one he cannot mentor and bring forward, very interesting. a rebel. this card also might indicate he’s not coaching kids at all like the previous card.

as he plans to found a family, how will his marriage go if he finds someone?

QUEEN OF SWORDS (r) - not so well. drama and malice ensues. dependence instead of divorce, regretting the choice, cruelty, a mess 😨in any way, a non-logical decision takes place and he’s attached to the wrong person. might even choose not to marry in the first place: as there’s lack of career support from her and he is antagonized in some way. 

who will be his spouse?

THE WORLD - someone accomplished and well-travelled, they got it all, very known in their field. looks-wise, blue eyes, long red (?) hair in two braids. famous for red/white outfit. card also shows 3 possible options actually.

if he has kids as he plans, how will they be like?

KING OF SWORDS (r) - they won’t like their celeb status and be cynical, try to get their power back. lack of structure. yuzu might even be too busy to raise them. however, the card speaks against fatherhood to begin with.

if he doesn’t marry but finds a partner, who’s he dealing with?

SEVEN OF COINS - someone who’s future-oriented, waits, it’s an LTR. someone patient. no rush takes place. looks: brunette, short hair, relaxed clothing (beige, blue).

what’s their dynamic? 

STRENGTH - very durable union. banter, confident relationship. it’s a dynamic of, they tame me. stable headstrong theme there. way more wholesome than the marriage question before 😅

where will he be based in the future?

EIGHT OF SWORDS - a country with cliffs, at a large river. the uk or so? will be stuck there for a while in some way.

what’s the next thing we’ll hear about yuzu?

QUEEN OF WANDS (r) - he will talk about feeling less passionate/feeling jealous and isolating himself, and how he struggles to succeed 😢there won’t be good news currently, he won’t socialize.

how will he recover from his dissatisfaction?

KING OF WANDS - by being yuzu: industrious, proud, and larger than life. will get up again to be the boss of his field as always, and dominate the figure skating scene. ambition explosion. takes responsibility. so not to worry, his charisma returns. 👍

[madforskating]

Figure skaters as Taylor Swift songs: Wenjing Sui and Cong Han + Willow

Welcome to my new series, in which I write in-depth explanations for why Taylor Swift songs fit certain figure skaters’ careers. Today, we’ll be examining one of my favorite pairs along with one of my favorite songs: Sui/Han and “Willow”.

---

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife

          Although Wenjing and Cong have a strong partnership, their first impressions of each other were not so perfect. Wenjing often says that Cong seemed stern and gruff in the beginning of their partnership. However, her spunky personality quickly cut through his tough exterior, and they became friends. The reference to water also reminds me of their iconic water-themed programs – Bridge over Troubled Water and Rain in Your Black Eyes.

 And if it was an open-shut case

I never would've known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine

          An open-shut case refers to a simple, linear path. In contrast, Wenjing and Cong’s career has been a winding road of success and setbacks. The imagery of a “current” continues the theme of water and imitates the fluidity of their skating. Wenjing and Cong also skated an exhibition program to “Champagne” by Andrea Bocelli while wearing stunning gold costumes, embodying the image of a “priceless wine”.

 The more that you say, the less I know

Wherever you stray, I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

          Wenjing and Cong deeply trust each other, and they’d follow each other into danger without fear because they have faith in each other. While I do think Wenjing and Cong tend to be very strategic rather than spontaneous in their skating, the line “wreck my plans” makes me think that they’re willing to take risks and deviate from their original plan because they trust each other’s abilities. For example, they added a quad twist into their free program at the 2022 Olympics because they believed they could do it, and it helped them win the gold medal.

         Although Wenjing and Cong have repeatedly said that they are not dating, Cong has always been Wenjing’s support system. Therefore, I picture Wenjing referring to Cong as “my man” because he has always been there for her.

 Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

          As mentioned before, Wenjing and Cong did not have a linear path to success. However, they worked together as a team and leaned into each other’s strengths to rise above their challenges. These lyrics also remind me of Wenjing’s foot surgeries in 2016 because Cong would visit her in the hospital even when she was in too much pain to get out of bed.

 As if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring

And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

          While Wenjing and Cong are fierce competitors, Cong values Wenjing more than success. He frequently talks about how much he admires her in interviews, and he often jokingly treats her like his “queen” (for example, he often lifts her up onto the podiums like she is royalty). Furthermore, when they were unsure if she would be able to continue skating after her foot surgeries, Cong vowed that he would rather quit skating than return with a different partner. Wenjing and Cong would not cheat to win their Olympic gold medal, but Cong would do anything for Wenjing. Although the song itself would imply that Cong’s “prize” is Wenjing’s love, I personally interpret Cong’s prize as Wenjing’s happiness because seeing her happy brings him joy.

 The more that you say, the less I know

Wherever you stray, I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

 You know that my train could take you home

Anywhere else is hollow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man

          Wenjing and Cong have become such good friends that they consider each other family. While their skating careers have taken them around the world, they always feel at home with each other. The line “anywhere else is hollow” reinforces Cong’s refusal to skate with a new partner because he felt that no one could compare to Wenjing.      

 Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind 

They count me out time and time again

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

But I come back stronger than a 90's trend

          Although Wenjing and Cong have loads of sheer talent, they suffered many injuries. In 2017 and 2019, many people considered them a wild card because they had missed so much training time due to injury. However, they delivered incredible performances to win both events.

 Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Now this is an open-shut case

Guess I should've known from the look on your face

Every bait and switch was a work of art

          Wenjing and Cong endured their injuries by sticking together and supporting each other. They have seen each other’s scars – both physical and emotional – and they are close enough to be vulnerable with each other.

         The 2022 Olympics were an open-shut case. Wenjing and Cong won both the short program and the free skate with breathtaking performances on home ice in Beijing. Although they did win by a narrow margin over teams that also delivered strong performances, they ultimately triumphed and never slipped behind their competitors. Everything was picture-perfect: pairs was the final event of the Olympics, Wenjing and Cong skated last, and the rink even matched Wenjing’s dress.

         However, Wenjing and Cong did manage to “bait and switch” their nervous fans. While their win was glorious, the pairs event at the 2022 Olympics was a close race in which all of the top teams delivered clean or nearly clean performances. Furthermore, Wenjing and Cong narrowly lost the World title the previous year to Mishina/Galliamov despite skating strongly at that event, leaving a sliver of doubt in the audience’s minds. But in the end, Wenjing and Cong climbed to the top of the podium with stunning performances and claimed their well-deserved Olympic gold medals in magical fashion.

[rockislandadultreads]

Latin Fiction: Book Recommendations

Island Affair by Priscilla Oliveras

Sought-after social media influencer Sara Vance, in recovery from an eating disorder, is coming into her own, with a potential career expansion on the horizon. Despite the good news, her successful siblings (and their perfect spouses) have a way of making her feel like the odd one out. So, when her unreliable boyfriend is a no-show for a Florida family vacation, Sara recruits Luis Navarro—a firefighter paramedic and dive captain willing to play the part of her smitten fiancé . . . Luis’s big Cuban familia has been in Key West for generations, and his quiet strength feeds off the island’s laidback style. Though guarded after a deep betrayal, he’ll always help someone in need—especially a spunky beauty with a surprising knowledge of Spanish curse words. Soon, he and Sara have memorized their “how we met” story and are immersed in family dinners, bike tours, private snorkeling trips . . . sharing secrets, and slow, melting kisses. But when it’s time for Sara to return home, will their fake relationship fade like the stunning sunset . . . or blossom into something beautiful?

The Five Wounds by Kirstin Valdez Quade

From an award-winning storyteller comes a stunning debut novel about a New Mexican family’s extraordinary year of love and sacrifice. It’s Holy Week in the small town of Las Penas, New Mexico, and thirty-three-year-old unemployed Amadeo Padilla has been given the part of Jesus in the Good Friday procession. He is preparing feverishly for this role when his fifteen-year-old daughter Angel shows up pregnant on his doorstep and disrupts his plans for personal redemption. With weeks to go until her due date, tough, ebullient Angel has fled her mother’s house, setting her life on a startling new path. Vivid, tender, funny, and beautifully rendered, The Five Wounds spans the baby’s first year as five generations of the Padilla family converge: Amadeo’s mother, Yolanda, reeling from a recent discovery; Angel’s mother, Marissa, whom Angel isn’t speaking to; and disapproving Tíve, Yolanda’s uncle and keeper of the family’s history. Each brings expectations that Amadeo, who often solves his problems with a beer in his hand, doesn’t think he can live up to.

They Could Have Named Her Anything by Stephanie Jimenez

Racism, class, and betrayal collide in this poignant debut novel about restoring the broken bonds of family and friendship.

Every morning, seventeen-year-old Maria Anís Rosario takes the subway an hour from her boisterous and close-knit family in Queens to her private high school on the Upper East Side, where she struggles to fit in as one of the only Latina students—until Rocky welcomes her into this new life. White, rebellious, and ignored by her wealthy parents, Rocky uses her money toward one goal: to get away with anything. To Maria, it’s a dazzling privilege.

As a bond develops between these unlikely friends, neither can see what they share most—jealousy and the desire for each other’s lives. But crackling under the surface of their seemingly supportive alliance, the girls begin to commit little betrayals as they strive to get closer to their ideals regardless of the consequences.

Told from the perspectives of Maria, Rocky, and their fathers, They Could Have Named Her Anything explores the heartfelt expectation of what it means to live up to the name you’ve been given and the more rewarding discovery of what really matters.

The Book of Lost Saints: A Cuban American Family Saga of Love, Betrayal, and Revolution by Daniel José Older

An evocative multigenerational Cuban American family story of revolution, loss, violence, and family bonds Marisol vanished during the Cuban Revolution, her fate unknown and lost to time. Now, haunted by atrocities long-forgotten, her foul-mouthed spirit visits her nephew, Ramon, in modern-day New Jersey. Her hope: That her presence will prompt her descendant to unearth their painful family history. Ramon launches a haphazard investigation into the story of his ancestor, unaware of the forces driving him on his search. Along the way, he falls in love, discovers a new sense of his own identity, faces a run-in with a murderous gangster, and learns of each "lost saint" who helped Marisol during her imprisonment under Batista's reign. Uplifting and evocative, The Book of Lost Saints is a meditation on family, forgiveness, and the violent struggle to be free.

[airis-paris14]

Dress Up 8

Summary: She's not his fiancee, but no one else needs to know...

Warnings: None

Masterlist || Chapter 7

“I still do not understand why the wedding had to be moved up to this week!” Kamyra fussed as T’Challa opened the door and helped her back into the car. “Kamyra, let us not do this right now okay. I have enough of a headache already,” the king groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Oh and that’s my fault too? That the tramp went around pretending to like babies, so this lady thinks she can just hand me one and I’m gonna fawn all over him?!”

“Watch your tongue,” the king growled. “Why because you love her?” The princess instigated. “No, because you are the one who put her in the position so you could run away and live some fantasy without having to tell your father that you just want to go to school!”

“You don’t know shit about how I grew up and the hell I endured,” angry tears flooded her eyes.

“Only because you won’t tell me. If you want to go to school, that is all you have to say. I will make it happen! I am not your father. When we first met I wanted to get to know you. In hopes that we could have had a friendship of some sorts. But you came here with all your walls up and blamed me for all of the evil in your life because you couldn’t blame your father.”

Kamyra sank back in her seat,her heart stuck on one thing the king had said. “You would allow me to go to school?”

“Yes,” T’Challa sighed, “Anywhere your heart desires. Gender roles are not as conservative here in Wakanda as they are in your home country. You would know this if you would stop pushing all of us away.”

“I apologize,” Kamyra broke the silence minutes later as the vehicle pulled up to the palace. “I do as well, I should not have raised my voice. However, we need to talk about the wedding this week.” The couple walked in silence through the palace into T’Challa’s office. The king gestured for Kamyra to take a seat before he moved to sit in his window. “Am I correct in assuming that you do not actually want to be married still?”

“That is correct.”

T’Challa nodded, “Then I may have a solution for you. We have a way to annul the contract our forefathers signed. If you are willing to go along with the plan, we will allow you to seek asylum and full Wakandan citizenship if you do not wish to return home.”

“Where will I live?”

“Here, you will stay in a royal estate as a dignitary or we will help you find housing anywhere in the world you choose to live.”

“I do not have to stay here?”

“No you are not a prisoner, depending on how you react to the plan of course,” the king frowned. Kamyra tensed, “What exactly is the plan?”

“We have concrete evidence that your younger brother made an attempt on my life while you were gone. Because you were gone, we assumed your innocence,”

“I am!” Kamyra assures, she stood out of her seat and sighed, “My father would have killed me if I had known about it, had not given you a son, and not made sure you were actually gone. My father is strict about image and traditionally consolidating power. Ephram however is pure ambition. We have another brother, Aton, who is slated to take the throne, so it makes sense that Ephram would grab at any chance to take power for himself.”

“What your brother did not understand is that power is not handed down based on birth right or gender. Even if he had succeeded, Shuri would have just battled for the throne and ruled.”

“Trust me when I say, we are both very glad he did not succeed.”

T’Challa offered a weary smile in response, “An assassination attempt will be enough in the council’s eyes to void the contract at gathering this weekend. Afterwards, we will plan for you to make a transition to life here as a citizen.”

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No, not at this time. My priority is keeping you safe. No need for your father or brothers to take their anger out on you.”The king stood from his seat on the windowsill.

“Thank you T’Challa, for being a friend even when I do not deserve it.” the princess offered a slight smile.

“That is what a good and decent person does.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement before starting for the door. “Wait,” Kamyra called, “Will you use this break to pursue a relationship with Sirobie?”

The king paused and turned to the princess, “I have not decided,” he answered cautiously. He may have seen a new side of the princess, but he was not entirely sure he could trust the royal. “Just be careful. My family is a pot of vengeful, fragile, toxic masculinity waiting to boil over. You starting a new relationship after embarrassing them, could be more than enough of a spark to send them after Sirobie. From what I learned about her while I was away, she is a gem. She must be protected.”

“I will keep that in mind,” T’Challa promised before leaving Kamyra with her new found freedom.

“T’Challa Udaku!” Kamyra’s father beamed as he walked into the throne room to great his daughter’s future husband. His two sons trailed in after him looking bored and intrigued all at the same time. “We heard you could not wait to marry my daughter so you moved the wedding up three months!” The king bellowed laughing and going to clap the king on his back. Ramonda squeezed her son’s hand softly before he went to great the king. “Yes sir, you could say that. I must say I am most taken with her aura and her family aspirations,” surprising himself the king glanced at Kamyra to see if he was convincing her father. The princess shrugged and he sighed. “Well that I am very glad to hear. We did our best to raise her to be the perfect wife in spite of her mother’s premature death. I do have a question though. As a father, I must make sure that you are the right man for my daughter.”

“I will do my best to make her happy and treat her right.”

“I know, but I must ask, how do you know my daughter so well if she was missing for more than half of your engagement?”

“Sirobie-“ DaNiyah sat her cup down in disbelief. The college senior crumbled, “You think I’m lying don’t you?” Sirobie wiped the tears that gathered in her eyes. “No, Ro! I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

DaNiyah joined Sirobie on the other side of the table and pulled her in for a hug. “Girl, let me see the ring!”

Sirobie laughed and pulled the necklace out again. “Girl, it’s like a block of clear ice! And he just bought it for you just because?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a memory from our time together.” DaNiyah smiled, “Y’all are so cute!” Sirobie smiled and twirled the ring on its chain. “Yeah, but it’s over now.” The filmmaker tucked the chain back in her shirt. “For now,” DaNiyah corrected, “When you love something, you let it go. He loves you, you are clearly falling for him but you both have unfinished business to handle. He’s in a different stage of life. Ready to settle down and have kids. You need to graduate college and go out and live some more first. Work on film sets. Make movies. Win awards. Then who knows. Maybe in a few years you two can reconnect and see where life takes you.”

Sirobie nodded, “You’re right. Besides I know how he feels and no one can take that from me-“

“Sirobie! How do you feel about King T’Challa’s statement regarding your time in wakanda?”

“Sirobie, are you carrying the king's baby?”

“Sirobie! Picture please!”

“Over Here Sirobie!” Reporters poured into the university quad, banging on the windows of the student center jostling to get photos of Sirobie.

“What are they talking about?” DaNiyah helped Sirobie to pack up their things and hurry away from the front of the building. “I don’t know,” the artist fretted. “Ro! You’re back!” Angela Douglass hurried over to her friend. Pulling Sirobie then DaNiyah in for a hug. “I got back yesterday-“

“You’re all over the news!” Angie handed Sirobie and DaNiyah her phone. The foreign exchange student watched as her love walked into frame at what appeared to be a press conference Kamyra following right behind. Three men entered the frame along with Queen Ramonda. Sirobie’s heart sank. Those could only be Kamyra’s family, that meant this announcement was nothing good.

“My name is T’Challa Udaku, son of King T’Chaka, Sovereign ruler of Wakanda. I am joined today by the Habriedes, the ruling family of Zafa. We are here to make an announcement regarding a foreign exchange student from the United States.”

“Maybe he’s publicly professing his love. Maybe they aren’t getting married anymore?”

Dread filled Sirobie’s stomach, “He wouldn’t do that, without telling me first. It puts all of us in too much danger.”

“Wait so there was something going on between you?” Angie clarified as T’Challa broke Sirobie’s heart. “It has recently come to the attention of the Wakandan people that this student masqueraded as my fiancée, Miss Kamyra Habriedes, for three months. Miss Habriedes does not remember where she was during this period and is in a delicate mindset right now. As of today, the student in question has caused no harm to the people of Wakanda nor the nation of Zafa, therefore we are looking to press no charges. There will be no retribution or punishment brought against her. We simply wish to clear the air about the differences between the actions, mannerisms, and condition of my true fiancée. Myself and the people of Wakanda wish the young woman the best in her endeavors and I hope she finds the love she is searching the world for. Thank you.”

Sirobie’s hand flew to her ring as she stared at the phone in disbelief. It felt like ice was clawing its way through her veins. “Ro? Ro what happened?” Angie tried to catch her friend's attention. “Ro! Look at me,” Angie insisted. DaNiyah wrapped up her ranting just in time to notice the senior start shaking. “Hey, Ro, look at us, you know he’s lying. He proposed to you for god's sake. Just calm down.”

“No, if he gets to tell his side of the story I get to tell mine,” the director stormed off back towards the front of the building. “Ro, woah woah no!” DaNiyah was the first to catch up.

“What?”

“First off, don’t raise your voice at me sis. Sending, he didn’t explicitly accuse you of anything, it’s obvious that the reporters are grabbing threads to get a story. If you go out there you are confirming their suspicions.” DaNiyah argued.

“Wakanda publicized all of us because we were the first foreign exchange students, and I’m the only one who happens to look exactly like his missing fiancee.” Sirobie fumed and paced back and forth.

“Okay, fair point, but Ro, you just got accused of infiltrating the world's most private country and pretending to be their future queen for three months. If you go out there, it’s your word against the king of a fucking country. So let’s just take a moment to think.” Angie talked her down off the edge.

“Let’s just figure out how to get back to the apartment without being followed okay.” DaNiyah ran a hand over her hair as Angie handed her friend a hoodie.

“Cover your hair and that diamond ring. We’ve got a lot to figure out. I don’t see us getting you out of here un-photographed and the last thing we need is to throw fuel on the fire.”

Sirobie nodded and quietly slipped the hoodie over her head as her tears finally made an appearance. “Sirobie,” DaNiyah pulled her roommate into her chest as she broke down in tears. “He told me he loved me,” the painter sobbed as Angie felt her own heart breaking. She’d never seen her friend this broken before. On what should be one of the most exciting weeks of her life, a man she obviously cared for, had potentially ruined any chances she had of a career and possibly her freedom to celebrate the week quietly.

“Okay, no. We’re getting out of here then figuring out how to hit that bastard where it hurts the most. I don’t know what happened, but he does not get to just ruin your life like this. He could’ve dealt with this shit privately. Or at least called you first. We’re graduating and I’ll be damned if he gets to ruin the time we have left together.”

“Agreed,” DaNiyah backed up the third member of their group. “I don’t know, I just want it to go away,” Sirobie sniffled. “It will. I’ll make sure of it.” Angie assured her.

“Okay,” Angie came out of Sirobie's room and leaned against the wall next to the TV. Sirobie groaned as DaNiyah paused Coming to America. After somewhat successfully escaping with the help of campus security, the girls made it to their apartment safely praying that they hadn’t been followed. No one had shown up banging at the door yet, so they seemed to be in the clear. For now at least.

“I called in some classmates and a professor I trust. I know you wanted to keep it small, but I needed some help Ro.”

Sirobie nodded from under her cover, “I know Angie. I just want it to go away and if this is what will help make it happen, I’m all for it.” Angie breathed a sigh of relief and smiled softly, “Okay. I called an emergency meeting with them. I’ll let you know when we have a plan of action.” Angie hugged both Sirobie and DaNiyah before rushing out of their apartment.

“You want a pizza girlie?” DaNiyah pressed play and headed back to the kitchen to grab something to drink. “Noo,” Sirobie sighed.

“Gyros?” DaNiyah plopped back on the couch and handed Sirobie a glass of juice and a bottle of water.

“Ehh…”

“Sirobie, you’ve gotta eat something babe. All you’ve done is cry and mope. Not that you don’t have a good reason to, but you’ve gotta eat and drink something.”

Sirobie took a sip out of her glass and turned back to the TV. “Fine,” DaNiyah stood. “I’m gonna walk to the gyro place and I’ll get your usual order.”

“Your majesty, technically, there is no loophole for attempted assisination, considering you cannot definitively prove that Kamyra’s father was in on the attempt. This contract is between your father and hers, meaning he would have to be the one to break the bounds of morality.” The merchant tribe elder clarified.

“So he is just supposed to marry into a family that attempted to have him murdered?” Ramonda fumed. T’Challa placed his hand over his mother’s to calm her. “We understand that this is not ideal, however there is only one solution.” The Border Tribe elder glanced at Zuri’s protege, Fatima. “You and Lady Kamyra can get married- in a private miniature ceremony, like a Western Elopement. Then we will nullify the marriage at the end of the ceremony. Thereby fulfilling all of the requirements of the contract, while also preventing either you or Lady Kamyra from being legally bound together.”

T’Challa glanced at his mother and nodded, “How soon can we achieve this?”

“As soon as you and lady Kamyra are ready. I can prepare the ceremony at any time.”

“Great, Let’s prepare for tomorrow night then?” T’Challa glanced around the room, “How will we explain this to Kamyra’s family?”

“How will we explain it to the Wakandan people?” Another elder voiced.

“Simple-” T’Challa stood, “We will tell them the truth.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come babe, you’ve been in this apartment for two days. You’ve got security, and no one will recognize you in a dark club.”

“No, I’m not in a party mood, but y’all have a good time. I’ll be here to take care of your drunk asses when you come in later tonight.” Sirobie smiled as DaNiyah sucked her teeth. “Whatever,” Sirobie’s roommate grabbed her purse and began double checking she had everything.

“Seriously, though. I’m probably just gonna finish up my final portfolio project and binge-watch something.”

“As long as you’re good love. I just want you to enjoy this time.”

“I won’t be able to though. Until this is all over. I have more fun here. I’ll wait up and y’all can tell me everything that went down.”

“Fine, call if you need anything, I'm the designated driver so I won’t be having as much fun anyway.”

“I will, and you’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got my personal bodyguard outside anyway so we’ll be cool.”

“You ever figure out who sent him anyway?”

“He said he’s from the university,” Sirobie shrugged. “I find that hard to believe,” the pre-med student snorted. “I know, maybe they do care about more than our money,” Sirobie joked. DaNiyah’s phone chimed alerting her that her uber was there. “Okay, I’ll see you later. Remember to call if you need me.”

“I will,” Sirobie sighed once her door was shut and went into her room to grab her laptop.

“And it’s official, the shortest marriage I’ve ever officiated for,” Fatima joked as Kamyra finished signing her end of the nullifying contract. “I believe I speak for us both when I say that it was good, it was fast,” Kamyra smiled and placed the cap back on the pen.

“Very much so,” T’Challa nodded and joined his mother on the sidelines. “I am glad to see you this happy again,” Ramonda smiled. “Thank you, me too,” T’Challa grinned. “It was a good idea to use the assassination as leverage to keep Kamyra’s family from retaliating or coming back to Wakanda.” The king praised his mother. The queen smiled, “Your father married me for more than my looks,” she teased.

“I apologize for not asking for help with this whole situation at first. Shuri is your daughter and you should have had a hand in protecting her.”

“I am glad you have realized the error of your ways, but I am your mother as well. I want you protected and happy just as much as I want that for her. We could have saved everyone a lot of headache and heartbreak. Including the one person who you did not let in on this plan-“ Ramonda raised an eyebrow.

“You were the one who told me not to tell her!” The young king insisted. “T’Challa, do not raise your voice at me and do not play dumb. I told you not to tell her when the plan was just to leverage the assassination alone. Had I known you were going to give into Kamyra’s father and blast Sirobie’s character on international television, I would have insisted she be brought in on this. That she was protected and not just thrown to the wolves. She’s a college student for goodness sakes. I’m sure her university isn’t happy with her negative press either.” The mother scolded.

“I sent her a bodyguard once I realized how big everything had blown up.” He sighed. “I think you owe the woman you love more than that, don’t you?”

“Hello,” Sirobie yawned and sat up to look at the clock from the couch. The Nanny hummed in the background as the last voice she ever wanted to hear came through the line. “Sirobie-“

“Goodbye your majesty.” She ended the call and dropped her head into her hands. “Fuck man,” she hissed standing and pacing infront of her couch. Her phone began to vibrate again and she stared. “What your majesty,” she finally answered. “Sirobie please let me explain-“

“You have 30 seconds to explain why you decided to lie and blow up my life.”

“Sirobie-“

“25.” She interrupted. “Sirobie I don’t have enough words to explain how sorry I am, but believe me I am so sorry. I obviously didn’t think ahead in the plan but, I needed Kamyra’s family to have no reason to suspect you for what I was about to do.”

Sirobie’s heart stopped, “What did you do,” she whispered out. “We broke the contract and we knew that if they found out I was gonna use it to get to you-“

“I’m happy for you T’Challa. But this doesn’t change the magnitude of what you did.”

“I know and I’m gonna fix it-“

“How T’Challa. You can’t come back out to the world and say hey I was lying I’m actually in love with this girl can you? No matter what actually happened, you’ll never be able to clear the air. I’ll always be the home wrecker. Some crazy American who pretended to be a foreign princess. I’ll be the one who ruined a Union for the country’s good. It won’t matter that your family loves me. Or that it was your fiancée’s idea to switch places. All that will matter is what you said. And you lied T’Challa.” Sirobie ended the call as she felt tears flood her eyes. She grabbed the nearest pillow and tried to chuckle through her sniffles as Fran Fine continued her pursuit of Maxwell Sheffield.

“Hello,” it seemed like no one wanted to just let Sirobie grieve in peace tonight. “Ohh my baby,” Sirobie’s mother cooed through the phone and the student felt tears flooding her eyes. “Mama,” Sirobie let her tears fall. “Aww baby I know, I know.”

“I wish you were here,” Sirobie sniffled. “We’ll get up and open the door.” Sirobie felt her mother’s smile through her phone. “What,” she popped up slowly and slipped on her house shoes. “Well hurry up, you just gonna leave your mama out here with all these bags?”

For the first time in weeks the filmmaker felt a genuine smile grace her features. She yanked open her apartment door and pulled her mom in for a hug. “When did you get here?”

Sirobie grabbed her mother’s suitcase and led her into the apartment. “About an hour ago. Mother to Mother, the queen thought you might need some additional loving for the next few weeks.”

“What about work?” Sirobie led her mother to her bedroom with suitcases in tow. “Aht Aht, you let me worry about that. Just know that I’m here for you okay baby.” Naomi Johnson sat on her daughter's bed and opened her arms letting her daughter fall into her embrace. The mother hummed softly as the 21 year old sniffled. “I just feel so stupid for believing him.”

“Believing what?”

“That he loved me,” Sirobie sighed and unclasped the engagement necklace from around her neck. Her mother took the ring in shock, “Sirobie Naia Johnson please tell me you did not.”

The Howard student rolled over in her mother’s lap. “No, we didn’t get married. He just proposed and told me he loved me.”

“Even though he was engaged?” Mrs. Johnson raised an eyebrow. “It’s complicated mama.”

“Seems pretty simple to me.”

“Wakanda is a monarchy. It was a marriage of two countries. Not really two people. His fiancée is the one whose idea it was to trade places. She ran off and left me to pick up the pieces.”

“So you were pretending to be a foreign princess?”

“Yes,but the queen asked me to. As a cover up till they could figure out where the real princess had gone.”

“Okay,” Sirobie’s mother nodded, “Considering I was chauffeured to your side by the queen of said country, I believe you. However I don’t understand why the boy lied about you. I mean it was obvious in the first call we had with him how much he adored you.”

“He said it was to keep me safe from the real princess’s family. I can speak from personal experience, not the most friendly family in the world. “

“That sounds reasonable.”

Sirobie sighed, “I know, I just wished he would have come to me first. At Least let me know ahead of time.”

“Well maybe it was a part of the act. If these people are truly dangerous, you couldn’t know the plan. First off, you’re a horrible actor dear, they would’ve seen through you in half a second,” Naomi Johnson teased as her daughter scoffed. “I am a great actress,” Sirobie insisted, letting laughter escape her lips.

“Mhmm,” her mother hummed. “You’re right though, all of it was reasonable, but I just don’t ever see how we could have a relationship. He basically told the whole world I’m a snobby American who got the chance of a lifetime and wasted it pretending to be someone she wasn’t. If we get together I’ll be nothing but a home wrecker.” Sirobie sighed as her mother’s fingers massaged her scalp.

“I see what you mean. Unfortunately it is one of those times that only time will tell what the future holds. You’ve just gotta be patient babycakes. Focus on yourself and your future outside of this king T’Challa. He’s a great catch but you’ve wanted so much for your life and your career. You all are in two different stages in life and that’s okay. While he figures out his, you should figure out yours.”

“Come in,”T’Challa turned from his position at the window of his private office. Eshe held open the door as Lesedi and Kasigo carried in a wrapped package. The women saluted before Eshe shut the door and spoke, “Lady Sirobie asked us to make sure this made it to you once it was delivered from the framers.” Eshe explained the brown paper wrapped package now sitting against the king's wall. “Ah, thank you.” He bowed his head as the women curtsied before turning to leave. “Kumkani wam,” Lesedi turned back to the monarch before shutting the door. She pulled an envelope out of her pocket. “Please do not be upset, but Lady Sirobie, she sent us some graduation tickets. I won’t be able to make it, but you should go in my place.”

T’Challa stared at the envelope as Lesedi set it on his desk. “Thank you,” he nodded as the woman curtsied once more and disappeared. Once he heard the footsteps recede, the king took a deep breath and walked over to what he was sure was the portrait his love painted for him.

He began in wrapping the painting and felt his stomach drop at the image Sirobie had crafted in her mind of him. She’d remembered him as only she’d seen him. Wrapped up in her being, relaxed and at peace. The couple was laying on the couch in what was Sirobie’s room while she was in the palace. Though Sirobie’s face was hidden, her arms were wrapped around T’Challa, her face buried in his neck as the king stared down at her adoringly. The painting was stunning and T’Challa knew a phone call was not enough. He loved this woman and she deserved the world and more.

He needed to see Sirobie, and right his wrongs.

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

[figure-skating-watch-party]

JGP Courchevel I

I think that being late in watching a figure skating event, let alone writing about it, is a constant with me so let’s get back to August! 

I watched some men, some ladies and of course ice dance. It should be noted that - probably because of high altitude - it was a challenging event for some skaters, mainly in the free program. 

Men

In men, I was the most impressed by Corey Circelli. He’s skating to Io ci saro by Andrea Bocelli in the SP and to the Nutcracker in the FP and I don’t know if there’s an even more dreamy combination of programs for me. He’s soft, elegant, great spinner, the spread eagle 3A, rippon jumps, such soothing skating. In the free it wasn’t his day, unfortunately, but he fought until the end of the program. 

I saw Ilia Malinin (Billie Jean / Nobody knows) properly for the first time here. He’s also a mature skater, completely different from Corey. His jumps in the SP were great. In the free he planned to do quads but wasn’t that successful. I liked his skating in the free program more, though. 

I liked Lucas Broussard with such a fun SP to Gin Tonic and then showing his more lyrical side with Yellow Moon in the FP. I’ll keep an eye on him. 

And now two French boys I’m especially happy for them that this JGP went well. The thing is I saw Francois Pitot first at senior French nationals in 2020 and Ian Vauclin (Fly me to the moon / ? ) maybe even a year before and the nationals ... didn’t go well for them. They were very young, competing with much stronger skaters so it’s understandable. But I’m very happy French public saw better performances now. 

Francois is so committed to the performance and I think he has a good relationship with his coach, Florent Amodio. I can even see Flo’s influence on Francois’ costumes ;) I love it that he’s skating to Rocketman in the free. He’s so into it that he almost fell in the step sequence ;)

Ladies

This time, I’ll talk very briefly about ladies because I focused on them more in my Courchevel II  post. I liked Kaiya Ruiter (Opportunity / Mulan), I hope she, Emily and Madelein will bring Canadian ladies back into the spotlight! 

Lindsay Thorngren has great jumps and I loved her Queen’s Gambit FP, with a 2A from an Ina Bauer and with a great spin at the end. 

Then there were two Korean ladies and one lady who switched from Korea to the USA fighting for the podium. Seoyeon Ji (Danse macabre / Piano concerto No 2), Ashun Yun (Smells like teen spirit / Mummy return) and Clare Seo (Rain in your black eyes / Cirque du soleil). They all had beautiful costumes and such nice skating skills. 

 Ice dance

There were twelve teams and yes, I’ll talk about all of them! At least one thing I liked about one of their dances.

Hailey Yu/Brendan Giang (River / Magical thinker)  Their complete stylization into the fairy tale ballet FP. 

Maya Benkiewicz/Nicolas Henault (No diggity / Russian sailors dance) The way they incorporated real Russian Kozachok dance into their choreography.

Daria Grimm/Michail Savitskiy (Going crazy with the blues / Sarabande) Nice, calm RD. Jazzy all the way. And their twizzles in the FP. The way they are smooth and quick at the same time. 

Miku Makita/Tayler Gunara (Leave the door open / Attack) They go full out, party on the ice!

Celina Fradji/Jean-Hannes Fourneaux (Ain’t no sunshine / Matrix) Just generally how they are getting better and mature I’ve been following them for some time. 

Hannah Lim/Ye Quan (Gangnam style/Cats) Are those my fave programs ever? No. But their choreographers are geniuses because now everybody would remember them. Also the acrobatic lift in the RD! And the paws in the FD ;)

Katarina Wolfkostin/Jeffrey Chan (MJ medley / Rain in your black eyes) They are awesome in general, especially the FD is breath-taking.

Tatjana Bunina/Ivan Kuznetsov (Imma Be/Writing on the wall) Amazing FP! The choreography is great. It matches the James Bond theme so well, there is always something going on, some action. 

Louise Bordet/Thomas Ghipoulou (California soul/Taranta) The character steps in the FD! The lifts and combo spins!

Kateřina Mrázková/Daniel Mrázek (Danny Cool/Poeta en el mar) The fire that is the FD! The power, the character steps. And a fun RD, that’s always a plus.

Vasilisa Akhramenka/Alessio Surenkov-Gultchev (Summertime / Tango) Nice sliding move and a lift while Alessio is skating backwards. 

Lika Bodnar/Artem Koval (Virtual insanity, Uptown Funk / Bedroom hymns) Great twizzles and the fact that they really enjoy their RD.

[alleycat97]

The New Queen

Bea set and stared at the same paper for the last 20 minutes. Confused and concerned, did she even need to be here since Chloe began number one? That was the reason to become TA right? To get the professors on her side?

What was the point now, Poppy was defeated but yet here she is, phone going crazy in her pocket, Poppy trying to recruit her to help, and Ina staring a hole through her wondering why she wasn’t working.

“Those papers won’t grade themselves you know.” Ina called out while Bea was reading over the text.

“Get dirt on Chloe, and we will take her out. That snake bitch will learn her place. Do that, and you will take her place in my circle.”

“How am I gonna get dirt on Chloe? The girl hates me, I think.” Bea asked herself.

“Bea!” Ina started yelling snapping Bea to attention.

“Huh? Oh right, the papers.” Bea said sharply trying to refocus.

“What’s wrong?” Ina finally sighed, pulling her glasses off and rising to fix two drinks.

“Everything just turned upside down.” Bea started accepting the offered drink.

“Meaning?” Ina said sitting down, really focusing.

“For some reason Poppy and I were partners for Professor Roberta’s class, and we actually didn’t kill each other. But...then we called a truce and Bam! Chloe is number one and Poppy is livid.”

“Well it seems you’ve caused a little shakeup.” Ina snickered.

“What do you mean?” Bea replied.

“With your arrival, you’ve made Poppy show her true side and everyone is tired of her because you’re the green grass on the other side. Poppy dipped and Chloe was next in line.” Ina pointed out.

“And now Poppy is livid. Chloe is dead to her and she wants to knock her off. They’re best friends!” Bea shouted.

“It’s funny what a number will do to a person.”

“And now, we’re in some weird truce and Poppy wants me to get dirt on Chloe in exchange for her spot. I mean I like it? Get rid of Chloe, get into the circle and rightfully displace Poppy. But how am I gonna get dirt on Chloe?” Bea said hanging her head trying to refocus on grading papers.

And there it was, an idea. Chloe St. James’ Anthropolgy paper, D-. “What would you do if you could personally help someone, seeing we hold all the power, do I lie and fail her? Or do I try and help her?” Bea asked genuinely.

“Ahhh I see you found Miss James paper. You know before you came here, she was a straight A student.” Ina pointed out. “And now, according to my colleagues, she’s close to flunking out for good.

“What happened?” Bea asked interested.

“I’m not sure. Ever since you became my TA, I noticed her grade slip.”

Bea knew why, but she couldn’t tell. Maybe this was her chance, personally tutor Chloe and in return, she will hopefully get info on the girl for Poppy.

...

“Are you nuts!” Zoe asked as the girls sat on the quad.

“It’s a great idea! Look her she comes now.” Before she could get her attention, Chloe was run over by Poppy and Veronica. The poor girl looked so lost and out of place.

“Get out of the way bitch. What’s wrong? You think just because you slept your way past me, you think you can do whatever you want? News flash, I’m still queen you snake bitch, and you’re going to get what’s coming to you.” Poppy and Veronica stepped over a shell shocked Chloe and all the whispers and laughter was being directed towards Chloe.

“Ouch.” Zoe mumbled.

“Chloe? Are you alright?” Bea said extended a hand to the girl.

“Why do you care! Leave me alone!” Chloe snapped trying to regain some dignity.

“Look I want to help you.” Bea tried.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chloe said trying to pick her belongings up, trying to fight Bea for a paper. “Give it back!”

“This is what I’m talking about Chloe, D-? This isn’t good.”

“Yeah well, if I hated everyone and I was Kingsleys TA, I would flunk everyone too.”

“Chloe that’s not true. If it were, how do you explain this?” Bea pulled out an official Belvoire letter addressed to Chloe explaining her academic situation.

“Where did you get that!?” Chloe shrieked.

“I have my sources. Now how about it? Let me tutor you?”

“What’s the catch.” Chloe said squinting her eyes in concentration.

“No catch, is it too much to actually care for a fellow student?” Bea teased.

“You’re up to something...”

“Just meet me in the library after school. We will get started.

...

Chloe wouldn’t admit it, but studying with Bea wasn’t so bad. She actually enjoyed it. Bea was super smart and actually cared to ask her about her personal life and how her classes and days were going. It was nice, having someone actually care about you.

With the last month of drama and practical social suicide death threats from Poppy, being number one was weighing her down but she tried to bury it down to better herself, and be able to stay in school.

Bea could tell the strain it was having, Chloe was trying with her studies, but she seemed drained emotionally and physically.

“Ok Chlo, let’s turn in early today, you need to be sharp for your midterms tomorrow. It’s make or break.” Bea said gathering her stuff but Chloe just sat, with the ‘I have something I want to say but I’m not sure’ look on her face.

“What’s up?” Bea asked.

“Ummmm, do you think I can stay with you tonight?” Chloe said looking away from Bea.

“Ummmm yeah sure? Can I ask why though?”

“Well Poppy kind of kicked me out of the Zeta house. And Veronica had a separate suite that we shared and Poppy made her kick me out.”

“What the fuck!? When did this happen?” Bea asked fuming.

“Last week?” Chloe tried to remember, too tired to care exactly.

“That bitch! Where have you been staying?”

“Well for the first bit I was going to a hotel down the street but Daddy thought I was using it for...” Chloe cleared her throat, Bea picking up on what she was referring too. “So the last few nights, I was sleeping in my car. It’s not the best but it’s climate controlled.”

“Get your cute butt up, you’re coming home with me tonight.” Bea said angered, not at Chloe but at Poppy. She knew she was slacking so Poppy started her War on Chloe.

“Hey Zoe?” Bea called out, Zoe stepping out of her room greeting her bestie and stopping after seeing Chloe.

“What’s going on?” Zoe asked.

“Yeah, Chloe is going to be staying with us for a few night, she has some exams coming up and I need her close.” Ok she lied, but Zoe didn’t need to know the real reason.

“Ok cool, welcome to the crib Chloe. Make yourself at home.” Zoe shut her bedroom door and Chloe sat on the couch.

“Oh no, you’re staying with me, in my bed.” Bea said kind of aggressively but she couldn’t help it.

“At least buy me dinner first.” Chloe teased following Bea to her room.

“Here put these on.” Chloe was hit in the face with some of Bea’s pajamas, they smelled heavenly. “Well if you want, you can shower, then put them on.”

Chloe did just that and felt so cute in Bea’s pj’s, she wasn’t getting them back. She crawled into the king size bed and snuggled under the cover, Bea already tucked in playing on her phone.

“Whatcha doin?” Chloe asked.

Bea huffed, “Reading this garbage, look at this.”

Good evening Thoroughbreds!

Hot off the press! Thanks to a wonderful source, your new Queen, Chloe St. James is a failed exam away from flunking out of Belvoire. That’s right folks, your beloved is, (wait for it) stupid! (What a shock)

Miss James has been seen studying with Professor Thottie’s TA, that’s right, Belvoire’s new angel, Bea Hughes. How many will miss James sleep with to stay on top? According to her Academic record, (See Below) she better get to it or else her reign, like her academic career, will be over as quick as it started. Let’s hope her final brain cell doesn’t fail her now.

Kisses, The T

“That has Poppy written all over it!” Chloe hissed.

“I’m sorry she did that.” Bea tried.

“Why would she do this too me? I didn’t do anything! I just woke up and boom, I was number one.” Chloe cried.

“So you didn’t do anything?” Bea asked relieved.

“No! Poppy has been so obsessed with getting rid of you, she stubbed her toe and the almighty that is The T, made me number one. I don’t want to be number one! I just want my best friend back.” And here came the great flood.

“She actually wanted me to sabotage you or get something on you to make you regret being born. That sounds like a true friend to me.” Bea said sarcastically.

“She is. Or was. She was my first friend when I got here, she took me in and made me who I am.” Chloe said wiping her eyes. “She wanted you to find out how I became number one?”

“Yeah right before that day on the quad. That’s the day I decided I wasn’t going to do it. After seeing how cruel she is to her friend over a number, I want her to suffer. And if you being number one does it, so be it.”

“But I don’t want to be number one. I want to be Chloe, I want to stay in school and graduate, I want to be here...with you.” Chloe trailed off.

Bea’s heart fluttered, “You want to stay here with me huh?”

“I like you Bea.” Chloe admitted. “You’ve been here for me when I needed a friend. You helped me boost my confidence, I’m so ready to kick ass in midterms and show these haters I’m not stupid.”

“No matter what happens Chlo, you’ll always been my number one.” Bea spoke trying to get a rise out of Chloe.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get all soft on me now.” Chloe teased.

“Well we should get some rest, you have a big day tomorrow.” Chloe instinctfully cuddled up into Bea and Bea wrapped a loving arm over Chloe and the two slipped off into a de-stressing sleep. The next day would be the first day of the rest of Chloe’s life, that is, unless Poppy ends it prematurely.

[jennibeultimate]

So Russian test skates 2020 take 2

Sort of personal recap....

Men SP

Misha!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ That was beautiful! Superb program!

Andrei Mozalev impressed me jump wise. He looks stable. Wow.

Petr Gumenik - well not a season without at least one POTO program 😂 but at least he sells it

Samarin - well I don't dislike it, that's something...could be a good program for him improving his projection...he seems to struggle a lot with the jumps...let's hope it gets better

Pairs FS

That James Bond program from Kozlovskii/Boikova is great! You can see they are confident with it. To keep it was a good idea.

Mishina/Galiamov have a Queen program, I think the first part was really good, the 2nd part needs some polish and the cut between the two parts should be changed

Pavliucheko/Khodykin - that French song is so beautiful! I think they can really grow with this program. They really leapt bounds with their presentation since January.

Ladies FS

So what's Russian ladies without some drama?

So Alena withdrew and probably should not even have started yesterday. She does not jump 3A atm and *drumroll* will get a free skate by Shae-Lynn Bourne. So please let it be good.

2nd drama - Sofia Samodurova skated with a damn fever! That's irresponsible. And also let's me question that RusFed is taking the measures against Covid seriously. Ppl are already not wearing their masks properly and even though I am sure athletes have been tested it's still not right to let someone skate with a fever. And this is really tainting my joyment for the return of competitions.

Trusova - musical connection still not found. Sorry you can see she is trying but there are just little glimpses of choreography on point with the music. I hope she can grow into it. And looks like she will stay with 3 quads, which would be good.

Kamila Valieva - still don't know why she is skating in seniors but anyway Bolero is a heavy music for such a young girl. I dozed off...it was just boring...the music is hard because you need to grab ppl's attention because the music isn't doing it for you. The only one pulling Bolero off was Carolina Kostner and she had loads of experience and maturity when she skated to it. That 4T fall looked so scary. I don't know why everyone is so hyped for, she is lovely and has gorgeous spins, but she ain't that special to me.

Liza Tuktamysheva - it could be interesting if she would do more in the program. The choreographic movements are nice I wish she would do more in the program. Let's see how they can improve it...

Anna Shcherbakova - beautiful skate but also a bit bland. She is very musical and actually skates to the music and not over it...I have the feeling she is not rushing and that Gleighenkauz does let her have more time for fluidity. The jumps don't look that convincing, but it's early in the season so hard to judge.

Zhenya Medvedeva - this program has a lot of potential. A lot of unusual moves. I liked it a lot. Actually the only program I enjoyed today of the ladies despite Zhenya definitely not performing well. Let's be realistic if this would have been a real competition she would have been last. There were reports on her being injured, which she didn't want to comment on, so I hope it's not the case. Also I can imagine it's taxing to be without a coach in a tank of sharks to prove yourself. So I still want to applaud her today. That cartwheel fail was super cute 🥰 just fingers crossed that she will be in better condition next week where she has to perform at the Russian Cup against Anna.

[isolctions]

𝔅𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔰  &  𝔅𝔲𝔤𝔤𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔰!             

               — a modern, black af, HBCU-based AU group verse. now enrolling for the fall semester!

ᴢᴏᴏᴍ ɪᴅ: 0415-2018.

about the campus.

bumblebees & buggaboos is an hbcu inspired group verse, inspired by the iconic beychella performance, along with other black university-based media. (see: a different world, girl’s trip, stomp the yard, drumline.) an inclusive, yet alternate universe where your muse can live out their college days, attend the parties, rush the fraternity & sorority, show off their school spirit, find their future spouse???, and more. extremely verse dependent, however your muse is not limited to a fraternity or a sorority only. you may simply just chill out as student, join the sports or band, or show off your skills as a cheerleader / majorette!

about the sorority.

the iconic bumblebees are a close-knit group dripping with excellence. after pledging successfully, you may choose to live in the on-campus sorority building, within the dorm halls, or in an off-campus building of your choosing. don’t let the tightly-functioning group fool you, though — the queen-aligned bees know exactly how to have a good time, and have no problem showing off the variety of talents that their pledges have to offer: whether it be business, writing, technology, history, or fashion. keep your eyes peeled on campus for the black, gold & pink.

about the fraternity.

the aptly-named buggaboos are a group with their heads held high and their goals even higher. same with the bumblebees, your muse may choose whatever living situation fits them best after pledging. whether they’re out on the quad practicing their latest step routine, making themselves known out on the campus through a variety of sports, music, dance, business, & technology achievements, or simply throwing the loudest, most tweeted about party of all time, you’ll certainly never live a dull moment around this fraternity. keep your eyes peeled on campus for the black, purple & yellow.

rules & regulations.

aight, so there kinda are no rules??? i mean, the first time around, we all kinda just did our thing and answered each other’s starters on a whim. however, this time around, i will ask that if you are joining or returning to this group verse, that the muses of your choosing must be black. you can tack on as many muses as you want for this verse, list them anywhere you want to on your muse pages or anywhere so that others can come plot easily, so long as they fit or are within age range. if not, then i mean...alternate faceclaims exist for a reason, babes! so no need for your older muses to miss out on all the fun. (though, faculty members can be a thing too.) also, all starters must be tagged along the lines of ‘verse — bumblebees and buggaboos’ so that they are seen by others. however y’all choose to format your posts and tags to your aesthetic is fine with me, but at least have the group verse name clearly tagged somewhere in your post so that others can find any starters & threads of yours in order to respond to them. there’s also no need to wait on any one person to drop a starter in order to interact with each other, ‘cause most of y’all are mutuals anyway, but it’s fine if y’all wanna give your muses dimension / tweak their AU biographies and whatnot before deciding to drop an open or two related to the verse. finally, this was fully my brain child when beychella dropped — i pulled this out of my ass deadass the day after the performance, and lots of people requested that i change your lives once more, so don’t forget who put y’all on!

update 9/28: i’m aware that duplicate fc’s are gonna be a thing. and because this is not a structured / group rp, this is regular degular indie rp & i’m not out here policing what anybody does bc who has the time for that — it’s up to you guys individually if you want to acknowledge other muses that share the same faceclaim. however y’all wanna go about that is up to y’all, but since there was never any first-come-first-serve basis around here, it’s fine if you look at the muse lists & see that someone has the same faceclaim as another person — they’re categorically different muses, written by different people with different backgrounds. so it’s all chill!

returning members (look, this is for visual purposes only. you don’t have to list all of your muses to me fully, tbh. just use who you want, post a starter, and tag it.):

me, obviously. @isolctions​ — classmates listed here.

@hiphcp​ — classmates listed here.

@calldrcps​ — classmates listed here.

@fcdedlcve​ — classmates listed here.

@ghcstfce​ — new page & muses pending.

new members:

@mchvelli​ — muses pending.

@thvndcrstrvck​ — classmates listed here.

@tribeof​ — classmates listed here.

@outkcst​ — classmates listed here.

@fallcnshcrts​ — classmates listed here.

@stcteofemergency​ — muses pending.

...what you waiting for? join the meeting, tf!

[calenheniel]

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Part VII

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Follow updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

Read below, or find links to AO3/FF.Net/Wattpad on my Tumblr.

Author’s Note: I see recovery from any kind of trauma as one step forward, two steps back - and I envision Elsa's recovery in the same sense. I'm not making her regress or retreat purely for plot reasons, or to throw up false obstacles for drama. It's very much, in my mind, a natural, human reaction to resist change, especially when it comes all of a sudden.

I have many, many other thoughts and ramblings I would love to share with you all about the writing process for this fic, but I'm saving it for the end. I want you all to form your own impressions and ideas of what's happening before I tell you mine.

»»————-　❈　————-««

VII.

The queen was swept up in a procession of meetings with various delegations for the rest of the evening into the following morning, with hardly a second to breathe between bows and curtsies to people she hoped she would never see again.

As her steward announced each successive appointment to her, she avoided making eye contact with him, keeping her expression cool and indecipherable.

By the time she was able to slot in a brief return to her room to regroup, he informed her that she was expected in the courtyard for an afternoon of lawn games with her guests. She met the news with a deep and unbroken sigh, half-tempted to call off the rest of the week’s events and remain secluded in her room, undisturbed. But in the warmth of the sunbeams as they washed over her bedsheets, recalling her conversation with the prince from the day before, the queen yielded to her obligations.

She was welcomed with polite bows and smiles when she arrived outside, and she returned the gestures with her usual vague pleasantries, observing her surroundings. Large spaces had been demarcated in the grass for games of bocce and kubb, with some others she did not recognize introduced by the foreign visitors.

“Your Majesty,” a man in fine dress bowed before her, gesturing to one such game, “would you do us the honor of playing a round of croquet?”

She followed the direction of his arm to where several noblemen and women were bent over with wooden mallets, trying to strike colorful balls through arched posts, and suppressed an eyeroll.

“Perhaps later,” she answered with a forced smile.

Others soon followed his example – from the Netherlands, Germany, Portugal, Spain, and Weselton (the last of which she had never even heard of until that week, when its Duke had proposed a trade agreement so outrageously unfavorable to her country that the man had almost been laughed out of a meeting with her council) – but she rebuffed each in turn, her eyes seeking out the prince.

She found him standing alone, a few feet from where the princess played horseshoes with the French ambassador and his wife, the game surrounded by a circle of onlookers. They applauded and cheered as she hooked one shoe after the other onto the stake.

“It’s all in the hand-eye coordination,” the younger woman remarked as they released a collective “ooh” at her success in the latest match, and she curtsied to her opponents with a grin.

Seeing her older sister approaching them, she waved at her. “Elsa! Will you play a round?”

The queen’s smile wavered for a moment. “I’ll sit this one out, Anna,” she said, “since it looks like many of our guests would like a go at playing against you.”

The crowd laughed at her comment, but the princess frowned. The queen drew closer to her, murmuring: “I have to speak with Hans. I hope you don’t mind.”

The princess’s frown converted into a wide, bright smile. “Of course not,” she whispered, though her pitch was higher from excitement. She winked. “Go get ‘im, sis.”

The queen refrained from rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the participants, raising her voice so that everyone could hear her again. “I’ll be rooting for you, and praying that the rest of you don’t get defeated too badly.”

The ambassador and his wife chuckled along with the other competitors, watching as the queen left the game area. The princess coughed to refocus their attention, and announced with a grin:

“All right, so who’s the next victim?”

This challenge drew their interest away from the queen, who slipped out to the back until she was standing next to the prince. Their proximity did not go entirely unnoticed, as she noted a haughty scoff from the neglected Duke of Weselton in her direction, but her thoughts did not linger on it.

The prince smirked. “What did you say to Anna?”

“Nothing that should concern you,” she replied, though without any particular rancor. She kept her eyes focused on the game, but could not make out much between the huddled bodies of the spectators. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know that I should never quarrel with your sister,” he quipped as the princess scored another perfect ringer. “She has the aim of a hungry hawk.”

“The squawk of one as well,” the queen observed as her sister shrieked with glee at her victory.

The prince stifled a laugh. “You surprise me, Elsa,” he said, smiling at her sharp glance. “Not because you’re capable of making a joke, obviously. Rather…” He paused, looking down at her, and then back at the game. “You’re standing quite close to me, right now.”

She reddened. “And? What of it?”

“I just thought… never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He glanced at her hands. “Are those gloves new? I don’t remember you wearing them before.”

Her blush spread until it touched every corner of her face, her hands knitting together in front of her. “I was busy, and forgot to have mine washed.” She looked down at them, her nose wrinkling at the pure white fabric. “These were my mother’s.”

His brow softened at the comment. “I used to have a pair like that. They’re well-crafted.”

“Right. Back when you used to wear gloves,” she remarked.

A strange smile flitted across his lips. “Yes, back when I used to do that.”

She shot him a cautious, but curious, look. “You’ve never told me why you stopped wearing them.”

He shrugged. “I only wore them before because my father told me I had to. But once he died, I didn’t see the point in it anymore.” He simpered at her. “It seems to bother you that my hands are bare.”

Her nose scrunched. “I’m just not used to it, that’s all. And besides—you used to be very attached to yours. I wouldn’t have guessed that you were wearing them just because someone told you to.”

His smile slipped. “I learned the hard way what would happen if I didn’t behave, from an early age.”

She stared at him for a while, her hands glued together with discomfort at the plain and cold answer. “I see,” she said, and fell back into silence, sensing the sensitivity of the subject.

Don’t feel.

Her stomach constricted at the thought, and she suddenly turned to him.

“Walk me out of here.”

The prince blinked, but bowed his head in acquiescence. “Where to, my Queen?”

She frowned at the intimate form of address. “There’s an archway leading out of here onto another, smaller courtyard in the northeast corner,” she replied, nodding in that direction.

His eyes widened. “Are you sure? The path there goes right through the center of the games, and everyone will—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I won’t ask again, Hans. Now offer me your arm.”

After a moment of hesitation, he did as commanded, and she looped her hand through until it rested atop his forearm. He led her away from the games area with calm, confident strides, the crowds of spectators parting for them in waves as they passed.

The queen ignored each new look of astonishment and gasp—including the grave expression of concern from her steward. She held her chin high and kept her expression indifferent as they finally reached the archway, though she could not keep her hand from gripping his arm until her fingertips turned white.

Once they had passed through it and were protected by the surrounding stone walls, she exhaled through her nose, her features relaxing. The inner courtyard was quieter and grayer than the main quad, the only hint of color coming from the trees planted on either side of stone benches and the blue, cloudless skies above them.

“Elsa,” the prince said and glanced at her hand, still clutching his arm.

She removed it with flushed cheeks, turning her back to him as she made her way towards one of the benches.

He joined her after a moment, looking at the entryway to check for prying eyes. Finding none, he turned his gaze to her, somewhat uneasy.

“What’s wrong?”            

She sighed, closing her eyes, and then leaned back until it rested gently against the stone wall behind her. “I’m tired of being told what I can and can’t do. I didn’t want to think about it, for once.”

“Did something happen?”

Her eyes reopened to shoot a glare at him. “You ask as if you don’t know.”

He leaned back, copying her. “Are you saying this is my doing?”

“No—and yes,” she replied, crossing her arms. Her forehead wrinkled at seeing the white gloves upon her biceps. “I suppose your impertinence inspired something in me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, earning another glare from her, and his eyes darkened. “I’m happy to be of some use to you.”

Her blush deepened. “It’s an inconvenience,” she snapped. “I can’t be like this. Not in my position.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am queen, now, and I can’t just do whatever I want, whenever I want, like Anna. I can’t storm out of official dinners, or refuse meetings with ambassadors, or—”

“Walk away from games held in your honor, and be seen alone with dishonorable gentlemen?”

She grew quiet at his interjection, and his look became more serious. “I’m aware how much my public reputation plays on your mind, and theirs, so it’s impossible for me to put into words how much I have appreciated your hospitality in allowing me to stay for so long.” He held out a hand to her. “So thank you.”

She stared at it for a time before she finally relaxed her hand, placing it in his palm. His thumb pressed the top of her hand, slightly pulling down the fabric of the glove upon it.

He continued to pull on it after she offered no initial resistance, until the covering had come off completely, and her bare skin was once again touching his. He raised her hand closer to his face, as if to kiss the top of it; but when she noticed the scars from the rose thorns still embedded along his fingers, she jerked her hand from his, and looked away.

“None of this is for you.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “I wouldn’t think that for a second.”

“Then don’t look so pleased,” she said, her look skeptical, and relaxed back against the wall again. She eyed his hand after a beat. “Does it hurt?”

He held it up, inspecting the red lines along his skin. “Not really. I’ve had worse.”

“From roses?” she mused.

He wore a hollow smile at the question. “No. Not from roses, Elsa.”

An awkward silence settled on the pair for a time, the noises from the games echoing faintly from beyond the tall border wall that separated them from the main lawn.

At length, the prince spoke. “You said something strange yesterday, in the garden.”

She frowned. “What?”

“It was before I pricked my hand. You kept saying over and over again, ‘conceal, don’t feel,’” he recounted in a careful way, “and it was hard to hear you properly after that, but I think it ended with—”

“Don’t let it show,” she murmured, and he blinked in surprise.

“Yes, that was it.” His brow furrowed. “What is that?”

The queen was quiet for a minute, her hands – one gloved, the other bare – gripping the fabric of her dress. Her fingers twitched along a seam.

“It was something my father taught me to say whenever I felt like I was losing control,” she said, pushing out each word with effort. “We used to recite it together, when I was a child. It still brings me some comfort to say it.”

“It brings you… comfort?”

The incredulity in the prince’s voice forced her gaze to meet his, a glower working its way into her features.

“Why do you sound so confused?”

“Because it’s—it’s…” He scoffed, shaking his head. “What in the world was he thinking, saying that to a child? Telling you ‘don’t feel, don’t let it show’?” He repeated the mantra with bewilderment. “To think of the hurt he inflicted on his own daughter in doing so—”

“Hurt? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hans,” she snapped. “My father loved me, and tried to help me—”

“‘In his own way’—wasn’t that how you put it before?” he interrupted, earning a scowl from her. “And what kind of help was that, Elsa? Covering your hands, keeping you locked away, and giving you empty words to say over and over again until you’d grown to fear and despise your own power? Until you’d shut out everyone, including Anna?”

“You talk as if my father were a uniquely cruel and horrible man, but what of your own?” Her scowl twisted on her lips. “To abandon his youngest son to the malice of his older brothers for so many years, their brutality unchecked and unpunished? What kind of ‘love’ is that?”

“None at all,” he agreed, taking her aback. “But that’s the difference between us, Elsa: I don’t pretend otherwise. I don’t know what my life would’ve been like had he chosen to be a better, kinder man, because he didn’t make that choice. I’ve had to live with the consequences of that, for better or worse. And so have you, with your parents’ choices.”

She was silent after that, and her hands and shoulders visibly trembled when she next spoke.

“They loved me,” she whispered. “I know it.”

“Maybe they did,” he said in a gentler way, “but love… isn’t always good.”

Her voice was hoarse when she addressed him, her eyes tinged red. She wiped any trace of tears from her face.

“What are you saying, Hans?”

He paused to take in the tree branches that hung above them, their leaves long and narrow. “These are apple trees, aren’t they?” he asked, not looking to her for confirmation. He plucked a fruit from the branch, holding it up at eye level for closer examination. “Fine things, apples, when they’re ripe like this. Beautiful, even—your mouth waters just looking at it, thinking about how sweet or tart it might be. But then…”

He turned the fruit in his hand, revealing a small hole in the opposite side. “You see something like this, and even though you want to take a bite out of it, you think, ‘well, I’d better just check.’ So you take out a knife and cut it open,” he said, and dug both of his thumbs into the side where the hole was. “And what do you find?”

She watched as if possessed, and her eyes widened when the apple came apart easily under his ministrations. “Nothing but a rotten, brown core,” he continued, a sigh escaping his lips as he gazed into the fruit’s ruined interior. “The handiwork of a hungry worm, no doubt.”

The queen pulled herself out of her trance, shaking her head, and glared at him.

“And so what? ‘Love is like an apple’? I’ve had enough of your insipid analogies,” she said, rising from her seat. She reached to grab her other glove from his side of the bench, but as she did, he placed his hand on hers, holding her there.

Their noses were nearly touching, and his breath was hot against her cheek. “I know that the memories of your parents are precious to you,” he murmured, his grasp soft, “and I don’t mean to deny you them. I only ask you to question what happened—to ask yourself what good it did you to be kept inside all these years, separated from your sister. And all because of what? You hurt her once, when you didn’t know any better,” he said, “and they made you pay for it, for every moment after. But you shouldn’t have to anymore.”

The juice from the putrid core of the apple oozed out from his fingers onto the back of her hand, and she grimaced, the sensation causing her skin to go cold.

When the prince released her, her lip quivered, and she pressed the other glove to her chest. “It’s not that simple. They were trying to protect me, and Anna.”

“And themselves,” the prince countered, and retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe his hands. “But that’s acting out of fear, not love. You know that.” He laid the used cloth across his lap, and then leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, looking up at her.

Her breath was visible against the air, her mouth contorting as she tried to respond. “I—”

The sound of footsteps caused both of their heads to swivel towards the entryway, and the queen’s eyes shined with alarm. “Anna,” she whispered, and ran to the entrance, bracing herself against the stone wall as she peered around it.

She caught sight of the hem of the princess’s dress as it stole away back to the main lawn, her breath stopping in her chest as she whipped back around, pressing herself against the wall. Her body began to quake, wisps and curls of ice spidering out along the walls and the ground below from her fingers and feet.

“Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show,” she said, shutting her eyes, “conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it—”

“Elsa, stop.”

The ice shattered into pieces as her eyes reopened, finding the prince mere inches from her, her hands clasped in his. She gasped at how hot they felt, and at how tightly he held onto her despite the cold.

Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to gather her wits. “Hans, she saw us, and who knows what she heard.” Her eyes darted back to the entrance, widening with anxiety. “Perhaps there were others, too, that we didn’t notice.”

“There weren’t—I would’ve seen them,” he said, and pressed her hands to reassure her. “Anna didn’t hear anything. She was probably just dropping by to see if her ‘scheme’ was working—nothing more.”

“How can you be sure?” Her breathing was still disjointed, and tears welled in her eyes. “If she found out about my powers, or about her stolen memories, just when we’re starting to get along, I… I couldn’t bear it.” She released a half-formed sob, and pushed him away. “I can’t lose her again.”

“Elsa…” the prince began, but she shook her head.

“I need to go,” she said, and left, ignoring the long look from the prince behind her.

»» —— ««

She returned to her quarters that afternoon with no explanation or parting gesture to her guests, who watched her brisk retreat from the games back into the castle in huddles of hushed voices.

Their whispers and stares seemed to follow her even as she laid upon her bed, curled into a ball, and she swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. Nonetheless, though she had long since deposited her mother’s gloves atop her dresser, her magic remained contained by the memory of the prince’s hands on hers—which she presently sunk into her mattress, hiding from view.

Just as her heartbeat had begun to slow down again, her cheek nestled comfortably against her pillow, a knock on her door roused her from her waking sleep.

“What is it?”

“It’s me,” her sister’s voice answered, soft but insistent. “Can we talk?”

The queen sat up in alarm, staring at the door. “I—I’m very tired, Anna,” she stammered. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

She heard a sigh on the other side of the door. “I’m worried about you. You looked so upset when you left.”

Her expression relaxed at the reply, though there was still some caution in her gait as she rose from her bed and approached the door, placing a hand against it.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I was upset.”

“…was it because of Hans?”

She opened the door just far enough to come face to face with her sister, taking the younger woman by surprise. “I think you know the answer to that,” she drawled, “since you were watching us.”

The princess cowered with embarrassment. “I really didn’t see much, I swear. You two were gone for a while, so I was wondering what happened, is all.”

The queen’s look was suspicious, but a little more patient than before. “Right. Well, I—yes, he upset me,” she conceded, and paused. “I don’t feel like myself when I’m with him.”

“What do you mean?”

Her brow crinkled. “He annoys me, and makes me say and do and think about things that I wouldn’t, normally.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” the princess asked with a half-grin.

The queen’s frown returned. “Yes. I know you may feel otherwise, but I don’t think his influence is a good thing. Not for me, anyway—and probably not for you, either.”

“What are you talking about?” The princess retorted, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I don’t know what he did or said to you tonight, but I’ve spent enough time with Hans to know that he really cares for us, Elsa—especially you.” Her brow rose. “But someone probably gave you ‘the talk’ about him, right?”

At the queen’s silence, she continued: “In my case it was Gerda, so I guess you got Kai. He probably told you the same things she told me: ‘he’s suspicious, he’s after the crown, blah blah blah.’ Even Ambassador Dubois lectured me about it, but it was in French, so I missed almost everything except ‘ce n'est pas un homme bon,’ which means—”

“I know what it means, Anna. I used to take French, too.”

“Yes, I know,” the princess said, waving away the interruption. “Anyway, as I was saying: I’ve heard the same stuff from just about everyone, and I’ve seen the way they look at me and him together, and how they looked at you two today. As if we haven’t asked him about the fires and the rumors—it was practically the first question out of my mouth on the night of your coronation!”

The queen stepped back, blinking. “You… asked him about that?”

“Of course!” the princess exclaimed, though she still managed to keep her voice at a hushed volume. “You think I’d let him get within an inch of you if I thought he was some kind of criminal on the run? I made sure to vet him, the same way you’d do for me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But Kai, Gerda, and those fancy nobles we’ve been hosting at court the past couple weeks? They don’t know him like we do, and they haven’t even tried to get to know him, so they still assume the worst. But I can promise you that he’s a good apple, Elsa.” The princess’s gaze grew more hopeful. “You can see that too, can’t you? Even if it’s just a little bit?”

Her older sister made no reply for a while, disconcerted by the analogy, and then answered.

“Sometimes, yes. But…”

“But what?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t feel as though I know him very well at all. Not compared to the way you say you do.”

The princess crossed her arms. “Then what’s missing for you?”

The queen looked down at her uncovered hands, her fingers still thrumming from his warmth—and still slightly sticky from the decaying apple’s residue that he had dripped onto them.

Her eyes tightened. “I don’t know, exactly. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well, he’s almost at the end of his two weeks here,” her sister remarked, “so if you don’t figure that ‘feeling’ out soon, there’s a chance you never will.”

The queen’s pulse quickened at the reminder. “Has it been that long already?”

“Yes,” the princess replied, and added with a slight smile: “Are you considering letting him stay for longer?”

Her sister blushed, and raised her chin. “No, I’m not.”

The princess’s grin twitched. “If you say so. But I know a certain prince who’d be very happy if you were.”

“Anna,” the queen warned, and the younger woman made a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just saying—it might be nice.”

“For him, maybe. But I can’t be responsible for the well-being and happiness of a stranger. Neither of us can.”

The princess smiled sadly as she regarded the queen, reaching up a hand to touch her shoulder—and then retracting it before it could land, holding it against her heart.

“I’m not asking you to be ‘responsible’ for him or his feelings,” she said, her head bowed. “I’m just asking you to consider what it would be like if you listened to your own, for once.”

The queen stared at her sister for a long time, unable to form a reply, and swallowed.

“I think that it’s time for you to go, Anna.”

Her sister frowned. “That’s it? You’re just sending me away, like I’m a child?”

“No,” the queen replied, growing taller. “I’m asking you to leave.”

The princess’s spine twisted up to match her sister’s posture, and she shot her an unhappy look. “Fine. Then I’m leaving. Goodbye, Elsa.”

The queen said nothing in return, watching as her sister turned tail and stomped back through the hall to her own bedroom.

She sighed as she closed her door again, plodding over to her wardrobe and pulling out another dress. She laid it neatly on the bed before undoing the bodice of the one she had been wearing until then.

As it dropped to the floor, however, she began to notice a strange mixture of smells waft up to her nose – iron, rot, and sweat – and her gaze was drawn to the gloves she had used that day and the other pair from the day before, still unwashed, laying atop one another on her dresser.

The stench caused her to gag as she gripped the side of the wardrobe, trying to collect herself. Covering her mouth with one hand, she carefully picked up the offending objects between her index finger and thumb of the other, and dropped them into the washbasin on the opposite side of the room.

The gloves floated on the surface, and on instinct she submerged her own hands into the water with them. She rubbed her palms together vigorously, scrubbing off the remnants of the apple, hearing the prince’s voice in her head with every twist of her fingers.

You hurt her once, when you didn’t know any better—and they made you pay for it.

Her jaw clenched at the memory, scrubbing harder, and she did not notice the water growing colder.

For every moment after.

By the time she was ready to withdraw her hands, she found them stuck in place; frowning, she looked down into the bowl, and gulped.

The water was frozen.

[renee-writer]

A Boy's Gonna Run But, A Real Man's Gonna Stay Chapter 2 A Tall Red Haired Man

“Owe.” She runs into a solid wall which turns out to be the chest of a very tall man. She looks up into the brightest blue eyes she ever seen.

“Sorry. I was distracted didn’t see you.”

“You must have been lass. I am hard to miss.” His Scottish burr tickles her ears. “James( Jamie) Fraser.”

“Claire Beauchamp. Nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand. A bit informal as she has been against his chest. He takes it anyway. “I must be off. Another class. See you around Jamie.”

“Claire.” He says just to say her name aloud. She hurries off and, before he heads into class, he watches her walk away. “Lord help me. She has a fine arse.” He thinks before entering the class she had just left.

He is study medicine. His dream, since childhood, has been to be a veterinarian. He had grown up on a farm, an auld estate that had been in his family for 300 years. His elder brother had stayed at Lallybroch, running the farm with his sister. His baby brother is still at school.

He will start vet school next year but needs this course in non-traditional medicine, the use of herbs and plants, to know what is harmful to animals. He knows some, of course, growing up on a farm.

Animals and their care and rugby are his loves. He also plays rugby for Oxford. The one thing he doesn’t understand is the lasses. He had a girlfriend in school. A blond girl who wanted sex on their first date. But despite the fact he wasn't a virgin, he wasn’t the kind to just wildly sow his seed. It has to be more.

So, at 25, he was fully concentrating on his studies and not worrying about the lasses.

Claire has one more class and then heads to lunch. She has fish and fries( called chips here, something to get used to). After, she heads to the library.

Cambridge’s library is vast. It is a perfect place to do research on her book. That is what she is doing when a shadow falls over her. She looks up.

“May I join you Claire?” Jamie asks.

“Sure. It is free.” She returns to her research but hears him pull out a seat. He sits and she feels his glance on her.

“You know you really hurt me earlier lass, when you ran into me.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to.”

“It is alright. You can make it up to me by having coffee.”

“Sorry Jamie, I am busy right now,” Her hand sweeps across the books and notes. “But I can tomorrow morning.”

“Okay lass. You know it gets dark quite early here.”

“Does it? How early?” She knows but is enjoying the banter.

“Well, in the fall around 4. But in winter 3.”

“That is early.”

“Aye. May I walk you home?”

“Well, let's see what time I finish.” He nods and finally gets down to studying himself. They share the table and a comfortable silence. She finishes at 6.

They leave together, Jamie covering them both under his huge umbrella. It is dark, cold, and rainy. Typical English weather.

“Where do you live Claire?”

“On Queens Street. Not far.”

“I will still see you to your door so you don't get wet.” She can't argue with that and is enjoying his company. When they get to her door, he asks for her number. “So, we can arrange to have coffee.”

“I will just meet you at the coffee house at nine.”

He is intrigued by her. Must lasses he meets fall all over him. Claire is different. He likes that.

She arrives at the coffee shop at 9 and finds Jamie there with a coffee and muffin before him

She orders and joins him. They share the kind of, getting to know you, small talk inappropriate for the setting of a library. She finds out they are both studying medicine. He learns how old she is.

“You don't look 36.”

“Thank you. Good genes. I have to run. Have class.”

“Aye. Will you come to our rugby game, as you are just learning your native countries sports.”

“Thank you. I would love to.”

They meet several times, for coffee or studying, before the game. He asks for her number. She deflects every time. It intrigues her to him more.

She comes to the game, which she discovers is like a rougher form of American football, and loudly cheers. Oxford wins and Jamie invites her to the4 Candles, a local pub. She accepts and the toast Oxford's victory. After a few drinks, she finally gives him her number. He sees her safely home and then texts her. She texts back the following morning, thanking him for the night before.

That morning Jamie is approached, in the quad, by a lass that has been following him around for months. She practically sits on his lap. He rudely orders him off. He has no interests in a lass that is just after his body.