#very few things in this life are more important to me than Cake on tour

[kindahoping4forever]

Needed to highlight this

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY photographed by Nick Tydeman for GQ magazine.

The interview for GQ.

— talking about clothing style and fashion:

"I like the clothes that I wear in my personal life so that’s why I try to incorporate them into [press looks].”

“They’re a bit of me. That’s how I like to go about doing press: just be authentic as best as I can.”

“Sustainability is a big thing in my life, it’s something I’m very passionate about.”

“The whole idea of single-use outfits just grinds my gears, it’s totally unnecessary.”

He and his stylist Tom O’Dell have spent the year browsing vintage markets and second-hand stores for unique pieces they can fuse together for a big look.

“It’s all preloved and it tells a story – not just from a sustainability point of view but it’s about its character and how things have aged.”

— talking about king aegon ii targaryen in 'house of the dragon' S2:

“You can take the character on a full arc and find lots of different colours to his palette, which is always interesting from an actor’s point of view."

"I feel like by the end of season two, I know Aegon so much more than I did at the end of season one.”

“I feel like on that set, it’s such an ensemble-led project and everybody has their own moment. There doesn’t feel like any hierarchy in that sense but, obviously, when I put the crown on my head, I’ve got to convince myself I’m more important.”

— the serious answer: Tom Glynn-Carney lives in the countryside now, his instagram bio reads ‘aspiring farmer’:

“If I’m out by the woodshed I’m gonna get caked in all sorts of crap so [I wear] stuff that I’m not too precious about.”

“I don’t think I own anything that’s new anymore, I’ve tried to weed that out, and any new purchase is always second-hand.”

It also helps that he has Joe Mills, his grooming guy, on-hand too.

— Tom Glynn-Carney’s fit for the 'House of Dragon' S2 London premiere, is something he’s already worn before:

“It’s a 1970s pinstripe suit. It’s brown with caramel pinstripe, high-waisted, slightly flared trousers.”

“I wore it for a stock photoshoot a few months back and I liked it so much I wanted to nail that on for one of the major looks for this tour.”

He found a dream stylist in the form of O’Dell, who specialises in second-hand clothing and has connections with vintage stores all over Europe:

“His studio is just a Mecca for all of that stuff.”

“I trust him wholeheartedly to be able to point me in the right direction.”

— About the influence that inspired Fabien Frankel on the red carpet:

“For the record, [Fabien] copied me, so write that down!”

[soulmate-game]

Well, here is the stupid thing I was alluding to. It’s mostly a filler chapter, but yeah.

Harley’s Plea for Help, Chapter 3

“Well, that took a while,” a relatively deep female voice smoothly drawled. The plants placed right next to the window pulled away, no longer blocking the pathway inside. The two figures who were perched right outside the windowsill took the invitation and climbed inside, the shorter of the two looking at the woman who had spoken and smiling widely.

“Auntie Ivy!” Marinette happily exclaimed, making the redhead across from her grin back.

“That’s me. It sure is nice to actually see you in person, little Marigold,” she held out her arms for a hug, which Marinette instantly ran in to accept. “Video calls are never quite enough, are they? You’re so tiny! Are you sure you eat alright?”

“Auntie Ivyyyyyy,” Marinette whined, knowing full well that Ivy was just teasing her.

“So, what took you all so long?” Ivy asked Red Hood, even as she kept her arms wrapped around her soon-to-be daughter in law. “Usually you bats are all about getting back on the streets to punch people, we didn’t think you’d be bringing her in at almost one in the morning.”

Hood shrugged, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Your little garden fairy nearly gave us the slip. Went straight out the back exit instead of doin’ anything showy like we half expected and we almost missed her.”

“I stopped as soon as I noticed who they were, I swear!” Marinette pulled away from Ivy, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t expect Momma to send them to babysit me before our first full day being in Gotham. In hindsight, though, I really should have.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Ivy agreed with a smirk, ruffling Marinette’s hair and making her pigtails go a little crooked. “And I know for a fact that you’ve done some stunts off your balcony back in Paris, so at least I know you can be responsible and hold yourself back from doing the same here. Must get that from me, because we both know it doesn’t come from Harley.”

Marinette and Hood both had to laugh at that. Being responsible was definitely not a trait that Marinette could have inherited from anybody in her family tree, that was for sure.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me in front of my daughter?” the comically scandalized voice announced the arrival of one Harley Quinn, who walked into the room in white onesie pajamas with a poker print on them. All of the “joker” cards were crossed out heavily with red sharpie, and a few of them had black-sharpie devil horns and handlebar mustaches vandalizing them. Marinette even caught one such card with a googly eye on it, the matching eye having fallen off and leaving only a small circle of since-dried hot glue where it used to be. “If you guys are gonna be that way, fine! Ivy dyes her hair!”

“No she doesn’t,” Marinette deadpanned, clearly fighting against a giant grin. The corners of her lips gave her away, they never stopped twitching with repressed mirth. “But you do. I got the pictures to prove—- aah!” Harley tackled her daughter to the ground, attacking her with tickles immediately.

“Take it back! My hair is naturally blond!”

“Yeah, naturally— hahahahaha! Sandy blonde! You— hahaha! Have just as much brown— stop I can’t breathe! hahahaha!— as yellow!”

“Hmph,” Harley finally backed off, crossing her eyes and looking away from Marinette with an exaggerated pout. “How dare you reveal my darkest secret?”

“I was a natural redhead even before I got my powers,” was all Ivy had to say, looking all too amused at this turn of events. “Your original costume completely covered your hair.”

“Don’t worry, Harley,” Red Hood butted in, reminding the three girls that he was still here. His tone suggested that he was definitely smiling under his helmet. “We found out about your hair dye years ago.”

“I just cover up the brown parts! It’s not like I’m changin’ much,” she argued before standing up again. “Thanks for gettin’ my cupcake back safely, little birdie. Oh, that's right! I made cupcakes! Hang on, lemme grab one for your trip back!” with that, she span on her heels and ran back further into the apartment. Marinette dashed over to Hood, immediately shoving him to the window.

“Quick, save yourself! Momma can’t bake for her life!” she whispered urgently. “I’ll say you were called away for an emergency, just hurry!”

“It’s not even a lie, getting away from Harley’s baking is an emergency,” Ivy agreed, waving as the vigilante took their advice and fled. It was only three seconds later that Harley slid back into the room, nearly falling due to the feet of her onesie having pretty much zero friction. Her face immediately fell when she saw that her victim was gone, leaving her standing there with a cupcake that was about twice as much frosting as actual cake, covered in sprinkles like a kid’s craft project that was smothered in glitter. The frosting was also shapeless, just heaped on the cake like a half-melted scoop of ice cream. She sighed in despair.

“There goes my chance of giving a bat diabetes. You guys warned him, didn’t ya?”

They both nodded shamelessly. “We’re not that cruel, Harley,” Ivy defended, getting up from her spot on her cushioned armchair and wrapping an arm around her fiance’s waist before she kissed the top of her head gently. “Hood got our little Marigold back safe and sound, and he’s even started a garden at his apartment. He doesn’t deserve to be poisoned by you.”

“I thought you said he got a single cactus at the flea market last month,” Harley deadpanned, making Ivy shrug.

“Might as well be a garden for him, and it’s something he’s not likely to kill so that’s a plus to me. He’s actually taking really good care of the little baby.”

“Speaking of garden!” Marinette gently took the sad excuse of a pastry away from her mom and sat it down on a side table before ushering both of them over to the living room and onto the sofa. “My garden back home is growing so big, I don’t think I can keep everything much longer. I barely have room to walk on the terrace, with all the vines and leaves and branches. Got any ideas of what I can do?”

“Of course! Do you have pictures, Marigold?”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slipping back through her hotel window at six in the morning was risky, since it involved climbing the wall and hoping nobody saw, but her classmates were so unpredictable that it was the only way she could be sure nobody would find out that she had violated curfew and snuck out. Of course, having Red Robin waiting outside her mom’s apartment’s terrace to escort her back helped. At least she knew that no street cams would record her comings or goings, and his grappling hook made the whole scale-the-hotel-wall business much more efficient.

Once she was inside, she sighed happily. “Thanks, now—“ her apology was cut off as Red Robin held up a finger to tell her to wait.

“Hold that thought, be right back. Don’t move.”

Thinking, rightfully, that something was wrong, Marinette obeyed. She watched Red Robin leap off of her hotel balcony and disappear into the streets. Immediately, she began a search to make sure her room had been left untampered— everything important had been packed in the backpack that she had taken to her mom’s place, but still. Could never be too careful. By the time she finished checking for bugs or any signs of snooping, Red Robin landed back on her balcony.

“Here we go.”

Turning to face him, Marinette opened her mouth to ask what the problem had been— only to tear up a little and walk over to the vigilante.

“Oh, my hero. Truly, my one and only savior. Knight in shining red Kevlar. I’m running on two hours of sleep and you have read my mind!” The pigtailed drama queen eagerly took the coffee that he offered her, and he sipped from a larger cup that looked like he had grabbed it from the same place. Marinette almost instantly sighed in gratitude when the hot drink lightly scalded her tongue. This. This was the elixir of life.

To his credit, Red Robin was able to restrain himself to merely an amused smirk. Probably because he was running on just as little sleep as she was. “Sorry it’s only a small, I figured it was best to have something you could finish quickly and easily hide the evidence for. If you need more caffeine, I happen to know that Wayne Enterprises has a very good coffee shop in their main hall. You’ll be touring there today, right?” He asked, taking another sip as he waited for the answer that he already knew.

Marinette nodded absently, drinking in the euphoria of her coffee as she tried to both savor it yet finish it as quickly as safely possible. When she came up for air, she said; “Yeah, that’s right. We’re touring Wayne Enterprises for most of the day, having lunch there, and leaving for dinner after the tour. Then we have a visit to the Gotham Museum of Fine Art, and we’ll stay there until about eight-thirty before heading back to the hotel.”

Red Robin nodded, then turned and looked out the window at the slowly rising sun. Sunrise was always a bit later in Gotham, partly because of the abundance of high-rises and partly because of the thick cloud cover and ever-present fog on the edges of the city making everything seem darker than it should have been. He had to be at work soon himself, which is why he had been chosen to escort her to the hotel in the first place, but that meant that he had to be heading off.

“Alright. We arranged for a bodyguard we trust to keep an eye on your class during the WE tour, but he doesn't know who you are or that we’re the ones who asked. We’re still in the process of arranging someone to shadow you after the tour, but we’ll tell you about that once it’s solidified. Until then, follow the usual self-defense procedures if you suspect anyone of following you. You have the panic button we gave you?”

Marinette nodded, gulping down the last of her coffee and carefully putting it in her room’s tiny trash can. “Got it. Thanks, again. Seriously,” she met his eyes— or, probably did since they were hidden behind that weird white film that the whole Batfam had covering the eyeholes of their masks. “I mean it. For listening to me, for listening to Mom. It means a lot. I’ll keep the panic button on me, and I’ll use it if I think I can’t handle a situation on my own. I’ll cooperate with the people you get to watch over the class, and I’ll do my best to not get into any trouble. No promises, but I’ll do my best,” she maintained eye contact until Red Robin nodded, hiding his expression behind his coffee cup. After a second, he cleared his throat.

“Well then. We’ll contact you once we have anything to say about your intel. Until then, I gotta go. And by the way?”

Marinette tilted her head curiously as Red Robin paused for just a moment on her balcony railing, aiming a smirk back at her. “Yeah?”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

And if she couldn’t help but smile widely as he grappled off into the fog-veiled sunrise? Well, only she had to know. She wasted no time closing and locking the glass balcony door, and pulling the curtains over it completely. Once that was done, she couldn’t help but do a little shimmy of Joy. She was caffeinated, she met Auntie Ivy in person for the first time, she got to sleep next to her momma— and she was in Gotham! Technically her hometown— or town she was conceived in? Didn’t matter. Point was, even with the chaos and dark energy clouding the very air, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in that city. Like that was where she was always meant to end up, where she could thrive and the environment that she was made to thrive in. The environment that she was born to start fixing.

She beamed at herself in her bathroom mirror as she gave herself one more once-over. Yeah, so far her visit to Gotham was going much better than she could have hoped. Now, she just had to make sure it stayed that way.

Three businesslike raps sounded against the door to her room, just in time for Marinette to feed Tikki one more cookie and straighten her purse on her shoulder. Madame Mendelieve’s voice called out from the other side of the door in her usual no-nonsense bark;

“Dupain-Cheng! Room check! It’s time to get up, we’re meeting down in the lobby in ten minutes.”

Marinette ran up to the door, not quite able to contain her energy, and swung it open with her trademark large, beaming smile.

“Way ahead of you, Madame Mendelieve!”

Her science teacher blinked, adjusting her glasses on her nose as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You’re already awake and ready?”

Marinette giggled and nodded. “Yup! I was so excited for the tour that I could barely sleep! Does the hotel breakfast include free coffee?”

—*—*—*—*—*

The hotel breakfast did, in fact, include coffee. What it did not include, however, was free coffee that Marinette could reasonably stomach. Especially after the heaven in a cup that Red Robin had gotten for her earlier, the watered down motor oil in the hotel lobby had been unbearable. She had barely managed two sips before regretfully throwing the rest away. Which is what brought her to stand in line at the very same coffee shop that Red Robin had mentioned was in the main hall of Wayne Enterprises, as the rest of her class mingled and waited for their teachers to check their tour group in and their tour guide to arrive.

“Hmm. Sorry, this is my first time ordering here,” she apologized when she reached the counter, gaining a slight lopsided grin from the barista at the register. “Um, I usually like strong coffee, with a lot of caffeine, but I also like something sweet. I don’t need anything too complicated though, do you have any recommendations?”

The barista gave her a customer service smile that seemed just a tad softer at the edges than usual. “Sure! So, we can add an extra shot or two of espresso to any of our drinks, to make it stronger and give it an extra kick. If you’re looking for good sweet flavors, the classics are our white chocolate or caramel. But we also have a seasonal syrup right now that I personally love, which is our cinnamon butterscotch. Did you wanna try that?”

Marinette smiled widely. “That sounds delicious! Then, if I could have your largest size café latte, hot, with… two extra shots and that syrup? Does that sound good?”

The barista actually let loose a soft laugh, already keying in the order. “If you’re a coffee lover and a sweet tooth at the same time, then you’ll love it. If not, come back during your tour’s lunch break and I’ll make you something else.”

Marinette made a little more small talk as she handed over the proper cash for the order, and grabbed her drink after just another minute’s wait. She turned around, taking a sip of the unsurprisingly heavenly coffee and started off to join her class.

Only to realize none of them were where she had left them. She sighed, starting to reach into her purse to see if anyone had texted her about where they were going, but a heavy presence stopped her. She could feel him approaching from in front of her, slightly to her right, but she couldn’t hear him at all. On guard, she straightened up and turned to observe the potential threat.

A security guard. Marinette blinked, running over what she had been told earlier that morning. Was he..?

He seemed to notice her instinctually defensive posture because he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he apologized. “I’m the guard that was assigned to your tour group. I offered to stay behind until you got your coffee while the rest of your group went ahead and got the run-down on all the boring rules and whatnot of the tour. Figured you’d already know everything they had to say anyway, you’re the class president right?”

Marinette relaxed her posture, nodding and sending the man a relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s right. Well, that explains why they left without me then. Usually Madame Mendelieve is strict about following rules though, how’d you convince her to go on without me?”

The man chuckled, jerking his head to show that she should follow him as he began to lead the way to a side door. Marinette kept her guard up just in case, but wasn’t too worried. If nothing else, she was still in the middle of a super crowded building and the other security guards around didn’t seem concerned. She could easily yell for help if she needed to.

“Well, can’t you tell it was my devilish charm?” He teased, grinning. He waited until she rolled her eyes to continue; “but really, I’m like a second tour guide. She made me show a lotta proof that I’m actually assigned to you guys and not just faking it, not that I can blame her. Eventually she saw the logic in my suggestion and agreed. See, there they are,” he pointed casually ahead of them in the large side hallway they had entered. Sure enough, near the end of the hallway was her class at what looked to be the tail-end of a standard rules-and-guidelines speech from the tour guide. “By the way,” the guard spoke up again, holding his hand out. “My name’s Jason. You’ll be seeing me more often, since I’m supposed to guard you guys for all of your visits to the Tower. Call me if you need help with anything, ‘kay kid?”

Marinette grinned, now positive that this guy really was the guard that Red Robin had said was assigned to her class. She switched the hand she was holding her coffee in so that she could properly grab Jason’s hand for a shake.

“Got it, Monsieur Jason. Let’s both hope I don’t end up needing your help though, I think that would be easier on both of us,” she joked, earning a chuckle from the large man. And— yeah, now that she was relaxed, he really was big, wasn’t he? Then again, Marinette didn’t always realize when people were a bit larger or more buff than they should be. Living with her dad had seriously skewed her perception of the normal size of an adult male (which, she learned when she was seven, most definitely was not almost seven feet tall and muscled enough to make a pro wrestler jealous). But she would like to think she had gotten better in that aspect, and Jason was definitely a big guy. A little over six feet tall, she thought, and though the guard outfit hid a good portion of his physique, she could tell he carried enough muscle to do serious damage if he wanted to.

With a wave, she left him to join her class and sipped at her latte. She had figured that the Bat Clan’s criteria for civilians that they would put to guard her class had to be high, but now she had to wonder just how high. Most police officers or security guards were fit, sure, but not like Jason. Casting a quick glance back at him, she confirmed that he had quite a few faded but visible scars. Again, more than your average officer even for Gotham. Who had they tasked with her class’ safety, exactly?

An elbow in her side distracted her from her thoughts, forcing her to blink and stop her cup from going back to her lips. The grin of none other than Adrien Agreste greeted her when she snapped out of her own head long enough to pay attention to her surroundings. He jerked his head to indicate that the class was already starting to move off.

“Come on, Mari or you’ll get left behind again,” he teased. She grinned back at him, rolling her eyes but falling into step beside him as they followed at the back of their class. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gonna marry that coffee. You haven’t zoned out that badly in years,” his tone was light and cheery, but Marinette didn’t miss the concern in his emerald eyes. She sighed, gently bumping her shoulders against his in silent reassurance.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. But this really is good coffee. Elixir of the gods,” then, just to provoke him, she took a giant gulp of the still steaming hot drink. Adrien grimaced in pained sympathy even though Marinette didn’t seem affected at all.

“Oww, Marineeeeeeeeeette,” he whined. “Don’t do that, my throat hurts just watching you guzzle hot coffee like that,” he complained, rubbing at his neck to make his point clear.

“Wimp,” she teased, unrepentant. Adrien just groaned dramatically.

“I’m not a wimp, you’re just concerningly used to burning your throat from the inside out,” he accused. “Anyway, how’d it go?” He was being deliberately vague, but it was obvious to her what he meant. He was only one she had told about visiting her mom, after all, just in case she needed a quick getaway.

In fact, he was the only one of her friends that she had even told about her biological parents. Alix knew too, but only because of time shenanigans. Marinette was fine with it now, but still.

“It went great,” she smiled widely at him, keeping her voice low but casual. “If I have a chance, I’ll introduce you sometime during the trip. I have a feeling you’ll love Auntie Selina, but I have to meet her first. All I have so far are stories.”

“Fair enough,” Adrien agreed easily. “But you don’t have to, you know that right? I’d love to meet your family, but I’m also fine just being your pseudo-brother like I have been up until now. I know it might be a bit… uncomfortable, for you.”

“Nah,” Marinette shrugged. “Nerve wracking, maybe. But that’s also about half the things that I do in my life period, anxiety is no joke. I’ll catastrophize for a while, but I know you’ll love them and they’ll love you.”

“Sounds like they have paw-some taste,” he didn’t even miss a beat with his puns, earning a playful glare for his efforts.

“Never mind. You’re a heathen. Disowned. Who are you?”

“Mariiiiii,” he whined, causing them both to laugh for a while before focusing on the tour.

So far, so good, Marinette thought.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1 Part 2

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[shuadotcom]

Memories of You | KSJ

❧ Summary: Your memories with Seokjin are some of your favorite.

❧ Pairing: Seokjin x Female!Reader

❧ Genre/AU: Fluff, established relationship

❧ Rating: NC-17

❧ Warnings: Some profanity, a very brief sex scene that’s not super descriptive, brief mention of a stalker

❧ Words: 2.4k

❧ Note: Happy belated birthday Mars baby! @joheunsaram​. I’ve been working on this slowly and it’s finally here for you! I was so torn on who in hyung line to have this be about, but I’ve seen you in Discord talking an awful lot about Seokjin lately so I went with him! Enjoy some painfully fluffy fluff! 💝 And thank you to the always wonderful @bangtanhome��� for being my beta so last minute! 💜

“Hey, so, I don't want to be rude or anything, but your skirt is tucked into your underwear.”

Seven years ago this was the first thing Seokjin ever said to you on your first day at your new office. You were nervous going into the day, having just transferred to this branch, moving across the world to manage a new group of people in a new country.

You were just leaving the bathroom and can remember the way your face heated up and how quickly you ran back into the bathroom, a few tears sliding down your cheeks as you wished you could disappear. Not only had your day only started, but your new coworker that pointed out your embarrassment just so happened to be exceptionally handsome.

After splashing some water on your face and taking a few deep breaths, you exited the ladies’ room to see the man standing outside, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He lifted his gaze from the floor and met yours. There was something about the way your eyes locked that made your face flush all over again as your heartbeat sped up. You couldn't properly describe what you felt at that moment, but it was something.

“Um, hi,” he cleared his throat and offered his hand out to you. “I'm Seokjin.”

“Y/n,” you managed. His hand was warm and soft and you didn't want to let go.

“I'm sorry about what happened. I just… I didn't want you to walk around like that. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who saw it anyway, but I wanted to keep it that way.”

“T-thank you.” Your hands were still connected and neither of you made a move to let go. It wasn't until an older woman you knew to be the manager of another team cleared her throat, making you both separate. She pushed past you into the bathroom with a look of annoyance. You and Seokjin share a look before laughing.

“So we don't offend any more people, would it be okay if I walked you to your office? I’d be more than happy to give you a grand tour of the building this afternoon if you want.”

“That'd be great.” Seokjin smiled wide at your words and led the way. During the short walk, you learned he’s been with the company for three years and he promised to brief you on everyone and everything there is to know about being here. Once you arrive at your office door, you locked eyes again before he said goodbye and turned to go back to his desk.  Your earlier nervousness and hesitancy melted away at the prospect of this new person in your life.

“As soon as you texted me your address, I knew exactly where you lived.”

Seven years ago that was the first thing Seokjin said to you on your first date. You remember the panicked look on his face after the words left his mouth.

“Wait, I didn't mean it like that! I promise that I haven't been stalking you! One of my best friends named Namjoon lives in the same apartment building as you. He's up on the third floor so I've been there a lot. Please don't hate me or hit me or leave me or do any combination of the three! I swear, we can go back right now and go to his apartment and ask him!” Seokjin looked genuinely terrified as he glanced between you and the road with wide eyes. 

Honestly, you found the whole thing amusing.

“Seokjin, I believe you.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yes, it's not that serious. I was stalked back home for a little bit and as soon as I met the guy, I knew he was kind of off. I get no vibes like that from you.”

Seokjin let out a sigh of relief, but then his face frowned again as he gently asked about the stalker you mentioned. You were at a point where you could talk about it and went on to tell him about the man that had been in your college creative writing class. He was always interested in your writing and was always asking you questions about it. You were only classmates and never anything more, but you had gotten a bad feeling about him the first time you spoke to him.

Your early hunch was right of course when two months into the class you found out that he had been following you home for weeks. He would also follow you to work and even monitor your social media usage. You weren’t sure how long it would've gone on if he hadn't broken into your home one night and climbed into your window at the exact moment that your roommate walked into the room.

You felt yourself shiver as you retold the story. Seokjin's arm immediately came up and draped over your seat, hand grazing your shoulder. He pulled you closer to him and you instantly felt protected; like an invisible shield had formed around you because of him. It was surprising, but you didn't question it. You hugged your sweater closer to your body and stayed in his embrace as he drove.

“Happy birthday, Y/n. I'm going to kiss you now.”

Six years ago that was what Seokjin said to you right before you shared your first kiss. You’d been on two dates up until that one. You’d held hands and hugged of course, and the last time he dropped you off in front of your apartment door, he kissed your forehead. That night was not only date number three, but also your birthday.

Seokjin caressed your cheek before tilting your chin up. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips before he brought his mouth to yours. The kiss was sweet and you could smell his sweet cologne and feel how soft and plump his lips were. You quickly let your tongue dart out and rub against his lips. Seokjin was surprised but wasted no time in opening his mouth as your hands lightly grabbed his hair and he firmly held your hips. His mouth was warm and he tasted like sweet cream and strawberries from your birthday cake which sat forgotten on the floor next to you.

The sounds of the city that had been busy around you a few minutes ago quieted down and everything felt fuzzy. It was such a cliche, classic romance movie moment, but you were okay with that. You could criticize everything later; for at that moment, you were busy feeling something wonderful you had never felt before.

True love.

“I love you so much and I want you to feel good.”

Six years ago that was what Seokjin said to you during your first time making love. He said he loved you a year into the relationship so that wasn't new. This was the first time it made you feel this warm throughout every part of you. He was between your legs, peppering kisses down the inside of your thighs. He had already prepped you with his mouth and fingers, now you were just waiting for him.

“I love you so much. Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" You nodded and opened your legs a little more. 

Seokjin positioned himself at your entrance before he began slowly entering you. It stung just the slightest as you felt yourself being stretched more than ever, but it wasn't enough for you to want to stop. When he was sheathed inside of you as far as he could fit, he held onto your hips as you reached up to grip his biceps. He leaned down and kissed you as he began thrusting, starting slowly before moving quicker, causing you to make sounds that seemed much more obscene compared to the tender moment.

The whole thing was over rather quickly, much to your shared dismay. You were both simply too excited to finally feel each other, that neither of you lasted very long. After ever so gently pulling out of you, he laid next to you and brought you close to his chest. A few tears slipped from your eyes, but they stemmed from happiness and nothing else. You felt incredible and so loved and it was all because of Seokjin.

“I fucking hate the fact that you keep talking to him and that you don't even care about my feelings!”

Five years ago that was what Seokjin said to you during your first real fight. You’d been through a few small disagreements here and there since you moved into Seokjin's much more spacious apartment. It was always over what to make for dinner or what color to paint the extra room he had or about one of you working late at the office. You were still technically in your honeymoon phase until about a week prior. A handsome new employee just started and had befriended you which Seokjin hated.

“How can you say I don't care about your feelings?! Your feelings are one of the most important things to me!”

“Well, then why are you still talking to Jungkook?! He likes you and you don't believe me! The way you're being nice to him, it's leading him on and you're acting like you're too stupid to know! You're a smart girl Y/n, open your damn eyes!”

“It's not my fault you're so goddamn insecure! Not all of my friends want to get in my pants!” Neither of you spoke then, instead opting to just stare at each other.

Seokjin moved first, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack by the door. “I'm going to Namjoon’s tonight. I'll call you when I can think clearly and continue this discussion.” He left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

“Fine, asshole!” You yelled at the closed door. You lowered yourself onto the couch and before you could help it, you were letting out quiet sobs. You were frustrated, confused and so many other things. Every couple was bound to have a first big fight about something, but it still hurt. You couldn't do anything but wait until Seokjin came home.

“I love you, Mrs. Kim.”

Two years ago that was what Seokjin said to you on your wedding day. You ended up having two weddings, one in Korea and the other in your hometown. Your friends and family looked on with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes at the sight of you. The wedding was simple yet beautiful as you glowed in your dress.

“I love you too, Mr. Kim.” You say, leaning up to kiss him. At that moment, you felt like everything was right in the world.

“Just keep pushing, you can do it, baby."

A year ago that was what Seokjin said to you as you gave birth to your first child. He was right next to you, holding onto your hand and wiping your forehead with a cloth. You had an iron grip on his hand as you pushed as hard as you could. All it took was one more push and another blood-curdling scream from you before the baby was out and in the arms of a nurse.

"It's a baby girl." Both you and Seokjin watched the crying baby as she was cleaned off and brought over to you. The little girl had her father’s wide, brown eyes and your nose. She stopped crying and was simply staring up at her parents.

"Hello little one, I'm your mommy."

"And I'm your daddy."

The baby continued to stare before opening her mouth and letting out a scream that surprised you both.

"She has quite the set of lungs on her!" Seokjin struggled to say over the screaming child.

"She does! And she's all ours!" You smiled up at him, your heart filling with happiness and love for the small child in your arms. The joy you felt now with your little family was indescribable.

"The past seven years have been the best of my life and I'm so beyond lucky to have been able to spend them with you."

An hour ago that was what Seokjin said to you at your anniversary dinner. While you’ve only been married for two years, you always celebrate the first day you met; when Seokjin’s first caught sight of your purple striped panties.

Once your daughter is settled into her crib, the two of you go into your bedroom and lay in bed together, still clad in your formal clothes. Your head is against his chest and his arms are around you.

"Babe, I have a confession," Seokjin starts.

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to ask you out on that day, you know - the day we met. You were so flustered and cute, but I thought I’d scare you even more if I did, so I held back."

"I was flustered and cute huh? Sure it wasn’t just the free panty shot I gave you?”

Seokjin gives you a flat expression. "No, smart ass. You caught my attention as soon as you stepped into the room. Then I overheard you later in the day talking to someone at lunch about the plans you had for the year and how excited you were to meet everyone on the team. You sounded so confident in yourself and your leadership. After that, I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to eat lunch with you and drop a very suave pick-up line about how we should go out sometime."

You snort and glance up at him. "Lucky for you I embarrassed myself when I did. I've heard your pick-up lines and no matter how attractive I thought you were I don't think younger me would've been that entranced to fall for it." Your comment earns you a few tickles to the ribs, a laugh bubbling out as you flinch away from him.

"Yeah well, now you're stuck with me and my bad pick-up lines forever." He places a kiss on your forehead and drapes one of his long legs over yours.

The word 'forever' fills you with glee. You consider yourself lucky every day that you’re able to say you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with this man. Seokjin isn’t perfect and you’ve been through many things over the years as a couple, but at the end of the day, the joy and love that you feel when you’re with him means more to you than anything. Knowing you've found the person you want to and are going to spend the rest of your life with is the best feeling in the world.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Rainbow Manor

pairing: platonic DLAMP  words: 5138 warnings: swearing, references to homophobia, toxic/homophobic parents, brief description of a small injury, blood, brief descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, crying, angst

a/n - hello friends! hope everyone is doing well! i was lucky enough to be commissioned by the lovely @youronelesbianfriend to write this story (side note, their commissions are open too so...whatcha still doin here, go and do that!). i was overjoyed when i saw the prompt she gave me, and had such a good time writing it! (also inspired me to maybe formally advertise commissions? you can peek at my tumblr every now and then to see if i do, but if you also want one you can DM me!)

so without further ado, here is some content ✨

read on ao3!

—

The Rainbow Manor is a lot of things. 

It’s a home for the biggest family that could exist. It’s a safe haven from the cold, stormy outdoors. It’s the kind of blanket made of the same velvet the night sky is made of; it’s quiet, it’s warm, and it’s filled with stars. All it takes is one step inside and you would find yourself filled with a sense of belonging, of hope. 

You could run the furthest distance away from it all, and the Rainbow Manor would always open its doors to you. 

Patton would know. He was the first one to try. 

~*~ 

“Okay, so here’s what happened,” Roman Prince said, looking down at his clipboard as he weaved him and Patton through the halls. “I was going to show the new people around myself, but then I forgot the paperwork in your office — and then I realized, ‘hey, what better person to show them around than The Man himself!’; capital T, capital M!” 

Patton half-heartedly smiled as he snuck a peek at Roman’s papers. 

“How many are there?” 

“Three, so it won’t be too bad. One of them’s Virgil — you remember Virgil, right?” 

“Right.” Patton smiled fondly, remembering Roman’s birthday party last year. Him and Virgil had shown up covered in cake. He never really saw Virgil after that day, but clearly him and Roman stayed acquainted against all odds.

They turned a corner into the break room where three people sat around a table. Roman clapped his hands. 

“Alrighty! Sorry for the wait.” 

All three of them stood up. The one in the black and purple hoodie—the one Patton recognized as Virgil—rolled his eyes. 

“Waiting is part of the contract with you, Princey.” 

Roman faux-gasped. “Hey, that was one time! And if I didn’t take too long that day, we would have taken the wrong cake!” 

“We did take the wrong cake, Roman. That’s why it exploded.” 

“...Oh yeah.” Roman grinned. “Forgot about that.” 

Virgil shook his head, but showed a hint of a smile. Patton took a step forward to extend his hand out to him. 

“Nice to see you again, Virgil!” He then addressed the two behind him. “And if we’re talking cake, I guess you both can call me Patton-cake!” 

The one wearing a black, short-sleeve button up frowned, adjusting their thin blue tie. 

“I read on the website that your name is Patton Morgan.” 

“It’s like patty-cake, but Patton-cake!” 

“...Right.” 

“Ignore my friend’s simply lively commentary.” The last person stepped forward. They wore a pale-yellow button up under a grey vest. “That’s Logan. Do not be astounded by how that pencil is both sharp and dull — he’s always like that.” 

“And that’s Janus,” Logan seethed, crossing his arms. “They’re always like that.” 

Patton chuckled. “Well it’s nice to meet you both. I’ll show you guys around?” 

They all nodded, following Patton as he led them out the door. The icy awkwardness of first encounters fortunately thawed as conversation quickly blossomed. Patton learned that Logan was the new volunteer manager and was close friends with Janus, who was joining the growing team of counsellors. Virgil, on the other hand, was the newly-appointed social media and communications coordinator; a position Roman used to double as alongside being head of recreation and programming, until he overdid it with the website graphics and crashed the site for two days. Sometimes, change was necessary, Patton learned. 

“So that’s pretty much the whole place!” Patton said brightly at the end of the tour, stopping outside his office. He handed them their job description packages. “I hope you all get situated soon! And if you ever need anything, you now know where my office is!” He motioned to the door with jazz-hands. “Here!” 

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan hummed. He looked around idly. “I must say, I am rather impressed by how well-established and organized the facility is, especially for one that is fairly new.”

“Well call me corny, ‘cause all I can say is ‘aw shucks’!” Patton beamed. “You know, if you told me almost a year ago that I’d be standing here today, I think I’d be impressed too!” He nudged at Roman. “But I obviously didn’t do any of it alone. It’s the people that really make this place home — people like Roman, who’s been with me since the very beginning!”

“Oh, Patton! You make me sound like the hero of this place.” Roman pretended to flip his hair. “So thank you!” 

“A humble hero,” Virgil retorted. Roman just stuck out his tongue at him.

“But in all seriousness, Patton’s downplaying his efforts to the floor!” Roman wrapped an arm around Patton’s waist and pulled him in close. He waved out in front of him. “He’s a true phoenix who rose from the ashes and built this place with his own two hands!” Roman then spun Patton away from him, a trail of giggles following suit. “Plus he does a bunch of other stuff too! He has, like, a gazillion side-gigs, he sometimes volunteers at an animal shelter…” 

“It sounds like you may also be interested in a day off,” Janus piped up.

“It’s really not that much!” Patton awkwardly shuffled where he stood. “I...I like staying busy.” 

Janus tilted their head at him. “Right.” 

Patton shot them a quick smile before diving back into the end of their paperwork. Then the three of them, along with Roman, said their goodbyes and scattered to their respective offices. 

Patton leaned against his office door with a wry smile. They all seemed like nice people, he thought. He was lucky to have them. 

(Roman’s words from weeks ago echoed in his head; the same words that were said to him the night of his first breakdown, when they first called.

“You need all the help you can get, Pat.”) 

And he needed all the help he could get.

~*~ 

A few days later, Patton found himself leaning against the front of his desk, outstretching his hand towards the teen in front of him. 

“Jonah, your feelings are valid, no matter what they are.”

The words slid off Patton’s tongue almost effortlessly. Jonah sniffled. 

“I know, Pat. And– and I’ve already made a lot of friends here that have told me that. It’s been so good for me here, but…” Jonah buried their face in their hands. “Every night before I go to sleep, I can’t stop thinking about what they told me before they kicked me out. It’s like I get tunnel vision. I can see the person I have grown to be on the other side, but all I’m doing is going backwards.” 

Jonah looked up at Patton with teary eyes. “And I don’t wanna go back, Patton. I...I don’t want to go back.”

Patton felt a chill run through his spine. Quiet echoes buried themselves in the back of his mind. 

“I understand that it’s difficult to feel like you’re moving forward when it feels like the most important people in your life are pushing you back. And it...it sucks. I’m so sorry.” Patton swallowed down the temptation to cave as he continued. “I...I think all we can do is remember that those important forces in your life aren’t what’s given to you, but are what’s found. And I feel like you’ve done a lot of searching — for now, try and let yourself be found.”

Jonah broke into a small smile. Before Patton knew it, the teen stumbled forward into an embrace, holding Patton tight and crying. Patton’s hands hovered in the air behind their back, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Patton came to his senses and hugged them back. 

“I’m thankful I found this place,” Jonah mumbled into Patton’s chest. “It’s– it’s built on a lot of hope. I don’t think I could have found it anywhere else.” 

Patton’s heart shattered.

‘I wish I could give you more.’ He squeezed Jonah tighter. ‘I’d give you all I had, and you’d never know.’ 

Jonah left a few minutes later, thanking Patton for giving them a space to be honest. All Patton could do was nod numbly. He knew Jonah was new and it was hard to be new here, but Patton was certain that they’d find their place. The kids who came here always did. 

Patton walked around his desk to sit down. He took one look at his phone, frowned, then set it aside with a sigh. For a brief moment, Patton relished sitting in the precious silence that finally found his office. 

Then, a knock on his door. 

“Come in!” Patton said, straightening up and folding his hands neatly on his desk. The door cracked open and Logan’s head peeked in. 

“Is this a good time, Patton?” 

“Yeah, of course!” 

Logan stepped inside and handed some papers to Patton. 

“I filed through the volunteer applications and started arranging interviews in the coming weeks. I just wanted to run the dates by you before I start contacting people. Hopefully they suffice.” 

“Wow! Thank you, Lo.” Patton took the papers, slowly sifting through them. “These look really good! I’ll have a look at them tonight.” 

“Tonight?” Logan echoed. “Are you staying late again?” 

“Oh! Yeah, I am.” Patton shrugged. “Just a bit of extra paperwork.”

“Well if you require any assistance tonight, I can stay around–”

“No, no! That won’t be necessary.” Patton waved his hand dismissively. “Go and enjoy your night, Lo.”

Logan’s stare seemed to bury itself through Patton, enough for Patton to look away. 

“...Well, please do not hesitate to let me know if you need anything else.”

As Logan was leaving, Patton felt his phone buzz. He snuck a peek and paled.

‘Missed call(s): Mother (2) - 5:34 PM’

“Um, leave the door open, Lo!” Patton suddenly blurted out. Logan turned around and tilted his head. Patton flimsily added, “I– I think I’m going to try and get some air.” 

Logan nodded, lifting his hand off the door handle before walking out. Patton took a deep breath and then stuffed his phone in his pocket before leaving as well. 

—

Later that evening, Patton wandered into his office in a daze. He turned the lights on and inwardly groaned at the stacks of paper awaiting him. 

He dragged his feet to his desk, only stopping to check his phone. The ‘missed call’ notification lingered, except now the number was ‘3’. 

Patton felt his jaw tighten. He couldn’t run forever. 

As he sat down, he noticed a small cup behind one stack of paper. He grabbed it. The smell of coffee swarmed his head. He smiled, noticing a small sticky note on its side. 

“Keep up the great work. Your friend, Logan.”

 ~*~

“Okay everyone! Grab your brushes!” 

Patton blinked. Somehow, his memory of the manor floors failed him, and he ended up in the recreation room. He felt eyes stare up at him, Roman’s included.

“Ah, Patton! Man of the hour! What brings you here?” 

Patton sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um, got lost! If you could believe it, heh.” 

“ ‘Lost’ is just a way of saying ‘found, but with a few extra steps’!” Roman motioned to an empty seat. “How about you join us for a bit?” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, though felt cornered by all the expectant stares. He even spotted Jonah, who smiled and waved at him. Patton sighed. He had been wound up for days now; perhaps Roman’s theatrics was all he needed.

He finally nodded, going over to sit in front of the vacant canvas. Roman grinned at him with a warmth Patton let himself melt into. 

“Alright! Let’s begin.” Roman cleared his throat. “I want you to pull on the colours of your heartstrings. Forget form, structure– even an outline. Your emotions know no bounds, after all! Just remember, your hand is not controlling the brush — it’s your heart.”

Patton felt the words wash over him. Roman, of course, was right; he didn’t even notice his hand moving as he painted. Though somehow, it didn’t feel as peaceful as Roman described it to be. Instead, it felt like something was being pulled out of Patton, as though a claw was scooping something out of his chest and spilling it onto the canvas. 

Suddenly, his ringtone cut through Roman’s monologue. Patton jumped, dropping his brush. A line of paint dragged across the canvas as it fell. All eyes were on him again. 

“Um, excuse me! I– I’m just going to take this.” Patton pressed answer without looking at who called as he stumbled out of the room. 

“Hello?” 

“I see you’ve finally answered.” 

Patton’s heart dropped.

—

Roman was halfway through the end of his monologue when, in the corner of his eye, he spotted Patton re-enter the room, head ducked.

“Ah! I’m glad you’re back!” 

Patton nodded, but in the stilted way Roman quickly recognized. His eyes looked Patton up and down, barely listening to Patton’s stammering apology for interrupting. His hair was disheveled, which meant he ran his hand through it far too many times. His eyes were red, his jaw was tight– 

He was crying. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry again for leaving so soon!” Patton’s voice brought Roman back to reality. “Keep painting you guys! I gotta Van-Gogh!” 

A shaky laugh followed Patton out. Roman frowned, but he nodded for everyone to continue. He passed by Patton’s canvas and snuck a peek. 

It was rather abstract, with overlapping strokes forming a gradient. Roman’s gaze followed the gradient downwards. The canvas was filled with dull blues that turned into darkening greys. Towards the bottom was a thin line of black trailed all the way to Patton’s paintbrush, abandoned on the floor.

 ~*~

The sun sets on a long railroad, it goes past the horizon, it outstretches a hand like it’s beckoning, it’s begging you to run, run faster, everything is going faster and they just told you to go so you have to– 

“Pat?” 

Patton shot up in his seat with a yelp. He blinked quickly, vision focusing on the silhouette of–

“Virgil!” A strangled laugh escaped his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Virgil replied simultaneously, “No, I’m sorry, you just weren’t answering and I got worried, but I didn’t realize you were sleeping–” 

“Sleeping?” Patton looked down at the time. 5 PM. 

“Oh sh– shoot, I’m gonna be late.” 

“Late for?” 

“Animal shelter,” Patton mumbled, stumbling out of his chair and grabbing his bag. “I forgot that I said I’d come in today– gosh how could I forget–” 

“Hey.” Virgil rested a hand on Patton’s shoulder before Patton could go spiralling out the door. “Deep breath. I’ll drive you, it’ll be okay.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, but remembered the time. He sighed and motioned wordlessly at the door. Virgil nodded, leading the two of them out towards the parking lot.

“Anyway, I’m sorry if it’s a bad time, I was just hoping to run some website revisions by you,” Virgil said as he started the car and backed out of the lot. Patton shakily smiled. 

“No! It’s not a bad time at all, you can tell me about your ideas as you drive!” 

“There’s not much. I was just thinking of ways to maybe make it more approachable. There’s not even really an ‘about us’ page or anything about you–” 

“Why would there need to be anything about me?” 

Virgil looked at him, almost confused. “It’s an amazing organization, Pat. Your name should be up there, especially as the founder…?” 

“Oh! R-Right.” Patton let out a sharp laugh. “I guess I never thought about it before.” 

“I could put something together tonight, I was just thinking it'd be cool to hear you talk about it.” Virgil turned at an intersection. The sign of the animal shelter soon came into view. 

“I guess that’d be a good idea!” Patton shrugged. “But there’s, um, not really anything interesting to know.” 

Virgil frowned, falling quiet as he parked the car. When they stopped moving, Virgil turned to face him. 

“Say, would it be okay if I joined you?” Virgil shuffled awkwardly in his seat. “I, um, have a bit of a free night, and I was thinking that maybe I could just ask you stuff for the website now so I don’t have to bother you later…?” 

Patton’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds perfect! Liz will probably be okay with it. I think it’s bath night for the dogs, and we can always use an extra hand with that!” 

Virgil chuckled, following Patton out the car and into the animal shelter. 

Patton gathered the energy he had left to greet Liz and everyone else, already cooing over the various animals he and Virgil passed by. They reached the back and, with only a bit of struggle (Patton would never admit to these cute dogs being a struggle), took each dog a bath. All the while, Virgil asked Patton questions about the Rainbow Manor and his life in general, which Patton did his best to answer.

“I ended up founding the Rainbow Manor a year after I graduated.” Patton wiped his brow as they finished drying the last dog. “I had been living on Roman’s couch for so long after being kicked out and I just wanted to turn it around; not only for myself, but for other people.”

Virgil’s stare softened. “I– I’m sorry. N-Not about how you founded the place but, like...why you felt like you needed to. That must’ve been hard.” 

“Yeah.” Patton forced a shrug. “It is what it is. Sometimes, you have to get lost to be found, right?” 

“Right.” Virgil looked up at Patton. “Do...do you still keep in touch with them? Your parents, I mean.” 

Patton felt his heart squeeze. 

“It’s been so long,” he finally said. “I doubt they’d want to talk to me.” 

—

Virgil offered to drive Patton back, but Patton insisted on taking a cab home. Virgil reluctantly conceded, but promised to email Patton when he drafted the additions to the website. Patton just nodded and watched Virgil drive off. 

When he was sure that Virgil was completely gone, he shakily pulled out his phone and called a cab. 

“Hi! I– I just need to go to The Rainbow Manor,” he said to the driver as he climbed into the car. He found himself laughing. “Long work day. It is what it is.” 

~*~

Days passed, and Patton’s workload somehow doubled: new admissions, new initiatives, new everything. 

(And his mother kept calling. And calling. And calling.) 

To say it was a lot was an understatement. 

Patton found himself going back and forth along the manor halls, forcing a smile at those he passed. He closed his eyes, turning a corner before he knocked into someone. 

“Crap! I– I’m so sorry.” Patton quickly scrambled to gather the papers that had fallen onto the floor. 

“Oh, don’t apologize, I always thought that important documentation would make for good confetti– ah, hello, Patton.”

Patton looked up. Janus appeared above him, outstretching their hand to help Patton up. Patton took it, scooping the papers up as he went. 

“Janus! Hi! Well, if you’re looking for me...here I am!” He laughed, though it sounded scratchier than expected. “Everything okay?” 

“More than, thank you. I just wanted to follow up about my schedule for the new admissions? You mentioned yesterday that I should come to you but I couldn’t find you…” 

Patton winced. His chest tightened.

“F– I forgot, goodness how am I always–”

“It’s quite alright, Patton, I can always–” 

“I–It’s not okay!” 

In the corner of his eye, Jonah passed by. He felt their wide eyes on him. The air grew thinner.

“It’s– gah, it’s never fucking–”

“Oookay. We’re not okay and that’s...okay.” 

Janus suddenly took Patton’s arm and led him to their office. They swiftly kicked the door shut with their foot as they let Patton settle on the couch. 

“Breathe for me,” Janus said slowly, pulling up a chair and sitting across from Patton. They took Patton’s hand and motioned for him to follow their lead. “In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8…” 

They repeated this a few more times until Patton let go of his head and his breathing evened out. 

“I– I’m so sorry, Janus. I don’t know what–”

“It’s fine, Patton. I’m glad I could help.” A pause. Janus leaned back in their chair. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” 

“No, everything’s fine.” 

Janus raised a brow. 

“Okay, everything’s not fine. But...but it will be fine. I have to be fine.” His mind drifted to Jonah. Patton buried his face in his hands. 

“I can’t be like this,” he said, tears threatening to fall. “I...I just can’t. Not now, this– this can’t be happening now.”

“Unfortunately, these things tend to find us — not the other way around.” Janus squeezed Patton’s hand in a sudden moment of softness. “I...I know what this is, Patton. And I don’t have to tell you what to do because I know you know. You help so many people like you, but remember: when the plane is falling, you have to put on your oxygen mask before you help someone else.” 

Patton locked eyes with Janus for a split second, opening his mouth to respond when he felt his phone ringing. Reflexively, he pulled it out in front of his lap. The air disappeared once more. 

‘Incoming call: Mother’ 

Patton quickly pressed ‘decline’. He then looked up at Janus, whose eyes darted upwards as well. 

Shit. 

“I– I have to go.” 

“Wait, Patton–” 

“Thank you for everything, Janus,” Patton mumbled, and before Janus could reply, Patton sped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

 ~*~

“I just don’t get it,” Roman muttered, leg bouncing under the table in the break room. “I’ve never seen him like this before.” 

“You haven’t?” Janus circled the table like a hawk. 

“What makes you think I have?” 

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that he has about a thousand jobs! Or perhaps it’s that he’s been staying overnight every night to work as if he owns the place — oh wait! He does! But I have no idea why that might be stressful at all!” 

Roman glowered at them, but said nothing. 

“I can imagine that his workload presumably doubled this past month,” Logan, sitting across from Roman beside Virgil, adjusted his glasses. “Between the new admissions, growth in our volunteer admissions…” 

“Okay, so he has a lot on his plate!” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I’ve seen him stressed out about these sorts of things. This is different.” 

“So what else could be on his mind?” Virgil piped up. 

Janus suddenly stopped in their tracks. 

“His mother.” 

Roman’s heart dropped. “His– his what?” 

“She called him while Patton was in my office,” Janus murmured. “He left straight after.” 

Virgil frowned. “Why would he...” 

Roman felt as if he had burst into flames. The pieces clicked together in his head.

“The– the fucking nerve of that woman, I can’t believe she’s still–”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” Logan cut in.

Before Roman could respond, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He immediately pulled out his phone. His breathing hitched. 

‘Help.’

“It’s Patton,” he blurted out, stumbling out his chair and making his way out of the room. Everyone exchanged looks, but quickly followed suit. 

Roman weaved his ways through the halls until he neared Patton’s office. Loud sobs were muffled behind the door. Roman felt his heart breaking already as he opened it. 

And there was Patton, on the floor, crying, and surrounded by shards of broken porcelain. Roman recognized it as a vase he had painted for him years ago. He winced seeing small drops of blood surrounding the pieces. His eyes quickly scanned the room as Logan immediately tended to Patton. 

“What happened, Patton?” Logan murmured as Patton curled up closer to him, sobs still wracking his body.

“I– I’m so sorry.” Each word sounded like it was forced out of his lungs and into the air. “I– I tried to clean up, I’m sorry–” 

“Shh, Patton. It’s okay.” Janus knelt down beside him, carefully lifting Patton’s wrist to examine his hand. A long cut ran across his palm. Janus looked up at Roman and Virgil.

“There’s a first-aid kit in my office, as well as a broom and dustpan. Can one of you grab it?” 

Virgil nodded wordlessly, exiting the room. Roman noticed Patton’s phone beside Patton on the ground, and reached over to pick it up. 

“What did she say, Pat,” Roman asked, fear edging the quiet of his voice. The words seemed to stab at Patton and let out more sobs. 

“She– she found out about everything,” Patton wheezed through tears. “The– the Rainbow Manor, where I am– she wants to take it all– she can’t take it all–” 

“Patton, I need you to follow my breathing, okay?” Janus interrupted, motioning at their chest with their hand as they inhaled and exhaled. “Can you see my hand? I want you to try and follow along, okay? 

Patton numbly nodded, trying to breathe through hiccups and sobs. Janus repeated the exercise with Patton for at least fifteen minutes, with Virgil returning halfway and Logan moving to sit in front of Patton to start tending to the cut. Virgil carefully swept around Roman, Janus, Logan, and Patton on the floor. 

“Whatever she told you, it isn’t true,” Roman said after Patton’s breath had evened out. “She can’t touch you here, not with us around.” 

“I– I know,” Patton sniffled. Logan finished bandaging Patton’s hand and offered him a tissue from the box on his desk. “She said so many awful things, but– but the scariest part is that she didn’t stop at just saying things.” 

“What do you mean?” Logan murmured. 

“She...she threatened to shut the Rainbow Manor down.” 

“What?!” Roman shot up from the floor. “But– but she can’t–” 

“You know my mom, Roman,” Patton whimpered. “She has connections all over the city. If she wanted to, she would find a way.” 

“So why hasn’t she?” Janus asked quietly. A beat of silence. Patton brought his knees closer to his chest and buried his face between them. 

“She– she wants a percentage of the donations,” Patton finally admitted. 

“What the fuck,” Virgil growled, stopping in his tracks. 

“I know! It’s– it’s impossible, I–” Another sob. Logan and Janus moved closer to him, with Janus putting their arm around his shoulder. 

“What did you tell her?” Janus pressed on. 

“I– I told her no! Even if I wanted to, I can’t, but– but what else can I do?” Patton looked at his bandaged hand and grimaced. “And of course she got mad, and I freaked out, and I knocked over the vase– god, Roman, I’m sorry about the vase–” 

“The vase is replaceable,” is all Roman said. “You aren’t.” 

Patton just nodded, looking up at the four of them in his office with teary eyes. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Everyone exchanged looks. Roman lowered himself back to the floor beside Patton and wrapped him in a warm hug.

“You’re not going to do anything,” Roman said firmly. 

“Roman…”

“All your life, you’ve taken care of people like they were your family, Patton. Please, let your family take care of you.” 

Patton sniffled, looking around him. Virgil, Logan, and Janus nodded with small smiles, moving closer to him and joining the embrace. 

And Patton just nodded, dissolving into tears; except this time, Roman could feel the relief from them. He felt Patton melt in his touch and smiled to himself, a similar relief washing over him as well. 

(And for a moment, just a brief moment, Patton was home.)

~*~ 

One week later…

“Keep your eyes closed…” 

“Roman, I don’t know how many more walls I can keep bumping into!” 

“Just a little longer, I promise!”

Patton giggled, letting himself be led by Roman through more halls. Then, Roman stopped him. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes in 3...2–” 

“I’m opening them now, I’m too excited!” Patton squealed, and then opened his eyes. Suddenly, a burst of colour flooded his vision. 

“Surprise!” a chorus of voices exclaimed. 

Patton broke into a wide smile, blinking to focus on the sight in front of him. He was standing in the recreation room, with a big banner hanging from the back wall reading, “Happy Birthday, Rainbow Manor!”. Beneath it was a table with a cake, which was surrounded by Janus, Virgil, and Logan, alongside a bunch of other teens Patton recognized. Even Jonah was there, wearing a small party hat with a confetti popper in his hands. 

Patton felt tears well up in his eyes. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you remembered!” 

“Of course, padré!” Roman grabbed Patton’s arm and led him around the table to stand in front of the cake. “Always normal for a family to celebrate the man who built their home!” 

“Oh, Roman!” Patton leaned against his shoulder, sniffling. “It’s perfect.” 

He then looked at Virgil, Logan, and Janus. “I can’t believe you guys set this all up, it must’ve taken forever!” 

“Actually, it just took a day,” Logan hummed. 

“And the cake doesn’t explode,” Virgil said with a small finger salute. “I checked.” 

“Additionally, we understand that presents are customary at a party,” Logan continued. “So while our present is not materialistic, we do hope it suffices.” 

“Oh?” 

“Sir Nerds-A-Lot is trying to say that we’re pitching in to give you a few days off!” Roman declared. “We handled a few responsibilities over the weekend while you were home, and split your workload for the week ahead! Consider this the fabulous gift of time!” 

“Oh you guys! You didn’t have to!” 

“But we did, and we did so gladly,” Logan said with a nod. 

“Also–” Janus leaned over to quietly whisper in Patton’s ear– “I took care of your mother.” 

Patton frowned. “You...what? Is– is she…” 

“She’s fine, but she won’t be bothering you for a long time.” Janus winked. “Let’s just say I know people too.”

Patton exhaled a breath he felt he was holding onto forever. He nodded graciously at Janus as Roman handed him a cake-cutter. 

“Alright! Before you take the first slice, you gotta make a wish!” Roman motioned at the lit candles on the cake. Patton stepped forward, closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then blew them out. 

Everyone cheered as Patton was surrounded by hugs and laughter. He felt Janus, Logan, Roman, and Virgil crowd around him as they started to help hand out cake to all the teens. 

And in the back of his mind, his wish echoed in his head. 

‘I hope to always be able to share this home with my family.’

[onhirel]

A Birthday Spent Apart

Akko jerked awake in the chair to the sound of her phone buzzing insistently on the desk of the hotel room in Tokyo that her agency had put her in, and confusion roiled through her for a moment before she managed to pick up the phone. Peering blearily at the display, she blinked before dread settled in her gut at the sight of Diana’s name at the top of her phone’s screen, accompanied by a picture that Lotte had taken of the two of them, Akko hugging Diana from behind, both of them smiling for the camera.

She didn’t feel like smiling now, not when...

She swiped to answer the video call even as she wiped at her eyes to remove any of the gunk that her unplanned nap might have caused. “Hey, Diana!” she said, trying to sound as bright and cheery as she could, even as she felt terrible. After all, Diana shouldn’t have been the one to call her, she should have been the one to call Diana because...

“Oh! Akko, did I wake you?” Diana sounded surprised, and was that a hint of hurt that Akko detected in her fiancée’s voice?

She wanted to deny it, wanted to say something to reassure Diana that that wasn’t true, but she couldn’t stand the thought of lying to her. “I guess I fell asleep,” she admitted, shame replacing the dread. Of all the days for her to do so!

A short burst of static as Diana sighed, though she was smiling softly. “Akko, it’s okay, I only just got home myself. What time is it for you?”

An olive branch, something Akko could use as a way out, even though she knew that Diana always had the time differences between them memorized whenever Akko was on tour. Still, Akko glanced up at the top of her phone’s screen. “Quarter past two,” she muttered before frowning. “But that’s no excuse! It’s your birthday, I should have stayed awake so I could call you, not the other way around!”

Blue eyes stared pointedly at her through her phone’s display. “Akko, it’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” Akko insisted. “It’s your birthday!”

“And I already got your text messages, plus the flowers and cake you had delivered to the Manor. Plus I imagine you have plans once you get back in a few weeks.”

Akko bit her lip. “But...”

Now Diana was frowning. “No buts, love. Look, I can see that you’re still wearing your stage makeup and you were already sitting when you answered the phone. You sat up by your desk so that you could stay awake and call me, right?”

Akko paused only for a moment. “You know me too well.”

Diana chuckled softly. “Akko, dearest, I could never know you too well. Even if we live together for centuries to come, I will always want to know something more about you.”

Was Akko blushing? She was pretty sure she was blushing. “Why are you so romantic?” she whined.

That drew out a grin so bright and beautiful it stole her breath away. “Because I love you.”

Akko squirmed slightly in her seat as she tried to cover up her now brilliantly red face with one hand while holding the phone with her other. She would always be awed at how powerful these feelings she had for Diana were. “I love you, too,” she somehow managed to squeak out even as her blush deepened.

A soft, warm hum. “Now, love, I want you to get ready for bed, you shouldn’t be falling asleep in chairs, you aren’t a teenager anymore.”

Akko huffed at that, but she stood up. “Neither are you,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but I actually take care of my body,” Diana teased. “How much sugar did you eat today?”

“That’s for me to know and you to speculate,” Akko shot back before grinning. “And besides, you and I both know that there’s something I’d much rather be eating than sugary food, but unfortunately there’s an eight hour difference there, ne?”

Now it was Diana’s turn to blush. “Akko!” she spluttered.

“What? You know it’s true!”

“I mean...yes, but...oh, you are incorrigible!” she huffed, though the scowl that lacked any real heat didn’t last long. “How was the show?” she asked after a moment. “I wasn’t able to watch the live stream this time.”

Akko shrugged even as she headed into the bathroom. “Oh, you know, the usual. I think we’re really getting it hammered into something good, there weren’t any hiccups this time!”

And so their call continued as Akko got ready for bed, both of them talking about their days. Before long, Akko was snuggled into bed, covers up to her chin, the room dark save for the light from her phone’s screen from where it was propped up on some of the pillows so that they could see each other.

She hated this part of the call. Hated that she could already feel sleep approaching, no matter how much she wanted to stay up and talk with the woman that she loved with all her heart. It was ironic, wasn’t it? That she resented her dream job that she truly loved if only because it meant being away from Diana, especially on important days like today.

“-and there was this little girl in the crowd, that, oh, you should’ve seen how her face lit up when I exploded onto stage,” she was saying, loving how focused and engaged Diana was on her story. She could tell that she was the absolute most important thing in Diana’s world right now. Perhaps that was why her voice faltered, why she was suddenly wiping away tears as Diana’s face grew very suddenly worried.

“Akko, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

She bit back a sob. “I miss you,” she croaked as she curled up in the bed that was painfully empty. It was Diana’s birthday, and she was halfway round the world, unable to touch, to hold, to kiss the love of her life, and she hated it. “And I couldn’t even stay awake to be the one to call you.”

A long moment of silence as she tried very hard not to give in to the tears. Bad enough that she couldn’t call Diana, now she was screwing up the little time they had together by crying like a baby? Ugh, could she be anymore pathetic?!

“Akko? Akko, listen to me.” Diana’s voice was firm, and Akko forced herself to latch onto it, to focus on it. “It’s really okay. I miss you, too, but you’re doing something important. You’re showing the world that magic isn’t to be feared, and the amount of joy and laughter you’re bringing to your audiences is so incredibly amazing. Honestly, if you weren’t putting in enough energy into your performances that you weren’t utterly exhausted by the end of it, I’d be rather disappointed in you.” She paused as Akko wiped at her streaming eyes. “Akko, honestly, the date of my birthday is just a date. The specific day isn’t important. I imagine you have something spectacular planned when you return, and that is what’s important.” Her head cocked slightly to the side, her expression softening. “What I want for my birthday is for you to have given your all during your performance earlier today. Did you get me what I wanted?”

“Yes,” Akko sniffled.

Diana smiled. “Then we’re good. We got to talk to each other, you had a good show earlier, and we’ll see each other in a few weeks. That’s all that we need, because we love each other. Nothing can change that.” She nodded, almost as though to herself as Akko’s tears finally stopped. “Now, it’s almost three in the morning for you and I know you’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Give my love to your parents, and hopefully my schedule will be a tad more open over the next few days so that we can talk when it isn’t dreadfully early in the morning for you.”

Akko gave Diana a watery smile. “That would be nice.”

Diana brought her hand to her face so that she could kiss her fingertips before she touched them to her phone’s camera, darkening Akko’s screen for a moment. “Have a good night, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Mmmkay,” Akko murmured, feeling sleep rush in all the quicker now, following her tears. “Oh, but, Diana?”

“Hmm.”

“Happy Birthday.”

A smile that could have outshone the sun itself. “Thank you, Akko. I love you.”

Akko’s eyes were already closed, her breath coming slower and deeper. “I love you, too.”

Yes, it was a birthday spent apart. But that didn’t mean that their hearts weren’t joined together, even with the great distance between them. After all, Diana was right: They loved each other. That was all that they would ever need.

[twilight-love-nochu]

BTS Reaction To neglecting their family while away (Hyung Line)

JIN (Kim Seokjin)

When you started to date Jin you knew what you got yourself into. Jin is a busy man always preparing for the next comeback or going on tour. He was living his dream and you knew how much it meant to him so you didn’t complain. You felt quite proud of him actually since even with his busy schedule he usually never forgets to take care of his family and spends as much time with your three year old and you as possible.

Though on his current tour it was quite different. For a long time he didn’t call you two and barely ever answered your calls and you were getting quite tired of it. Yes, he was busy but you were just asking for 5 minutes, enough time to check on each other and for him to talk to his son.

It had already been 4 months since he left and your son was missing him terribly. He was starting to be uncontrollable, always throwing tantrums and never wanting to go to sleep demanding for his father to sing him to sleep.

Today was one of those nights again. Your usually smiley son was currently crying at the top of his lungs and kicking when you tried to come near him. At this point you were fed up with it and didn’t have any energy to deal with it anymore.

You left your son’s room and went to the living room were you left your phone. You snatched it from the table it was laying on and FaceTimed your husband over and over again determined to have him answer the phone, which he did after the fifth call.

“What is it?! You can’t just blow up my phone like this I’m about to go to the rehearsals and I’m already late, Y/N.” You could tell that he was pissed by the way he growled at you. But at this point you were probably more irritated than him so it didn’t faze you.

“I wouldn’t have to if you actually answered when I called… or maybe even called yourself.” You retorted with a fake smile.

“You know I’m busy, I don’t always have time. Like right now actually.”

“Seems like lately even when you do have time you prefer spending it with anything or anyone other than your family.” You didn’t even know were that came from and the words surprised even you but you weren’t going to show him how startled you were. “Whatever I just called because your son misses you very much and is making life very hard for me right now so talk to him.” You said while going back into your son’s room and handing the phone to your son who was still crying, though much calmer now.

As soon as he say his father on the screen you could see his eyes light up.

“Hi buddy!” you heard Jin say as you took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and heat up your food as you didn’t have any time to eat before since you were too busy taking care of the troublesome son. You also took the time to calm down from the fight with your husband.

After a few minutes you went back into your son’s room to check on him only to find him fast asleep with your phone on his lap. You smiled at how cute he looked before walking over to him. You payed him down in his bed, tucked him in and pressed a kiss to his temple before taking the phone and walking out of the room making sure to close the door carefully behind you.

“Y/N?” The voice coming from your phone startled you a bit, you didn’t realize that he was still on the call. When you pointed the camera at your face Jin started talking again: “He grew a lot since the last time I saw him. I didn’t realize how long it has been.” He said with a sad smile on his face problably trying to start small talk with you.

You chuckled bitterly at his words “Yeah, talk to you whenever.” You rolled your eyes.

“Wai-“ you didn’t let him finish before ending the call. You really didn’t feel like talking to him after your fight.

SUGA (Min Yoongi)

Yoongi has always been a distant person. He often missed calls or forgot to text back, or even canceled some dates. In the beginning of your relationship it made you doubt his feelings for you quite often but you soon came to realize that he wasn’t being distant on purpose. He is just naturally introverted and very serious and concentrated when it comes to his work.

What helped you realize that we’re many actions of his, like when he came to you when he needed inspiration, or when he sometimes came over to your apartment that was further away from his studio than the dorms fully knowing that you would be asleep when he came and that he had to leave even before you woke up and when you realized that and asked him about it he simply replied that he only felt completely relaxed when he was with you, or simply that he trusted you with his beloved dog Hollie when he was on tour.

Tour was the only time where you two were completely apart from each other and the only way for you to communicate was through the phone. This made tours the hardest times in your relationship, as your communication would be at its minimum. Of course you missed your boyfriend very much when he was away but you trusted Yoongi and knew that if he didn’t call he was just immersed in his work and stressed, you didn’t want to be a distraction from his work since you know how important it was to him.

Anyway you soon got used to his lifestyle and you two started to make changes in both of your lives so that you were both happy. You started hanging out at his studio more often - obviously not distracting him but doing your own thing -, soon you two even moved in together and later on he married you.

Now here you are 5 years later and not much has changed. Yoongi is still as focused on his career and you don‘t mind much, you miss him, but you were used to it by now… but your daughter was not.

Your daughter was only 4 years old so she didn’t understand why her daddy had to be away from her for so long. She is the biggest Daddy‘s Girl out there so she also didn’t like the idea of him going around the world to make other girls happy very much.

The 4-year-old has been feeling a little bit under the weather for a couple of days now and it broke your heart to see your usual bundle of happiness in that state. You thought long about how to make her feel better and came to the conclusion that talking to her beloved dad was the only medicine that would help.

You pondered for a very long time wether you should call him or not since you knew how grumpy he could get when he got interrupted while working but when your daughter even refused to eat you knew you had to.

You went into your room to start the call because you didn’t know how Yoongi would react after picking up the phone and you didn’t want him to snap at you in front of your 4-year-old.

Sure enough Yoongi seemed pissed after answering your second call. “Babe, I’m working, you know I don’t like getting interrupted.” Yes he was scolding you but you couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted in your belly upon hearing his voice after so long.

“Oh come on, you’re always working Yoongi and we haven’t talked in so long.” You pouted a little.

“I’m busy Y/N, I’m working on a new song right now and I really don’t want to forget what I had in mind.” He doesn’t budge, making you sigh.

“Yoongi, we talked about this. When you’re working you tend to get too immersed in it and you forget to call. The last time we talked was more than a month ago and the only reason I even know you’re alive and well is because I talk to your members. I just want one call once in a while even if it’s for a few minutes. Y/D/N misses you a lot… and I do too.” You add shyly.

That’s when you see a soft smile for on your Husband’s lips. “ You’re Right Y/N. I’m sorry. I guess I do get too immersed in my work. I didn’t even realize how I miss you two too.”

“You really need to take a break once in a while babe.” You tell him.

”I know. I will. How’s Y/D/N?” You can see his eyes light up just at the thought of her, making you chuckle.

“Not so good, she hasn’t been nearly as cheerful as she usually is. And I just tried to feed her but she keeps rejecting any kind of food. I think she just misses you a lot. You know I’m used to not talking to you that much but she isn’t.” You tell him honestly and his face falls remarkably.

“You should be used to me neglecting you either, Y/N.” He says sadness laced in his voice. “I’ll make it up to you I promise. For now let me talk to my Princess.”

You walk into the living room with your phone in your hand to find said princess lying on the sofa while watching her favorite show on the TV.

“Baby, Look who’s on the phone!” You say with a cheerful tone.

As sulky as she was before she still looked over to you and as soon as she saw her father on the phone the Y/D/N that you knew and loved cake back.

“Appa!!!”

You stayed on the phone for almost 2 hours during which your daughter happily told him about everything he had missed since his last phone call and he even got her to eat before she passed out on your lap. You were relieved that she was back to her old bubbly self.

Surprisingly, the call didn’t end after you put Y/D/N to bed like you would have thought. Instead Yoongi even insisted on staying on the phone to talk to you until you fell asleep too.

J-Hope (Jung Hoseok)

Your husband Hoseok was a superstar and his popularity was growing day by day. His fan base exceeded national boundaries so naturally he was gone a lot. Be it for a world tour, schedules in other countries or a collaboration with a western artist.

This time he had a 3 months tour all over America and had to stay there a little longer for the promotion of his new song with the newest big female artist in the USA right now.

Though you knew that you had to share your s/o with more than 30 Mio people, you didn’t mind because you knew that in the end you were the one he was married to and had two children with. Plus, you were an army too, so how could you be jealous knowing how important he was to them and vise versa.

Getting jealous because of his popularity would be stupid anyways because Hoseok was one of the most social and charismatic people you ever got to know, so you were sure that even if he wasn’t famous he’d still be gaining the attention of many people. But that wasn’t a bad thing, after all if he wasn’t that outgoing you doubt that you would have gotten to know each other.

So yeah, you were pretty proud of your husband for being so successful in the thing he loved to do. And when he was away you showed your support by watching every show and interview he did. It even became a family tradition for you and your son and daughter to gather in front of the TV every time you knew he was going to be on.

All three of you loved to see him goofing around on screen since lately that was the only way you got to see him.

His new collab song came out a week ago so he was in the middle of promotion and since the song was at the top of the charts a lot of shows demanded his appearance. So every day he was juggling between schedules, went back to the hotel very late and was too exhausted to call. During the preparation of the sind he also was drowning in work. J-Hope was a perfectionist so he stayed at the studio day and night in company of the singer he was making the song with, so every time you called he would tell you that he was busy working with her.

Now, as said before, you weren’t the jealous time at all but seeing how much time he spent with her and how much you were neglected in the process really didn’t sit right with you. And the fact that you saw how well (maybe even too well) they got along with each other on shows didn’t help. You knew fully well that Hoseok wouldn’t cheat on you and you couldn’t help the jealousy that was growing inside of you. You thought to yourself that you only felt that way because you hadn’t seen nor talked to him in so long.

Even so, you didn’t want to let it show in front of your kids since you didn’t want them to think that there was anything wrong with their parents, so you continued to watch the shows and interviews with them every day suppressing the feeling and casting a fake smile on your face.

You thought you were doing a great job at faking it but your son was old enough to notice that there was something wrong with you and he was clever enough to figure out the reason after seeing your smile fall a little every time you saw Hobi laugh with his new friend. He also noticed your general mood deteriorate more and more every time his father didn’t answer your calls.

As he watched you one day try to call your husband once more and sigh when he didn’t pick up your son had enough. He picked up his own phone and opted for messaging you seeing as he knew his father wasn’t going to answer anyways.

You’re an asshole. Hope you know that.

Even though he felt bad for cursing out his father his anger was bigger.

As expected, his father didn’t didn’t respond right away, in fact he didn’t see the message until 3 hours later but as soon as he saw it his heart sank and he immediately called his son racking his brain about what he could have done for his son to suddenly have such a bad image of him.

The 13 year old answered the phone with an eye roll. “Oh so your phone does work. Good to know.”

“Buddy? You alright?” Was all Hoseok said, making the young boy roll his eyes yet again.

“You would know if you called more often… or as all.” Hobi was sure he heard a hint of sadness hiding behind all the sass he definitely inherited from you.

“I’m sorry, bud. I just have so much to do that I barely ever have any time on my own and when I do it’s already the middle of the night over there.” Excuses, excuses is what your son thought.

“Yeah because you’re always with that other woman.” Your son replied now letting his guards down and letting his sadness show. On the other end of the line Hoseok was shocked by his son’s words. His son didn’t think he was cheating on you, did he?

“W-What do you mean?” Hobi asked carefully.

“Every time mom calls you you say that you’re busy with her. You’re making mom sad And I don’t like seeing her like that.”

Hobi sighed, “ Listen to me, okay? I love your mother very very much and I would never even think of doing something that would make me lose her and you and your sister in the process. I didn’t realize I made it seem as if I was hurting your mother on purpose. I wasn’t.”

“Tell that to her then. She acts like there’s nothing wrong but I can see that she’s just faking.” Although still worried for his mom he was actually very glad to hear his father say that.

He was just like you and preferred to hide his feelings so he would never let it show but he was actually very scared that his parents would split up.

“I will, kid. Thanks for making me aware of it.” He was very proud and happy to know that his son was turning into a real man protecting his mother.

“I’ll call her now. I’ll talk to you and your sister later, okay? Love and miss you lots.” He added

“I love you too, dad. Come home soon. Oh and dad?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole.” Your son said bashfully, making his father laugh.

“It’s okay, but this better be the last time you talk to me like that.” Hobi answered semi-seriously.

“Yes, sir.” On that note they ended the call and Hobi didn’t miss a moment to call you.

RM (Kim Namjoon)

We all know that Namjoon is a very serious man when it comes to his work. I mean, he has to be, he is the leader of one of the most successful groups right now.

Off stage, Namjoon is also the best husband and father to your daughter. Always there for you two when you need it and when you don’t, the best support that you could ask for.

But with being the leader of BTS and of your family comes great responsibility, and as a result great stress. Between having to overview every schedule they have (and they have a lot), making sure everyone is Problem free and healthy both physically and mentally, making their songs, making sure everyone learns the songs and choreography and that the performances are perfect, playing the translator when they are overseas and having to take care or you and your 6 year old daughter there was not much time to work on his sanity. Don’t get me wrong, he loved doing all that, it was just… a bit much at times. Like now.

They had been on tour for 5 months now and they’re last break was too long ago to remember, meaning that Namjoon had been working non-stop for far too long. And he was already working on their next album that was supposed to come out soon after the tour, giving him extra work. He had no time to go visit the cities, no time to just hang out with the members and definitely no time to call you, and even though he was trying to not let it all get to him, it definitely was. And the fact that he had trouble with the song he was currently writing was not helping him very much.

In Korea, you were helping your daughter finalize the present she was making for her father for Father’s Day today.

She might be just 6 but she definitely had inherited Joon's incredible intelligence and creativity. That is why her present couldn’t be just a drawing of you three standing next to a house with a sun in the corner of the drawing.

She insisted on making an album full of pictures of her and her daddy with small notes and descriptions telling him why she loves him and her favorite memories of him.

She just started school so she couldn’t write very well but she still wanted to do it herself so right now you were just dictating her the words for the last note.

“All done mommy!” She exclaimed with a big toothless grin.

“Yay well done girlie! Shall we call daddy now and show him?”

Hearing your words, you saw her eyes light up. She didn’t waste a second before dashing to get your phone and coming back to where she left the album, making you giggle at her excitement.

You started the FaceTime call but went to stand outside of the frame right after. As mature as she wanted to act, your daughter was only 6 so you knew that Namjoon not making it to the ‘Bring you father to school day’ that her school was organizing for Father’s Day

As soon as she saw her father’s face she started beaming.

“Hi daddy!! Look what I ma-“ but her excitement was cut short by an annoyed voice.

“Y/D/N didn’t I tell you to stop taking people’s phones?” You were shocked by your husband's words and even more by his tone. Never has he ever spoken to her like that.

“But I-“ your daughter tried to explain herself but was cut off by her father once again.

“No buts young lady. You’re daddy’s busy, I can’t always talk when you want to. That’s why you should always wait for me to call or for your mother to call me. Now put the phone back where you found it.” And he ended the call.

You could see the tears forming in your daughter’s eyes as she kept on staring at the screen her usually loving father was just seconds ago.

Without a word you went over to where she was sitting and took her in your arms where she started sobbing.

You really didn’t know what was up with Namjoon. Usually even when he was majorly stressed he never talked like that. He was the most pacifist person you had ever seen and hated arguments. And seeing his little mini-me usually helped him destress.

It took you an hour to calm your daughter down and she finally fell asleep in your arms. You carried her into her room and put her in bed, careful not to wake her up.

With a heavy sigh you went back into the living room and retrieved your phone from the table. You took a picture of the album, sent it to your husband and wrote: Y/D/N made this for you. It’s a photo album with all the best memories she was with you. She was already upset enough that you can’t make it to “Bring Your Father To School Day” but you had to be pissy to her when she just wanted to show you her present? I know you probably are very stressed out because of everything and I understand it and I respect it. That’s why I refrain on calling you too often, but the one time I do, for Y/D/N sake btw, you react like that. That‘s really not cool, Namjoon.

Namjoon read the message you left him, and only then did it down on him how awful he was to your daughter and guilt started building in side of him at a rapid speed.

“Fuck.“

[kellykadesperate]

a lil teaser for the football fic with no name yet!

It’s pissing down. The umbrella he’s holding earns its forty quid by staying up right as the wind whacks against his back and pushes him further towards the pitch.

Robert looks up and hears a few Brighton fans laughing and joking, cheering about seagulls or something as they make their way out. Robert knows no Hotten fans are around, they’d be fools if they wanted to stay to hear the other team banging on about absolutely thrashing them on their own ground.

The result just so happens to be the icing on the already shit cake he’s got to eat for the next few months.

And he can’t quite believe it.

Robert moves his foot onto the pitch and watches as his shoe seeps into the sodden grass, sinks down into the mud further and further. That does it, it’s the cherry on top as he yanks out his phone and scowls down at Lawrence’s number, it takes all of two seconds for him to answer the call.

“Oh Robert, you’ve arrived then?”

“What sort of shit is this you’re playing at?”

And maybe, maybe it’s no way to speak to him but he does because right now he couldn’t give an absolute shit.

“What does that mean?”

“Hotten?” Robert spins around and stares up at the empty stands. “Hotten?” He shudders. “When you said a team’s interested in signing you for the season, that it’d be a good opportunity to get me fit again, I thought you meant West Ham or Wolves, not –”

“Hotten are a good team.”

Robert knows what that means, it’s means they’ve got heart and passion and Match Of The Day say they play brave football sometimes. It doesn’t mean they’re successful.

“Aren’t they bottom of the table?”

Lawrence says absolutely nothing for a second and then he clears his throat. “Not for much longer.”

Robert doesn’t know what to do, or what to say, because it’s all sounding like he’s their miracle worker and that definitely does something for his self-esteem, something that he needs after being on the sidelines for over a year.

For a second, the smallest second, he feels like a little boy wanting someone to say he’s special. He remembers being a lanky sixteen-year-old signing the contracts and having Lawrence tell him that he has a lot of potential to make it into the first team. He absolutely hates himself for it.

“What so … you think I can actually make a difference?”

Go on. Robert wants to say. Compliment me right now.

Lawrence is predictable, he says he should make a difference and Robert’s got all that weight pressed on his shoulders again.

“I didn’t agree to this.” Robert bites, slips back into himself. “I agreed to stretch my legs, have an opportunity outside of Leeds but this … it’s …”

It’s degrading. It’s taking a league champion and plunging him into a team that are lucky to still be amongst all the others. It’s telling everyone Robert’s career is over, that he’s not bounced back from his injury and he’ll never be who he was before it happened.

And it’s not like Robert doesn’t know that himself. It’s what keeps him up at night.

“Happening whether you like it or not.” Lawrence says. “I don’t think you know how lucky you are.”

“Lucky?” Robert knows he should be grateful about a lot of things going on in his life but how can he be in his career. “I was the best of the best and then I get kicked in the knee so hard I needed surgery. And now, now I’m not needed anymore, and now I’m standing on a pitch that looks like it’s quick sand and …”

Robert looks up and sees someone staring at him.

“If you would like to come with me.”

Robert wouldn’t actually. He hangs up by the phone and then stares down at the time. It’s nearly nine, the team’s probably gone by now and for some reason that makes his shoulders relax a little.

Robert walks with the woman in silence, she prattles on about the stadium, its history and the trophy cabinet. He passes it and doesn’t look back; it might as well be empty.                                              

“We’re really happy that you’ve decided to come and see us.” He finds out that the woman, Vanessa, is part of the medical team and she makes him feel a little important until he’s walking towards an office and being told to wait outside for a second.

Robert rolls his eyes, leans back against the wall and then spots Clive, his manager walking towards him. He shoots off the wall and shakes his head.

“Is this where you say there’s been a mistake or something?” Robert says. “As in you’ve told Lawrence where to go?”

Clive shakes his umbrella against the floor and runs a hand through his hair. “No.” He says. “Because it’s this or sitting up in the stands watching younger kids pass your club records. So suck it up.”

Robert bites his gum hard. “I could fire you; you know that?”

Clive scoffs, “Yeah? Try finding someone dumb enough to replace me.”

Robert scowls and then the door opens to reveal a very pink Paddy Kirk standing there looking like he’s going to be sick.

“Hello.” Paddy waves a hand out and Robert does his best not to roll his eyes. He knows about Paddy; he went viral last season for asking an interviewer to repeat a question three times because he couldn’t understand it. He’s hapless and yet somehow he stays around. “Um, come this way.”

Paddy tries to show him to the only empty seat in the room like he has to, and Robert sits down awkwardly. He’s staring at Pollard and the back of someone’s head until he turns and sees that it’s Aaron Dingle. He looks about as pissed as Robert feels and it relaxes Robert for a second in this really weird way until he realises that Aaron should be kissing his feet. He’s saving his club.

“Hi Robert, glad you could join us.” Pollard says, and then he brings his hands together and smiles. “We’re all glad you’re here.”

Robert could do without the pleasantries so he just nods.

“I hope I’m not treading on anyone’s toes.” Robert says after a few seconds of just staring at Dingle looking like he’s about to throw Pollard through the window.

“Oh no, nothing like that.” Pollard says. Only Aaron just has to scoff, pull his head into his hands and sighs. He’s acting like a kid who’s been told he can’t play outside even when his older brother can.

“So there is a problem?” Robert says, he stares right at Dingle as he speaks.

Aaron scowls. “We’re rival teams you know.” It’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth. It tells Robert all he needs to know.

Robert laughs.

“What?” Aaron wants to deck him already it seems.

“We’re hardly in the same league. Pun intended.” Robert has this smile on his face. Aaron looks like he wants to punch him.

Aaron only sits up straighter. He looks like he’s going to explode. “You ain’t being a hero here, let’s get that straight now.”

It’s Robert’s turn to scowl. “Did I dream that result you just got?”

“More than you’ve got recently.” Aaron blurts out and Robert can’t help but find his anger a little amusing.

Robert’s eyes flicker. “Is that right?”

Aaron nods his head so vigorously and then looks back at Pollard. “Surely if we need someone, we should get someone who’s actually fit enough to make a difference.”

“Aaron.” Paddy whispers.

Robert smiles. “No. Let him carry on, let him be the captain that watches his team lose 6-1 every week. It’s not my fault you couldn’t step up to lead this lot.”

“What did you just ...” Aaron stands up like he’s going to do something, his eyes are wide and blue, and he probably thinks his towering over Robert when in reality he isn’t. He looks like an idiot.

“Aaron.” Paddy stands too, shakes his head at Aaron and Clive starts speaking about how he won’t let Robert be undermined like this, by the likes of this football club.

Robert sits back, waits for Aaron to sit down again and then he looks at Pollard.

“I deserve some respect.”

“Of course you do. All my players do.” Pollard says, like a politician trying to appease the crowds.

Robert sits forward and then looks at the way Aaron is bouncing his leg again like some sort of caged animal or something. He knows about Aaron, the underdog, the hero of the hour, the down to earth lad from the small village with a big dream.

Robert knows that he’s good at what he does. It doesn’t mean anything now.

“Of course.” Clive says. “But if Aaron doesn’t show respect, than none of his players will.”

Aaron breathes in deeply, everyone hears it. Robert can’t help but think he’s the most dramatic person he’s ever met.

“Fine.” Aaron mutters. “I just ain’t keen on us becoming Sugden FC.”

“Could make a change from Dingle FC.” Robert shrugs his shoulders, it’s not really helpful but he can’t help himself.

Aaron scowls at him, if looks can kill and all that.

“You work around us, not us around you.” Aaron says, like he’s the one in charge of the demands made around here.

“We’ll make this work.” Paddy keeps nodding his head like if he says it over and over again it’ll actually happen.

“Why don’t I have someone give you a tour of the place whilst me and Clive talk business?” Pollard says.

Paddy shoots up to do it, stupid smile on his face and says he’ll lead the way. “Aaron can come and …”

Aaron’s already by the door. “I’m shattered, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says, and Robert tells himself it’s the wind that slams the door and not Aaron and his stupid self.

[crabsxdragons]

boyfriend kim mingyu bullet points.

ps. this is my first time writing in a bullet points format, i hope i did it right

food is the center of your relationship (5/9 of the pictures are basically him eating, not at all surprising)

your date always centers around food, whether it’d be lunch dates, dinner dates, snack dates, trying out new restaurants, late night snack dates, convenience store mukbang dates, and even cooking class dates

you would always sit on his right side, him on your left side

you find it so cute that he’s left handed

you would always have to roll up his sleeves during a meal because he gets so excited about food *basically a whole baby

you like watching him stuff food in his mouth, making his cheeks puff up like a hamster

he would pout when you teased him about it

desserts

a must after every date

you find out that both of you follow the motto “there is always room for dessert” during your first date and he immediately knew you were the one for him

again, during dessert, especially if it’s ice cream, you would have to roll up his sleeves, and wipe off the melted ice cream on his fingers, and sometimes lips and cheeks

he would steal licks of your ice cream when you’re not looking

or if he’s feeling experimental, would mix both of your ice cream flavors to create a new flavor

doesn’t always work out that well

speaking of food, cooking is basically a whole other type of date

although you are more on the baking side, you love to help him try out recipes, become his assistant in the kitchen, or simply helping him clean up

you always love what he cooks, especially knowing how much care and love he puts to it

the same thing if you’re baking, mingyu loves your baked goods, from cakes to muffins to desserts to anything basically

sometimes you’d receive a text in the middle of the day of him suggesting you to try out a recipe he found online

and you did try some of them, which made him very happy

with your limited cooking skills, you’d sometimes send him homemade lunch when he has practice, alongside some snacks for the other members cause you can’t forget about them

mingyu would beam in pride when the members praised your chocolate chip cookies, or banana muffins, or fruit cake or when they fought over who gets the last piece of egg tart you made

homemade cake and dinner is a must for special occasions, especially birthdays, you both go out to eat quite a lot so during these special occasions you both like to just stay at home and cook or bake together

mingyu’s birthday cake from year to year always changes depending on his request, from the classic chocolate cake to apple pie to that crepe cake which took hours to make, and even a stack of macarons cause he hinted that he wanted a macarons tower cake *yes you’ve made so many cakes for him, you’ve dated for that long, mingyu is a guy with commitment

food photos, a must, everywhere you eat, every meal you make at home, every successful or failed recipes

and speaking of pictures-he has a separate album on his phone only for your pictures, the selfies you sent him, candid pics he took of you, your pictures together, impromptu photoshoots he made you do when he really likes your outfit

and don’t get started on the videos, he records whenever he can, something for him to see when he misses you, or when you’re asleep but he wants to see you but he kinda doesn’t want to wake you up, also something to laugh at because there are some moments worth laughing at *over and over again, he never gets enough of it

that’s just the photos on his phoneyou can expect the same situation with his camera

the pictures he took are beautiful, and he always tries to capture you in the most natural setting, he absolutely loved taking candid pictures of you, close up shoots that showed the way your eyes lit up at the beach in front of you, or how the wind blows your hair softly

on the rare occasion that you get to be behind the camera instead of him, it’s his turn to be in every picture

sometimes he lets you use his camera, he loved the pictures you took, how you managed to capture everyday life details that others would sometimes miss, he loves nothing more than to see the world through your eyes

moving on to one of the obvious facts here, height difference

the boy is tall, like skyscraper talland you wonder if he would every stop growing taller because it seemed like everytime you see him he gets even taller

“stop it, you’re like a head taller than me”

which does comes with some pretty good perks

like when you can’t reach something from the top shelves, whether it be mugs in the kitchen, books in your favorite book store, that huge bag of chips at the convenience store, also very handy when it comes to changing lightbulbs

“why would you need a ladder when you have me ?”

he’s very smug about, and also lowkey dying from cuteness whenever he gets a reminder of how much shorter you are compared to him, it makes him want to squish you in a hug-

which he always does

hugs. from. mingyu. are. the. best.

just warm and comforting, sometimes he’ll lift you up and spin you around, sometimes he’ll kiss the top of your head, and rub your back, and tuck your head under his chin and you can just melt into his arms

back to the height topic

he likes to steal your books or phone when you were too focused that you’re not giving him enough attention

he would lift it above his head, completely out of your reach even if you tried your best to stand on your tippy toes

would most definitely laugh at your struggle while you give him the death glaresand he would say that you look like an angry bunny or a pissed off golden retriever puppy

which ultimately makes you roll your eyes at himnot to forget, you are also his portable arm rest

likes to mess with you by putting his huge arms on your shoulder, or on your head, purposely messing up your hair

but seriously, mingyu sometimes forgets the fact that he’s a giant and that he could easily crush you, so there were occasions when he would lean on you and you’d lose balance which resulted in both of you on the floor

yes, that happened

moving on

family

the most important thing for him and you

he took you to meet his family after a couple of dates because he’s been telling his mom about you and now she wants to meet you

his mom is very very nice, showing her affection by making you eat more (like how any mom would), also thanking you for taking care of mingyu because according to his mom, he looks so much healthier and happier now

after the first meeting with his family, his mom suddenly became your mom too, especially after mingyu gave her your number

would sometimes call you during lunch time to remind you to eat, ask you how you are doing, in general just the sweetest and loveliest person ever (not much of a surprise since we all know how sweet her son is), you think you might cry because she’s so caring

his mom would also send you kimchi when she has extras

correction, she purposely made more than usual so she can send you some too

which you gratefully accept after thanking her for a million times, then sending her back one of your baked goods

which she loves

and would not stop talking about it because she knows that you can bake but she was not expecting it to be absolutely great

mingyu loves seeing your relationship with his mom, and kinda jealous too because whenever he’s out of town for tour or promotions, you get to hangout with his mom, which he is very jealous about, but also he couldn’t help but smile looking at the pictures that you and his mom took together

but then you started hanging out with his sister too, and now you have a partner to tease him, which he doesn’t approve of because it seemed like his family likes you more than him now

especially since his sister has an ally now, and it’s 2 vs 1 with you and his sister against him

when you were hanging out one day in your place, his mom called you to ask if you’ve eaten yet

“eomma, how can you call y/n but not reply to the text i sent you last night”

you tried so hard to not laugh at his facial expression when his mom teased him by saying that you are her favorite child now

you spent the rest of the day laughing at him whenever he grumbled under his breath “i can’t believe my mom manages to call you, but not reply to her own son’s text message”

the only way to make him stop pouting-

hugs

are we not surprised herethis boy is sometimes so random, like that time when you were eating pasta, and he suddenly wanted to reenact that scene from the movie lady and the tramp

safe to say that you got sauce all over both of your shirts, and well... a few kisses too

his kisses are always so sweet, they’re the type that makes your heart squeeze and your toes curl

he loves to surprise you with light kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your hand, your hair, he just couldn’t help it sometimes

mostly they’re innocent, and full of love

unless he’s feeling a bit more passionate, he’ll pull you in for a longer kiss, hands resting on your cheek as his thumb gently brushed your skin, his other hand would either be on your waist, or your back, holding you so close to him

mingyu likes to take it slow, he likes to savor the moment, he doesn’t want it to end, so his lips would move slowly against yours, sometimes he would smile or let out a few giggles, making you giggle too

basically it’s pretty much light and playful with him, but still very meaningful

let’s just say that he always finds the most random times to kiss you, but always when it’s just the two of you, because your relationship isn’t actually something that the public knows

speaking of relationships, only his members, family and managers knows about you, and you both would like to keep it that way for as long as possible

you didn’t mind it at all, since you’re a very much private person yourself, so you have no problem with keeping it on the low

on the rare occasions that you both get to go out for your dates, he would always drive you somewhere a bit further away from the city

or somewhere private, with less to no people, the beach, a rooftop, restaurants that serves tiny servings of food that costs more that your meal weekly (which you didn’t mind, but you reminded mingyu to never spend too much on you)

did he ever listen ? yes, you guessed it right. never.

sometimes both of your schedules meant that you don’t get to see each other for weeks, even with being in the same city

but he’ll make it up to you by taking you away for the weekend, to a small town by the beach where you take long walks along the coastline, and eat dinner with sunsets

you love road trips like this, he’d pick you up, then you would jam out to songs on the way, stop by a rest area for brunch, and bought more snacks to accompany you for the rest of the trip

mingyu knows you love the ocean so much, so he would take you to the beach to watch the sun set, take unlimited amount of photos, pull you in for a hug and smother your face with kisses

then you’d have dinner accompanied by your laughter and conversations about anything

“thank you, for taking me here”

he’s shook his head, “no, this is my thank you, cause you’ve put up with being with someone like me”

his eyes would turn sad as he remembered how rarely you both met because of his schedules, “i’m sorry i’m not the best partner, we barely see each other”

at this, you would hold his hand and made him look at you, “hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about, i’m okay with this, it doesn’t matter if we couldn’t meet for months because that’s your career, your dream, just like i have mine, you have yours too, right ?”

“i know, but i mean- i’ve seen your friends and their partners, you know those boyfriends who would pick them up after class, who’d hold their hand as they walk down the street, take them to movies, not having to hide and be cautious all the time-“

“gyu, what makes you think i cared about those things ? i’m completely fine with having a boyfriend who still makes time to hang out at my place after a long day of practice, someone who sends me good luck videos when he’s halfway around the world living his dreams, someone who trusts me enough to let me be the first one to know about their comebacks and projects-“

and from the way you spoke to him with that shine in your eyes, he couldn’t help but lean closer and pull you in for a short kiss, pausing whatever you have to say

“i love you, thank you for putting up with me”

[ylizam]

is WIP amnesty still a thing?

anyway, here is a scene from the Beverly/Will/Deanna thing I spent way too much time thinking about in the existential sense of, “hmm, what if Beverly shows up right after Picard left” and “how do we deal with Picard-era JLP not being quite right?” and “oh of course they’ve been a long-term long-distance thing and Will bakes comfort foods and Deanna understands Beverly in a way that makes Beverly Uncomfortable sometimes and it’s both soft and also hard-as-in-difficult and prickly but also important and loving and when Beverly goes back to her ship to save the galaxy from pandemics and whatnot she thinks back to their arms as home,” and not enough time actually figuring any sort of plot or writing anything god forbid. so! 

“You just missed him, you know.” Deanna smiles when she says it, though, gentle and not actually chiding. Beverly drops her bag on the ground. Steps into Deanna’s open arms for a very necessary hug.

“I know,” Beverly says, when she finally settles into the safety of Deanna’s arms. “Laris called to let me know he’d left on some sort of epic quest, and to shoot him for her if I saw him. And then Will warned me he was actually here. Although I’m still not entirely sure whether he was trying to tell me to take my time or to push warp nine.”

“Neither,” Deanna says. She releases Beverly, but mostly so she can make sure to maintain eye contact. “Or both. Either. I think Will was mostly telling you to do what you needed to do, and that we’d support you in that choice, in that Will way of his.”

Beverly lifts her bag and hitches it on her shoulder. “Well, in the end, Cardassia made the decision for me. We got stuck dealing with another outbreak in Lakarian City, and there was a mandatory quarantine period even I couldn’t get us out of.”

“Jean-Luc, he’s,” Deanna says.

“I know.” Beverly may not be his treating physician anymore, may barely even merit the title of friend these days—more his fault than hers this go-around, but they’ve both had their turns at fucking things up—but she’s seen his medical records recently enough to know that his brain’s a ticking time bomb.

“I think he’s enjoying this opportunity for one last great adventure.” Deanna is careful, gentle, kind to everyone involved in this mess; she’s a fierce protector to all of them, and Beverly chafes at the feeling that Deanna’s trying to handle her. To handle them. 

“I’m glad,” Beverly snaps. 

Deanna grasps Beverly’s empty hand. “You’ve every right to be angry with him,” she says.

“Oh, I am. But”—and how to explain this? She doesn’t even fully understand it herself, and it’s her own damned brain—“I’d rather he go out in a blaze of glory than continue to hide himself away in France waiting to die. Although I think he really hurt Laris when he left; he can be so unthinkingly callous when he has a mission to plan.”

She just wishes he’d thought to say goodbye to her as part of his grand farewell tour. (Even a message, a letter, something left with Will and Deanna or sent through subspace to her ship. She’s not difficult to find, and they’d been so close, for such a large part of her life. For him to head off to tilt at one last windmill, to run toward certain death, without a word? And the worst of it is that he probably didn’t mean to hurt her. To hurt any of them. He had a quest, after all.)

Deanna doesn’t respond (to either her words or her obvious emotional turmoil). They make their way through the woods; Beverly can’t hear her, can’t see her through the leaves and foliage, but she can feel the comforting presence of Kestra following behind them, probably dragging some sort of dead animal with her for dinner.

 “How’s Will taking it?” Beverly asks. 

“About as well as you are,” Deanna answers. “Or I am. He’s Jean-Luc, and he’s going off to fight some sort of cosmic evil without any of us at his back, all while—“

“—dying,” Beverly says. Fuck. 

“Yes.” Deanna stops then, still about another ten minutes from the house, and turns back to Beverly. “With a new crew and a new mission.”

“I am so angry at him, Deanna.” She kicks at a cluster of stones. Takes no small amount of pleasure at the sound of the cracking against one another. And then it hits her: “Shit, do you know if he’s told anyone else—Worf, Geordi, anyone?—or are they going to find out when the obituary hits the news?”

“He didn’t say,” Deanna says. “I only know he didn’t tell you because you’ve told me as much.”

“I’ll call them—“

“We’ll call them,” Deanna says. “After dinner, after a few drinks, maybe some of the chocolate cake Will baked last night.”

“I could kill him myself.” 

“No, you couldn’t.” 

Beverly feels like her entire body deflates. The air punched out of her. 

“I hate that you know that,” she says. She reaches for Deanna this time, steps close enough to lean down and press a soft kiss to her mouth. “That you know me well enough to know that I’m mostly bark.”

“Ah,” Deanna says. She kisses Beverly once, twice, quickly, and then takes her hand again. “But when you do bite, it is always deadly.”

Beverly pulls her back. This time the kiss is anything but short, anything but gentle. Her hands gravitate to Deanna’s hair, to the back of her head, to her ears and neck and back to her hair. She nips at Deanna’s lower lip. 

“Ew,” Kestra says. Beverly jumps back, thinks Kestra’s voice is coming from above. She looks around, but can’t see anything but nature. She’d think she was imagining it, but then Kestra adds, “I’m right here.”

And then she jumps down in front of them. An animal Beverly doesn’t recognize is strung up in what she assumes is Kestra’s standard hunting gear, her bow and arrows in a quiver on her back. 

“Is that for dinner?” Beverly asks. 

“Nah,” Kestra says. “We’ll cure it, make bacon from it.”

“Oh.”

“It’s better that way,” Kestra says. “It’s too tough otherwise.”

“I stand corrected then,” Beverly says. 

She feels a little judged, but she’s never pretended that a detailed knowledge of the local flora and fauna of Nepenthe are a particular strength of hers. General survival, yes; the edible plant life on any number of Federation worlds, also yes. But she’s never spent more than a few months here at a time, and at first, well. There was Thad. 

She’d been so cocky. So sure that, given the opportunity, she’d be able to find a cure that didn’t require artificial life. And she could therefore tell Kestra which barks make a tea so noxious that everyone in a five kilometer radius would feel dizzy, faint, and that there are fungi on the eastern shore of the lake that could stave off nausea. But food, no, that had been Will’s particular interest: he’d cook, and bake, and feed them all in the panicked hope (and growing despair) that they might be able to save his son.

“Come on,” Deanna says, interrupting her spiraling guilt. “Will’s probably starting to worry.”

“Right,” Beverly says. 

Kestra rolls her eyes, but Beverly thinks she’s secretly a little pleased about her father’s very obvious love. She darts ahead of them—so fast, so young, so alive.

“Come on,” she calls back, “I smell pizza!”

[kingstylesdaily]

Stevie Nicks Answers All Our Questions About Harry Styles

Of all the disciples to worship at the altar of Stevie Nicks, none have managed to capture the attention of rock’s reigning priestess quite like Harry Styles.

The 26-year-old rocker (who this week received three Grammy nominations) is the Gucci-clad poster boy carrying the torch for a bygone era of music history that the Fleetwood Mac frontwoman helped crystallize. Styles recently cited the group’s 1977 (and still charting) classic “Dreams” as one of the first songs he learned the words to growing up. Their friendship began in 2015 after the former One Direction member presented his idol with a hand-piped birthday cake after a Fleetwood Mac gig in London. (“Glad she liked carrot cake,” he later said.) The years since have seen the duo’s mutual affection blossom into one of pop culture’s most cherished bondings.

Last year, when Styles inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he proclaimed the 72-year-old “everything you’ve ever wanted in a lady, a lover, in a friend.” Nicks has gushed about him in interviews as everything from “the son she never had” to her “love child” with bandmate Mick Fleetwood. Styles earned her official seal of approval after covering “The Chain” every night of his first solo tour in support of a record that sounds closer to Crosby, Stills & Nash than anything he released under his prior band.

“Harry could’ve lost a lot of fans, but he didn’t,” Nicks recently told Vogue over the phone. “I’m so proud of him because he took a risk and didn’t go the One Direction route. He loves One Direction, I love One Direction, and a gazillion other people do too, but Harry didn’t wanna go the pop route. He wanted straight-up rock and roll circa 1975.”  

Nicks has been embracing some of the busiest years of her dual careers as both Fleetwood Mac frontwoman and solo sorceress—and doing so amid a global pandemic. Since she last performed with Styles at the Forum for his Fine Line release show in December, she’s released a 24 Karat Gold concert film and “Show Them the Way,” her politically minded single and first piece of original music in six years. After Miley Cyrus asked for Nicks’s blessing before releasing her “Edge of Seventeen”–tinged “Midnight Sky,” the two joined forces for an exhilarating new mash-up titled “Edge of Midnight.”

In honor of Styles making history as the magazine’s first solo cover boy, Nicks caught up with Vogue to answer all our questions about their cosmic connection. Currently beachside with her quarantine bubble in Hawaii, she’s been doing what one would expect Stevie Nicks to be up to during a pandemic: writing new music, dancing around her house to “Watermelon Sugar,” and “casting little spells.” As befitting rock’s foremost storyteller, our intended 30-minute chat turned into a two-hour confessional about her love of Styles, working with Cyrus for the first time, joining Fleetwood Mac, the president-elect Joe Biden, the Met Gala, betta fish funerals, and much more.

ksd note: edited to only include Q&A about Stevie and Harry!

Did you get a chance to look through Harry’s cover story yet?  

Right before I called you, I sat here and looked at all the pictures on my new iPad. What can I say? That’s my Harry. I think the thing that’s most wonderful about him—and I’ve told him this, and sometimes I think he takes it the wrong way—is that he’s such a kooky guy. He’s the type of person you’d wanna live next door to. He’d look out the window, see you having a hard time planting flowers, and rush out asking, “Can I help you with those roses?” “Sure, but you are Harry Styles, right?” That’s who he is.

I really only know him to a certain extent, but I have gotten to experience some big moments in his life, like when he released his first solo record at the Troubadour. I always think of Tom Petty saying, “So, you wanna be a rock star or you wanna be a pop star?” It’s two completely different things, and he really could have gone pop like his friend Zayn [Malik]. I was sorry that Zayn didn’t keep going more because I thought he was really good. But he took the pop route, which I think was right for him. Harry could’ve lost a lot of fans doing rock and roll, but he didn’t. Harry did a long tour with that first record and said, “I’m a different person now. I have a full-on rock band, and this is what I’m gonna do.” With many of my records, I’ll stuff down peoples’ throats until they like it, and that’s exactly what he did. Then he went away and wrote Fine Line, one of my favorite records.

What were your immediate thoughts listening to Fine Line for the first time?

Me and four of my friends sat with Harry in his living room  in London and listened to it a few times before it came out. But it wasn’t really Fine Line yet. The first time we listened to it, nobody really said anything. The second time everyone started to go, “I think this song is great, but it should be second in the sequence.” By the third listen, it was five girls screaming, “Well, Harry really now, I think you need to take these four that are called Harry Songs and do this and that—” while he’s sinking in his reclining chair thinking, Are these women ever gonna leave? Thanks for your opinions, but oh, my God, stop already.  

What changed when you heard the record in it’s finished form?

This record means a lot to me. When it was all put together, I listened and said, “Oh, my god, the Beatles live.” A whole lot of people live in these songs. Fleetwood Mac lives there. I live there. When I listen to “Fine Line,” I hear melodies that would’ve worked on “A Day in the Life. “It has that same kind of complexity. I think the Beatles would’ve thought, Here we’ve influenced a young man who took some incredible things from us and made them his own years and years later.

Earlier this year you posted a message saying that Fine Line is Harry’s Rumours. Can you elaborate on what you meant by that?

When Harry asked me to do “Landslide” with him at the Forum, I asked why, and he said, “Because I want you to be there. You were there for my first night at the Troubadour for the first record.” That night I wrote him a letter that said, “This is your Rumours so you have to really respect it and adore it because these kinds of records sometimes don’t ever come again.” Fleetwood Mac went on to make many great records, but people would bet their life on the fact that Rumours was the one. And this might just be the one for Harry. We were all kind of the same age when we made Rumours. I was 28, and Lindsey [Buckingham] was 27. I actually don’t even know how old Harry is—he’s that timeless to me.

Do you have a personal favorite of his songs?

Every one represents a different thing to me. “Sunflower” is such a great little song. He loves to do crazy videos, and one time I called him and said, “I have an idea. You’re gonna be a bee, and the sunflower would be your girlfriend, and you guys would get married and live in a beehive with your little bee children. You’d sing the lyrics ‘kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor duh duh duh’ and show this entire bee relationship.” 

What did he think of that pitch?

When I finished, the other end of the phone was silent. I said, “No, really, think about it. It’ll be fantastical like a Francis Ford Coppola movie.” He’s like, “Yeah, okay...” [laughs]. I also love the “Adore You” video with the little fish because I have my own special relationships with fish.

In what sense?

I always have two beta fish, but they have to be separated otherwise they’ll kill each other. I stick my finger into their aquarium, and the blue one will swim around my hand like a little dolphin. When my fish get old and suddenly die, I have funerals for them in my backyard where I play Celine Dion. I have them filmed, and everything [laughs]. It’s too much, but I thankfully haven’t had any recent fish deaths. I haven’t even been able to sit down and show Harry the videos of my little fish, so when I saw the “Adore You” video, I couldn’t believe it.

Why is it important for you to foster these relationships with younger artists like Harry who’ve been so openly influenced by you?

I’m inspired by them. I’m inspired that Miley wants to make music with me. I’m inspired that the Haim girls are my biggest fans—and I theirs. A lot of these kids are making the amazing records I’ve been waiting for them to make. I’m not like other 72-year-olds. I listen to current music because I want to be current. When people find out how old I am versus the music I’m listening to, they think it doesn’t gel at all. I’ve been collecting musical knowledge since I was in the fourth grade listening to the singles my grandfather used to bring home. I listened to Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers until the sixth grade when R&B radio became Top 40. I said goodbye country and hello R&B, so it’s not like I’m ever stuck on one thing. What I love about Harry is that he’s very old school but still modern. And that’s kinda like me.

You both also transitioned from massive groups to equally massive solo careers rather seamlessly.

When I decided I wanted to be a solo artist, I’d only been in Fleetwood Mac for a few years. I tried to figure out a way to do it gracefully because I didn’t wanna break up the band. I just wanted to sit at my piano and write poetry. After we did a record and a really long tour, the band scurried off to different parts of the world while I’d just be home writing songs for a year and a half. What did they care what I did while they were all on vacation? I’ve always said all the way through these two careers I’ve had: If you’re in a band first, never break it up.

Do you think One Direction would ever reunite?

I think it’s a good idea. For all we know, One Direction is completely broken up forever. But I think those guys are friends, and five or ten years down the road, they could all go, “You know what, wouldn’t it be really fun to do a One Direction tour?” Because that’s what people do. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did reunite at some point just because they can. And because it would just be fun. Harry is the kind of person who would never stomp on that idea. He would never say, [imitates posh English accent] “Never! I would never do that again!” Because why not just keep the door open?

Was there any particular detail or passage in Harry’s cover story that stuck out to you?

According to this article, he can get in a car with his friend to drive all over Europe then drive back by himself. I stopped driving in 1978 because my driver’s license expired and I’d already made a lot of money. I very smartly thought, “You know what, if someone even hits you and it’s not even your fault but you’re a little drunk, you are done. You’re finished, and the fortune that you’ve made is gone, so why should you drive anyway?” By then me and Christine were very cloistered, but Harry’s able to live a freer life because he’s a guy. He’s like Mick. He has a free life.

Would you say that you don’t?

I’m only comparing us in the way that Harry goes off to the Bahamas to work on songs, then flies back to L.A., then London, then Italy—I can’t do that. I can’t do that by myself. He’s able to do whatever he wants by himself, and it’s a whole different way of life. Being that Harry is a guy, he’s able to be a loner more than I am. As a woman, I’m not free to do all that. Even when I was his age, I couldn’t just get off anywhere I wanted. When we were on the road, Christine and I didn’t have a clue in the world what the boys did. We went to our rooms with security guys standing outside. It’s not like we ever escaped to go club-hopping in downtown Manhattan. We never got to live that life, so freedom as Harry knows it is very different than it’s been for me.

Did you ever have any figure in your life who provided some sense of mentorship the way you have to artists like Harry?

I didn’t really have anyone. If I had any guiding force at all, it probably would’ve been Christine McVie because she was five years older than me. And five years is five years, you know? Chris was friends with Eric Clapton and knew all the famous musicians in London. She’d married John [McVie] and done a bunch of records with Fleetwood Mac before I came along, so she’d been in the music business for a long time. I was breaking up with Lindsey when she was breaking up with John. She was my therapist and my go-to person for just about everything. We had each other to get through that really difficult situation where no one was gonna quit the band. Christine and I kept the whole thing together by telling the three men, “You quit because we’re not stopping” Thank God I had her, but on the other side of that, thank God she had me. We really were a force of nature.

** I’m curious to what extent fashion plays a role in your and Harry’s relationship. Have you** gifted him any accessories that were significant to you?

I actually gave him a ring at the Forum thing. It’s very masculine and has a pink stone in it. I told him it was a pink diamond, but it really isn’t. It would’ve cost $5 million. It was mine, and I really loved it, but I thought, This should be for Harry. You can see it on his hands in the “Falling” video where he’s playing the piano. If Harry and I were in a band together, we’d be trading all kinds of crazy stuff.

What are your thoughts on him being the first solo male cover in Vogue’s history?

It makes me feel so inspired. I’m extremely jealous he’s on the cover of Vogue because I’m 72 years old and have wanted to be on the cover my whole life. I’m such a magazine hag, so I’m incredibly jealous of Harry, but I’ll get over it. As far as all the crazy things he’s wearing, you do whatever you have to do to be on the cover of Vogue. I’m very proud of him, and I think it’s great that there’s a man on the cover…but I should’ve been in the corner off in the distance [laughs]. Did you know I’ve never been to the Met Gala?

We would be honored to have you at the next gala and every one after that. I’m putting this in the article to make sure it’s in the public record.

As Mick Jagger says, “We still have our freedom, but we don’t have much time.” I would like to be not much older than I am now so I can wear a fantastic outfit and entertain everybody. It’s a dream of mine, and most of my dreams have come true, but I need to not be 90 when it happens.

Harry and you could perform together.

We wouldn’t even have to rehearse. We’ve got a couple of duets that are really great. We do “Landslide” and “Two Ghosts” together really well. We actually have five or six terrific acoustic numbers that we could do at the drop of a hat.

You hinted earlier this year that there might be a role for Harry in the miniseries based on the stories of Rhiannon. Is there any update there?

This is probably the third-biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life after Fleetwood Mac and my solo career. There’s a lot to be done in the movie business before I can start riding my horses across the mountains of Wales. I’ve signed with a movie company—I’m not gonna tell you who—and we just signed a writer. I’m not gonna tell you who that is either, but there’s an amazing part for Harry. My favorite character in the series is the only man who goes through all four books. He’s a magician who doesn’t wanna be king, and I think Harry would just be so perfect.

Have you and Harry discussed collaborating on any future music together?

We’re open to making music together because we’ve been very successful when we go onstage just to do one song. I would love to be in a band with Harry, but even if I never saw him in person again, he’s made a record that breaks my heart in a million places like Fine Line. As far as music goes, there’s plenty of fun things that he and I could do. We can just reach out to each other and do it. I’m always ready to slip back into those high-heel black suede boots and become my alter ego.

via Vogue.com

[hlupdate]

Of all the disciples to worship at the altar of Stevie Nicks, none have managed to capture the attention of rock's reigning priestess quite like Harry Styles.

The 26-year old rocker (who this week received three Grammy nominations) is the Gucci-clad poster-boy carrying the torch for a bygone era of music history that the Fleetwood Mac front-woman helped crystallize. Styles recently cited the group's 1977 (and still charting) classic “Dreams” as one of the first songs he learned the words to growing up. Their friendship began in 2015 after the former One Direction member presented his idol with a hand-piped birthday cake after a Fleetwood Mac gig in London. (“Glad she liked carrot cake,” he later said.) The years since have seen the duo's mutual affection blossom into one of pop culture‘s most cherished bondings.

Last year, when Styles inducted Nicks into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, he proclaimed the 72-year old “everything you’ve ever wanted in a lady, a lover, in a friend.” Nicks has gushed about him in interviews as everything from “the son she never had” to the “love child” of her and bandmate Mick Fleetwood. Styles earned her official seal of approval after covering “The Chain” every night of his first solo tour in support of a record that sounds closer to Crosby, Stills & Nash than anything he released under his prior band.

“Harry could've lost a lot of fans but he didn't. I’m so proud of him because he took a risk and didn’t go the One Direction route," Nicks recently told Vogue over the phone. "He loves One Direction, I love One Direction, and a gazillion other people do too, but Harry didn't wanna go the pop route. He wanted straight-up rock-and-roll circa 1975.”

Nicks has been embracing some of the busiest years of her dual careers as both Fleetwood Mac front-woman and solo sorceress—and doing so in the midst of a global pandemic. Since she last performed with Styles at the Forum for his Fine Line release show in December, she’s released a 24 Karat Gold concert film and “Show Them the Way,” her politically-minded single and first piece of original music in six years. After Miley Cyrus asked for Nicks's blessing before releasing her “Edge of Seventeen”-tinged “Midnight Sky,” the two joined forces for an exhilarating new mash-up titled “Edge of Midnight."

In honor of Styles making history as the magazine’s first solo cover-boy, Nicks caught up with Vogue to answer all our questions about their cosmic connection. Currently beachside with her quarantine bubble in Hawaii, she’s been doing what one would expect Stevie Nicks to be up to during a pandemic: writing new music, dancing around her house to “Watermelon Sugar“ and “casting little spells.” As befitting rock’s foremost storyteller, our intended 30-minute chat turned into a two-hour confessional about her love of Styles, working with Cyrus for the first time, joining Fleetwood Mac, the president-elect Joe Biden, the Met Gala, betta fish funerals, and much more.

Did you get a chance to look through Harry's cover story yet?  

Right before I called you I sat here and looked at all the pictures on my new iPad. What can I say? That's my Harry. I think the thing that’s most wonderful about him—and I've told him this and sometimes I think he takes it the wrong way—is that he’s such a kooky guy. He’s the type of person you'd wanna live next door to. He’d look out the window, see you having a hard time planting flowers and rush out asking "Can I help you with those roses?" "Sure but you are Harry Styles, right?" That's who he is.

I really only know him to a certain extent but I have gotten to experience some big moments in his life like when he released his first solo record at the Troubadour. I always think of Tom Petty saying "So you wanna be a rock star or you wanna be a pop star?" It's two completely different things and he really could have gone pop like his friend Zayn [Malik]. I was sorry that Zayn didn't keep going more because I thought he was really good. But he took the pop route, which I think was right for him. Harry could've lost a lot of fans doing rock-and-roll but he didn't. Harry did a long tour with that first record and said “I'm a different person now. I have a full-on rock band and this is what I'm gonna do.” With many of my records I’ll stuff down peoples' throats until they like it and that's exactly what he did. Then he went away and wrote Fine Line, one of my favorite records.

What were your immediate thoughts listening to Fine Line for the first time?

Me and four of my friends sat with Harry in his living room  in London and listened to it a few times before it came out. But it wasn't really Fine Line yet. The first time we listened to it nobody really said anything. The second time everyone started to go "I think this song is great but it should be second in the sequence." By the third listen it was five girls screaming "Well Harry really now, I think you need to take these four that are called "Harry Songs" and do this and that—” while he’s sinking in his reclining chair thinking "Are these women ever gonna leave? Thanks for your opinions but oh my god stop already."

What changed when you heard the record in it’s finished form?

This record means a lot to me. When it was all put together I listened and said "Oh my god, The Beatles live." A whole lot of people live in these songs. Fleetwood Mac lives there. I live there. When I listen to "Fine Line” I hear melodies that would've worked on “A Day in the Life.“ It has that same kind of complexity. I think the Beatles would've thought “Here we’ve influenced a young man who took some incredible things from us and made them his own years and years later.”

Earlier this year you posted a message saying that Fine Line is Harry’s Rumours. Can you elaborate on what you meant by that?

When Harry asked me to do "Landslide" with him at the Forum I asked why and he said "Because I want you to be there. You were there for my first night at the Troubadour for the first record.” That night I wrote him a letter that said “This is your Rumours so you have to really respect it and adore it because these kinds of records sometimes don't ever come again.” Fleetwood Mac went on to make many great records but people would bet their life on the fact that Rumours was the one. And this might just be the one for Harry. We were all kind of the same age when we made Rumours. I was 28 and Lindsey was 27. I actually don't even know how old Harry is—he's that timeless to me.

Do you have a personal favorite of his songs?

Every one represents a different thing to me. “Sunflower” is such a great little song. He loves to do crazy videos and one time I called him and said “I have an idea. You're gonna be a bee and the sunflower would be your girlfriend, and you guys would get married and live in a beehive with your little bee children. You’d sing the lyrics “kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor duh duh duh” and show this entire bee relationship.”

What did he think of that pitch?

When I finished the other end of the phone was silent. I said "No really, think about it. It’ll be fantastical like a Francis Ford Coppola movie.” He’s like “Yeah, okay...” (laughs). I also love the "Adore You” video with the little fish because I have my own special relationships with fish.

In what sense?

I always have two betta fish but they have to be separated otherwise they'll kill each other. I stick my finger into their aquarium and the blue one will swim around my hand like a little dolphin. When my fish get old and suddenly die I have funerals for them in my backyard where I play Celine Dion. I have them filmed and everything (laughs). It’s too much but I thankfully haven’t had any recent fish deaths. I haven't even been able to sit down and show Harry the videos of my little fish so when I saw the “Adore You” video I couldn’t believe it.

Why is it important for you to foster these relationships with younger artists like Harry who’ve been so openly influenced by you?

I'm inspired by them. I'm inspired that Miley wants to make music with me. I’m inspired that the Haim girls are my biggest fans—and I theirs. A lot of these kids are making the amazing records I’ve been waiting for them to make. I’m not like other 72-year olds. I listen to current music because I want to be current. When people find out how old I am versus the music I'm listening to they think it doesn't gel at all. I’ve been collecting musical knowledge since I was in the fourth grade listening to the singles my grandfather used to bring home. I listened to Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers until the sixth grade when R&B radio became Top 40. I said goodbye country and hello R&B, so it’s not like I'm ever stuck on one thing. What I love about Harry is that he's very old-school but still modern. And that's kinda like me.

You both also transitioned from massive groups to equally massive solo careers rather seamlessly.

When I decided I wanted to be a solo artist I'd only been in Fleetwood Mac for a few years. I tried to figure out a way to do it gracefully because I didn’t wanna break up the band. I just wanted to sit at my piano and write poetry. After we did a record and a really long tour the band scurried off to different parts of the world while I’d just be home writing songs for a year and a half. What did they care what I did while they were all on vacation? I’ve always said all the way through these two careers I've had: if you're in a band first, never break it up.

I know Beyoncé because I spent a day with Destiny’s Child making the “Bootylicious” video. I owe them a debt of gratitude because that’s the one time I ever got to pretend I played rock-and-roll guitar! But when Beyoncé made the decision to be a solo artist she did not see herself going back to Destiny's Child every couple of years. And that's a perfectly acceptable decision because sometimes that's what people wanna do. I, on the other hand, said why not have the ability to go back to Fleetwood Mac whenever I want? Being a Gemini I get bored really easily, so being able to have those two careers was great.

Do you think One Direction would ever reunite?

I think it's a good idea. For all we know, One Direction is completely broken up forever. But I think those guys are friends and five or ten years down the road they could all go "You know what, wouldn't it be really fun to do a One Direction tour?" Because that's what people do. I wouldn't be surprised if they did reunite at some point just because they can. And because it would just be fun. Harry is the kind of person who would never stomp on that idea. He would never say (imitates posh English accent) "Never! I would never do that again!" Because why not just keep the door open?

Was there any particular detail or passage in Harry’s cover story that stuck out to you?

According to this article he can get in a car with his friend to drive all over Europe then drive back by himself. I stopped driving in 1978 because my driver's license expired and I'd already made a lot of money. I very smartly thought "You know what, if someone even hits you and it's not even your fault but you're a little drunk, you are done. You're finished and the fortune that you've made is gone, so why should you drive anyway?” By then me and Christine were very cloistered, but Harry's able to live a freer life because he's a guy. He's like Mick. He has a free life.

Would you say that you don’t?

I'm only comparing us in the way that Harry goes off to the Bahamas to work on songs then flies back to LA then London then Italy—I can't do that. I can't do that by myself. He's able to do whatever he wants by himself and it's a whole different way of life. Being that Harry is a guy, he's able to be a loner more than I am. As a woman I'm not free to do all that. Even when I was his age I couldn't just get off anywhere I wanted. When we were on the road Christine and I didn't have a clue in the world what the boys did. We went to our rooms with security guys standing outside. It's not like we ever escaped to go club-hopping in downtown Manhattan. We never got to live that life so freedom as Harry knows it is very different than it’s been for me.

Did you ever have any figure in your life who provided some sense of mentorship the way you have to artists like Harry?

I didn't really have anyone. If I had any guiding force at all it probably would've been Christine McVie because she was five years older than me. And five years is five years, you know? Chris was friends with Eric Clapton and knew all the famous musicians in London. She’d married John [McVie] and done a bunch of records with Fleetwood Mac before I came along so she'd been in the music business for a long time. I was breaking up with Lindsey when she was breaking up with John. She was my therapist and my go-to person for just about everything. We had each other to get through that really difficult situation where no one was gonna quit the band. Christine and I kept the whole thing together by telling the three men "You quit because we're not stopping” Thank god I had her, but I think on the other side of that thank god she had me. We really were a force of nature.

I’m curious to what extent fashion plays a role in your and Harry’s relationship. Have you gifted him any accessories that were significant to you?

I actually gave him a ring at the Forum thing. It’s very masculine and has a pink stone in it. I told him it was a pink diamond but it really isn't, it would've cost $5 million. It was mine and I really loved it but I thought "This should be for Harry.” You can see it on his hands in the "Falling" video where he’s playing the piano. If Harry and I were in a band together we’d be trading all kinds of crazy stuff.

How did you come to decide on your all-black stage uniform?

I started getting paid when I joined Fleetwood Mac but up until then I didn't have any money to buy food. All of a sudden we were going on tour so I just packed up my normal clothes. We started eating because there was room service and there I was gaining ten pounds in the middle of the tour. I didn't fit in any of the clothes and I didn't have time to shop so when I got home I said “I can never do this again.” I knew a friend who knew a designer and I told her I needed a uniform because I can't be thinking about what I wanna wear every night. It makes it so much easier since everybody that's in Pittsburgh isn't necessarily gonna be in Philadelphia. Harry's done the same thing with his white pants and pink shirt.

What are your thoughts on him being the first solo male cover in Vogue’s history?

It makes me feel so inspired. I'm extremely jealous he's on the cover of Vogue because I'm seventy-two years old and have wanted to be on the cover my whole life. I’m such a magazine hag, so I’m incredibly jealous of Harry but I'll get over it. As far as all the crazy things he's wearing, you do whatever you have to do to be on the cover of Vogue. I'm very proud of him and I think it's great that there's a man on the cover… but I should've been in the corner off in the distance (laughs). Did you know I've never been to the Met Gala?

We would be honored to have you at the next gala and every one after that. I’m putting this in the article to make sure it’s in the public record.

As Mick Jagger says, "We still have our freedom, but we don't have much time." I would like to be not much older than I am now so I can wear a fantastic outfit and entertain everybody. It's a dream of mine and most of my dreams have come true, but I need to not be ninety when it happens.

Harry and you could perform together.

We wouldn't even have to rehearse. We've got a couple of duets that are really great. We do "Landslide" and “Two Ghosts” together really well. We actually have five or six terrific acoustic numbers that we could do at the drop of a hat.

You hinted earlier this year that there might be a role for Harry in the miniseries based on the stories of Rhiannon. Is there any update there?

This is probably the third-biggest thing I've ever done in my life after Fleetwood Mac and my solo career. There’s a lot to be done in the movie business before I can start riding my horses across the mountains of Wales. I've signed with a movie company—I'm not gonna tell you who—and we just signed a writer. I'm not gonna tell you who that is either but there’s an amazing part for Harry. My favorite character in the series is the only man who goes through all four books. He's a magician who doesn't wanna be king and I think Harry would just be so perfect.

Have you and Harry discussed collaborating on any future music together?

We're open to making music together because we've been very successful when we go onstage just to do one song. I would love to be in a band with Harry but even if I never saw him in person again he’s made a record that breaks my heart in a million places like Fine Line. As far as music goes there's plenty of fun things that he and I could do. We can just reach out to each other and do it. I’m always ready to slip back into those high-heel black suede boots and become my alter ego.

This interview has been edited for clarity and space.

[thestraggletag]

Three Appointments and a Wedding

AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.

Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.

Rating: PG-13

He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.

So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.

He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes. 

“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”

He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”

He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”

She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.

“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”

He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.

“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”

The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.

“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”

“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”

She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.

“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”

“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”

He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.

“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”

.

The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.

She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.

“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”

It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.

.

The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.

On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.

“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”

The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.

“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”

He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.

“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”

Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.

“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”

“Exactly.”

The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea. 

“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”

He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.

But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.

.

“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”

He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.

“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”

She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.

“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”

If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.

“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”

Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.

“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”

He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.

“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.

“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”

A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.

“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”

There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.

“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”

“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”

She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.

“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom. 

“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?

“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”

There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked. 

She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-

“Papa, what the fuck?”

“Belle!”

Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.

“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”

His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.

“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”

Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?

“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”

What?

“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”

Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.

“What the fuck was that?”

[artificialqueens]

Take You for a Ride (Crystal x Gigi) - Catrina

A/N: hi! it’s been a long while since i posted here. my mental health had a lot to do with that, but here i am again, hopefully as a better writter lmao. apparently i’m obsessed with gigi and crystal and since it’s still crystal’s birthday here i wrote this inspired by dua lipa’s levitating (thanks gigi’s performance at wtw tour). hope you enjoy it and share your thoughts with me. thanks for reading!

Summary: It’s Crystal’s birthday, and nothing comes out as she expects.

Disappointment. That’s the definition of Crystal’s day.

Disappointment and alcohol… maybe some red velvet cake Jan bought for her. She tastes the bitter liquid and sweet frosting in her mouth as she stumbles in her way to the backyard of Jaida’s house.

She’s sick. Sick and tired, of both the party behind her and her day in general. It had really worn her off, first with her teacher grading her project with a humiliating score of 67 points out of 100, then the ridiculous fight with her mother over the phone (she can still listen to the woman screaming at her if she focuses enough) and her cat destroying her One Direction album with her small and deathly paws, and now — oh fucking now, with some idiot pouring their drink all over her dress in a party that she didn’t even want to attend, or happen for that matter.

This isn’t how her birthday is supposed to be. This isn’t even how any birthday is supposed to be, in fact. Crystal doesn’t get how Jan could get to the conclusion that a party at Jaida’s house would make her feel better.

“It’ll be fun!” Jan had said. “You deserve to celebrate your birthday. I’m sure it’ll improve your mood!”

Spoiler: it didn’t.

Crystal feels just as miserable as she would feel in her dorm. Being in bed and watching bad tv was her original plan for today. Was too much to ask for? Why did she let her friends drag her to a party full of people she doesn’t even know?

Right, because Jan and Jaida had made her puppy eyes and Crystal felt terrible for rejecting such a gentle and thoughtful gesture from her friends.

She groans, sitting down on the grass of Jaida’s backyard and rubbing a tissue over the huge stain in the blue fabric of the area over her chest, groaning again when she realizes the stain isn’t moving at all.

Perhaps more miserable.

It’s a sequin blue dress she had purchased a while ago. It wasn’t really expensive, and it isn’t even her favorite, but fuck, it hurts. It’s like today everything in the universe accorded to make her feel terrible. She usually would shrug it off and continue as if nothing has happened, and she can’t quite understand why her natural sense of positivity can’t wash the sadness away.

Giving up, she tosses the tissue to a side and lets the upper part of her body give up to lie down completely on the grass. She’s lucky everyone else is inside, enjoying the music so loud it makes the whole house pound in rhythm, the intermittent lights that must hurt their eyes, the colorful drinks served by Jan and the closeness of dancing bodies rubbing against each other, so she doesn’t have to worry about someone going out and seeing her throwing a tantrum.

The party is a success. She shouldn’t ruin it with her bitter existence.

The sky is quiet tonight, with some stray stars and the moon shining bright. It makes Crystal breathe heavily, over and over again, until she’s sure she’ll be okay.

But, as her breathing regulates, imagines of every earlier moment when she felt everything but okay flash through her mind, and her lungs are not cooperating anymore.

Her heart feels heavy, stupidly hurt. She knows tomorrow her terrible grade will still be there, and her mother will still be pissed at her for whatever she even got mad about, and her favorite album will remained ruined and her fucking dress won’t be wearable anymore, and it’s fine, because she can make work for extra points to improve her final grade and text her mom an apology and replace the material stuff that isn’t even that important whatsoever, but that won’t help her stop feeling so helpless.

Helpless — that’s a good definition for her.

“Crystal?”

Gigi Goode looking down at Crystal interrupts her pathetic thoughts.

More than the interruption, her mere presence is what makes Crystal blink twice and wonder, for a brief moment, if she fell asleep on Jaida’s backyard grass and she’s dreaming.

She’s used to see Gigi everyday, but since today has been a short taste of hell, it wasn’t surprising when Gigi texted her to say she had to miss part of her classes and Jaida’s party because she needed to find someone to fix the broken temperature system in her apartment.

She hasn’t come to terms of how she feels about Gigi yet, and it’s not something she would like to do at all. For the past two months, Crystal has noticed the way her heart starts pounding violently in her chest when Gigi smiles at her, or takes her hand to lead her through the corridors or when she simply looks at her with those big eyes full of emotion and it’s ridiculous but somehow fitting that the only person she craved to see today was the one she couldn’t.

“What are you doing here?” Gigi tries again at her lack of response, not hesitating to offer her hand to help her up.

Crystal takes her hand without thinking (she doesn’t do a lot of thinking in Gigi’s presence) and lets her pull her up in a sitting position.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking what are you doing here? I thought said your temperature system was giving trouble.”

Gigi chuckles, crouching to be at the same height as her.

“Well, I really wanted to come and Heidi said she could manage it. The girl knows about mechanics, did you know that?”

Crystal shakes her head, breathing out a laugh. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Gigi hums thoughtfully. “Well, she does, thank fuck, because I really wanted to see you, birthday girl.”

Heat creeps up to Crystal’s face incredibly fast, leaving her cursing the power something so small can have over her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I asked Jan where you were, actually. She said some dickhead poured all his drink on you and you were probably in the bathroom but you weren’t there.”

Crystal opens her mouth to vent about her now ruined dress, frowning as soon as a different thought crosses her mind. “But there are like five bathrooms here. You went all around the house looking for me?”

Confused, Gigi nods. “Is that weird?”

It’s extremely sweet, is Crystal’s first answer.

“No, of course not,” she giggles instead. “But why were you looking for me?”

Gigi looks suddenly flushed, as if she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Well, I…” she tears her eyes away from Crystal to look at the party behind her through the glass doors. “What happened to you?”

The change of topic takes Crystal aback.

“What? What about me?”

“Yeah, you’re here all alone, looking like a child who dropped their candy, when you’re usually a little happy ball, and in your birthday,” Gigi remarks, although not harshly. “Had a bad day?”

Crystal hates this how easy is for Gigi to read her. She knows she looks terrible, beside her dress the signals of her terrible day surely mark her face in dark bags under her eyes and pale tired skin, but Gigi has always had a talent to read her beyond that. The simple fact makes her feel even more embarrassed.

“A horrible one,” she finally confesses in a low whine. “A straight up disgusting, draining, fucked up, impossible day! And, I know I shouldn’t feel so pressed about it, but birthdays are supposed to be happy and I — I am not. At least not now.”

Gigi snickers, taking Crystal’s hand in her own to give it an affectionate squeeze.

“It’s okay to have bad days. Now, to have a bad birthday is really fucked up, but it is what it is. Wanna tell me about it?”

“I’m not really in the mood of talking about me being mediocre in life,” Crystal means to joke more than to actually vent, and she loves the way Gigi giggles.

“Dramatic much?”

“Oh,” Crystal’s eyebrows raise as she laughs. “I can be more dramatic.”

But Gigi doesn’t laugh along this time. She purses her lips, and then stands up, offering her hand to Crystal again.

“Let’s go.”

Crystal looks puzzled. She takes Gigi’s hand, allowing her to pull her back on her feet. With her hand still covered by the other girl’s, Gigi begins dragging her back to the house.

“Where are we going?”

“Let’s go for a ride,” Gigi suggests, looking back over her shoulder just to give her a smile that reassures everything.

In the middle of the dark since the backyard lights don’t reach there, the path changes; Gigi takes Crystal through a small hallway that connects the porch with the patio to the front of the house. They meet a few people in the way; some passed out on the ground, others drinking in their friends and some couples making out. Crystal turns to watch them before she realizes they’re crossing the garden.

“Gigi,” she breathes as she spots the motorbike parked on the sidewalk.

The blonde reaches in the pocket of her jacket, her hand still on Crystal’s. She finally pulls out her keys and twirls them on a finger.

“Every time I’m sad, or mad… or high,” she grimaces and Crystal laughs, “I get on this thing and ride away. It usually works to clear my mind and calm me down, so I thought it could work on you too.”

Crystal feels something very close to gratitude. Instead, she knows it’s pure adoration for one called Gigi Goode.

“Okay,” excitement starts filling her face as she smiles. “Oh my god, I’ve never been close to a motorcycle before, wow!”

Gigi laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’ve literally seen it everywhere with me.”

“I know, but—” she eagerly motions to Gigi and then to the motorcycle. “I always see it as, I dunno, part of you. Like, yeah, there’s Gigi and her bike, you know? I’ve never seen it up close.”

Gigi’s light hearted laugh is the answer she receives again. “Well, now is your chance.”

The motorcycle shines in its black neat color, with not a single particle of dust on it or sign of being neglected; Gigi’s perfectionist personality reflecting. Crystal finds herself so absorbed by its beauty that she doesn’t realize when Gigi lets go of her hand and gets on the bike, using her legs to adjust herself as she takes the two helmets from the space behind her on the seat to make room for Crystal.

She reaches forward to pull the key in the ignition, and it only takes a firm move from her hand for the motor to start growling. The sound makes Crystal gasp.

“You think you can get on? I don’t want you to fall,” Gigi warns, but Crystal is already jumping behind her.

Of course, the gravity plays a cruel trick and she has to grab onto Gigi’s jacket to prevent her from sliding off, but Gigi doesn’t seem to care as she snuggles closer. She offers one of the helmets to Crystal, smiling.

“Safety first.”

“This is so pretty,” she drawls, passing her fingers over the shiny, baby pink surface of the helmet.

“Thanks. Heidi suggested me to get it customized that way,” Gigi comments as she puts her own helmet, of a white color, on. “She’s pretty much the only person who I give a ride, so I thought, why not?”

A tinge of jealousy pops in Crystal’s chest, but she forces herself to ignore it as she notices Gigi reaching over the hand grips, preparing herself to move. She rushes to put the helmet on and forces the image of Heidi taking her spot behind Gigi to fade away.

“You’ll probably resent the motion, so please hug my waist as hard as you can and hold your legs onto the sides of the seat,” says Gigi, so easily it makes Crystal think it’s something she has memorized. “I’ll go slowly anyway, since it’s your first time.”

Crystal complies immediately; she wraps her arms around Gigi’s waist and the stupid butterflies in her stomach seem to fly all the way up to her throat, suffocating her for a second, until she realizes it’s just Gigi’s perfume.

Fuck, she thinks bitterly. She smells really good.

The short heel of Gigi’s boot kicks on something at the same time she rotates the key one more time, and the motor growls fiercely.

They start moving — it’s almost magical. At first, Crystal can’t really feel it. It starts as such a gentle motion, but when she looks around, she sees Jaida’s house becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, and the houses around moving around them. That’s when it hits her; they’re moving.

Gigi speeds up once they’re out of the block, turning on the left and then right and moving smoothly until they’re exiting the neighborhood, but Crystal doesn’t mind in following their path.

She’s too busy giggling at the wind hitting her face and making her hair twirl, creating ginger waves at the sides of her head.

The world around them is moving so fast, and all she can recognize in the city at night are deformed street lights and bright colors everywhere she looks at; everything seems so distant but so close at the same time as they slide on the asphalt, and the late life of Los Angeles never looked so appealing.

Nothing seems important now. Her grade, the fight with her mother, her album nor her fucking dress. Her mind is full of Gigi; of her beautiful hair, her endearing voice, her flawless face and how soft she feels under Crystal’s hands; almost as if she belongs there, in her arms.

If Crystal wasn’t starting to feel dizzy for the speed, she would probably never think such a thing; her feelings for Gigi are something unexplored and feared, threatening to destroy their friendship because Gigi is everything and Crystal is barely something that exists. And Crystal isn’t ready to lose her.

It’s the little things, like the fact she went all around the house looking for Crystal or that she even wanted to see her, that she thought of a way to cheer her up, that make Crystal’s stomach coil and tie itself in a too tight knot that won’t probably never be the same. Gigi has some kind of security aura around her that, as Crystal learned, was impossible to ignore. She’s confident, sure, but there’s something more to that attitude; something that demands to be trusted under that bitch façade. She’s kind and loving and funny, and if Crystal has to swallow her feelings to make sure Gigi is always at her side, then she will.

As they speed up into a steady pace, Crystal notices how Gigi relaxes and leans back into her just a little, and without a second thought she leans on her as well.

“You okay back there?” Gigi asks, voice muffed by the violent wind and motor growling under them.

“Yeah!” Crystal exclaims. “Oh my god, Gigi! This is amazing!”

“Wait until you see this!”

Crystal is about to ask what she means, when they turn into an empty street, where a tunnel leans out. There are no more cars or motorcycles around them and Gigi speeds up even more as they approach the tunnel, lights flying around them.

A raw “puff!” echoes in their ears as they storm into the tunnel, and Crystal laughs as she feels the force the motorcycle is traveling through it. She feels light, like the butterflies flying around her stomach, levitating at the right speed and watching the world around them as secondary.

Gigi starts slowing down at the middle of the tunnel.

“Hold your arms up,” she tells Crystal, eyes locked at the front. “Just for a second, so you can feel the wind.”

At first Crystal hesitates, but the speed is steady and there are no more vehicles around, so she slowly pulls her arms away from Gigi.

She raises both arms, wriggling them at her sides. She makes a quick mental note to remind herself to thank Gigi later, because the air hugs her limbs in a way that almost tickles her, the soft touch running on her naked arms and she closes her eyes for a moment, wondering if she could fall asleep like this.

Of course, when the motorcycle runs over a bump and she has to hold on Gigi’s torso to avoid jumping out of the seat, that idea is quickly denied.

“Oh, right,” Gigi laughs. “I should’ve warned you about that.”

Crystal huffs, sleep knocked out of her as they leave the tunnel behind.

The rest of the way is calm; Gigi decides to go slow this time, so Crystal has the chance to see everything in a clear way (according to her, it’s very important to appreciate the view) and Crystal takes the moment to rest her chin on Gigi’s shoulder and wrap her arms around her middle, just like before, but this time without the messy rush of fearing being thrown out of the motorcycle by a bump.

The proceed to threat a way through town messily, going around buildings and onto streets Crystal doesn’t even know, but Gigi moves skillfully, like she knows exactly where she’s going, and Crystal trusts her. Soon she noticed that Gigi actually knows where they going.

She recognizes her surroundings as they approach the apartment complex where Gigi and Heidi live. She’s always complained saying that her place is small, but the few times Crystal has come over, she’s loved the cozy feeling that takes over her as soon as she crosses the door, which makes her feel even more excited.

Gigi parks carefully on a spot near the front gates. She pulls the key out and the motor shuts down, as she leans back with a pleased smile.

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to come here, but I thought you didn’t want to go back,” she whispers, barely having to turn around to see Crystal’s face resting on her shoulder blade.

“You thought correctly,” Crystal sighs with content before a thought crosses her mind, making her gasp. “Shit, I gave Jan my phone before going out—”

Gigi reaches on the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out Crystal’s phone.

“She gave it to me when I asked for you,” she explains to a stunned Crystal. “She thought we would leave together eventually.”

“How smart,” Crystal mumbles.

She unlocks it while Gigi takes her helmet off, noticing the time; almost two in the morning. She tugs on Gigi’s sleeve, pointing at the screen.

“It’s late, won’t Heidi be pissed if we come in? She could be sleeping.”

“The girl wouldn’t wake up even if a rock fell in her head,” Gigi rolls her eyes, gesturing for Crystal to take her helmet off as well. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

Crystal shrugs as she does so, too wrapped in the thought of spending more time with Gigi to care. She gets back on her feet with a little jump, following her inside the building as they carry the helmets with them. Gigi talks about her day while they’re making their way to the third floor through the stairs, blame the elevator that never came back to the lobby, by Crystal’s request. She wanted to know how she had been doing while she was miserable, and Gigi complies, walking through the empty building.

“I noticed this temperature thing was broken because, c’mon, California will never be hot enough to make fucking ice cream almost boil,” she says just when they walk into the right corridor, Crystal trailing behind her. “It was a nightmare, everything was so fucking hot. I hope Heidi could fix it.”

The metal of her keys knocking makes the only sound that fills the air as Gigi opens the door. She reaches for the switch and the small living room lights up, cool air receiving them.

“She fixed it,” Crystal muses, smiling.

“God bless her,” Gigi sighs, taking off her boots. “Could you leave your shoes by the door and the helmet over the coffee table please?”

Crystal steps on the soft carpet on her short blue socks, watching as Gigi makes her way to Heidi’s bedroom door. She opens it just enough to poke her head inside. After exchanging a few words with her roommate, she turned back to Crystal, closing the door behind her.

“Heidi was just going to sleep.”

“Oh,” Crystal’s eyebrows raise. “Tell her hi?”

“I’m not sure she’ll appreciate me bothering her again,” she giggles. Her mouth opens again, but she closes it seconds after, thinking for a second on what to say. Finally, she gestures at the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

The apartment is small, Gigi’s right. The living room has barely enough space for a couch and a coffee table and is too close to the kitchen. The bathroom is that white door carelessly next to the television hanging on the wall, and Crystal bets Gigi and Heidi’s rooms are just as small, although she has never seen them. The few times she has been there, with Jaida and Jan, they simply preferred to stick to the couch and a barstool they would drag from the kitchen.

Gigi’s room suddenly becomes source of her curiosity, but she nods, remembering Gigi’s question.

“We’ve got a great menu tonight, in honor of your birthday,” Gigi hums as Crystal sits on one of the stools of the kitchen bar. She opens the fridge, eyeing the content blocked to Crystal’s view by the fridge door. “We have… well, we’ve got beer, and pretty much nothing else.”

Crystal laughs. “Beer! Just what I wanted!”

Gigi is beaming under the kitchen lights as she tosses her a beer and takes another one for herself, nonchalantly kicking the fridge closed. She leans a hip on the kitchen bar, worryingly close to Crystal, and holds her beer up.

“Cheers,” she clicks their cans together.

“Cheers,” Crystal repeats. She stops right before taking a sip, frowning. “But what are we exactly cheering for?”

Sipping her drink, Gigi breathes out a laugh.

“You just killed the moment, babe.”

Babe. Crystal’s ears burn with the name, and she attempts to conceal her surprise by pretending she’s genuinely confused.

“Well, who cares?” Gigi shrugs, holding her beer up again. “Here’s to terrible birthdays, a broken temperature system, and…”

“Motorcycles,” Crystal fills in for her.

“Yeah,” Gigi grins at her. “Motorcycles.”

Crystal leans back to take a long sip of her drink, savoring the slightly bitter taste going down her throat. She notices Gigi staring at her when she places the beer back over the bar, with the ghost of a smile on her glossy lips.

“What?”

“What,” Gigi repeats, snickering.

“You’re looking at me,” Crystal points out, smiling to cover her worsening blush.

“I like looking at you,” the blonde simply says, as if it’s obvious. “I always wanna look at you.”

“That’s creepy. Do I need to call the cops?”

Far from looking bothered, Gigi shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe.”

Crystal scowls with no genuine annoyance, but her face softens as Gigi’s smile somehow widens.

“You’re weird, miss Goode. I thought being weird was my gig,” she jokes, making Gigi throw her head back in laughter.

Internally, Crystal is praying this moment never ends. Seeing Gigi under the dim lights of her kitchen, toying with that beer and looking so effortlessly gorgeous is having the same effect as when she was feeling the air hit her face on the motorcycle, and her head already feels lost in space, far away from the apartment.

“Why were you looking for me earlier?” Crystal asks, voice small.

The intimate atmosphere created around the two is beginning to feel suffocating. Crystal can feel Gigi so close, like she’s the only real part of a dream and the rest of the world was nothing but a wallpaper for her wonderful figure to stand in front of and lead Crystal through the rest of the night.

“Nothing,” Gigi doesn’t even look taken aback by the sudden question.

“Oh, c’mon. It can’t be nothing,” she whines as Gigi takes another sip, purposely taking a long fucking time doing so. “Gigi, c’mon. Tell me!”

She leans forward, making her lower lip stick out in an exaggerated pout. It seems to work catching Gigi’s attention since her whole face seems decomposed when she glances over.

“Don’t do that.”

Crystal frowns. “Do what?”

“Don’t pout.”

“Why not?” she quirks en eyebrow.

“Because it makes me wanna kiss it off your lips,” Gigi deadpans. She takes a final sip from her beer before walking to the fridge again, not minding if Crystal just froze on her spot.

Crystal laughs nervously, trying to convince herself she just misheard. Her heart is beating so fast on er chest, if she watched any medical tv show she might be worried for it to pop out of her body through her nose at any second.

As time passes, she wonders if that’s possible.

“What did you say?”

Gigi sighs, returning with another two beers. She looks uncharacteristically shy, sheepishly placing the new beer in front of Crystal, eyes glued to the carpet.

“This is dumb,” she blurts.

“Gigi—”

But Gigi leans in to kiss her, and suddenly any word forming in Crystal’s head dissolves.

It’s slow and tentative at first, but any doubt disappears when Crystal’s hands move to cup Gigi’s face, pulling her even closer.

She feels light. So light, like when she was holding her arms up in the tunnel to feel the wind, and everything moved so far away from her, she felt ethereal. And now, moving her lips against Gigi’s and feeling the texture of her lipstick between them makes her wonder how Gigi can make such raw sentiments be born in her, riding a goddamn motorcycle or kissing her in the tiny kitchen of her apartment.

Gigi’s hands are tight at the sides of her waist, tugging a little tighter as she pulls back to grab some air.

“That’s why I was looking for you earlier,” she confesses after a while of comfortable silence.

Crystal feels pulled out from a deep trance… or rid over by a bus. Whatever sounds romantic as she stares at the blonde’s deep blue eyes and runs her fingers over her shoulders.

“I think I’ve felt this way with you for a while… I mean, you’re pretty, and I have eyes, so I can tell that you’re pretty,” Gigi continues and if Crystal wasn’t focusing on breathing she would’ve laughed, “I thought that I could keep it friendly, but this morning, when I knew the temperature system was broken and I couldn’t make it to class or the party, I was so pissed. I didn’t wanna let you down.”

The butterflies in Crystal’s stomach have eaten her tongue. Yes, that’s why she’s speechless.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Gigi finally asks and everything fits in Crystal’s head.

“Why would I be mad at you? You’ve literally described how I feel for the last semester with this crush I have on you,” Crystal blurts out.

Before regrets covers her entire face, she notices Gigi raising an eyebrow, with a smirk threatening to form on her lips.

“Last semester, huh? That much?”

“Shut up,” Crystal tries to sound pissed, she really does, but with Gigi being so close, her blushing cheeks betray her initial expression.

“Don’t be embarrassed, you’re flattering me.”

They both laugh. A warm feeling spreads across Crystal’s chest at the fact.

“This day… it was hell,” she mumbles, and almost smiles at how Gigi looks at her, having her entire attention, “and I also was thinking of you. It was weird… like, as I said before, birthdays are supposed to be happy and while I was sad and grumpy I couldn’t help but think ‘I wish Gigi was here, because she would make everything better; she’d make me laugh or help me or just make me feel like I’m not alone’ and I hated the idea of not getting to see—”

“The love of your life?” Gigi suggests, sounding way too hopeful.

“I was gonna say that blonde bitch,” Crystal grimaces, “but if that works for you…”

Gigi laughs, mumbling something about who was the real bitch is as she reaches over for her second beer.

Leaning her side on the kitchen bar, freshly open can in hand, Gigi smiles again. It’s a show of her teeth and little wrinkles at the sides of her eyes that Crystal remembers noticing the day they met that morning at History of Art class.

Glancing at that very smile, Crystal’s pretty sure she’s dreaming. Did she fall asleep on Jaida’s lawn? That’d be pathetic. Someone could think she’s dead tomorrow morning when everyone’s hung over and oh, the idea frightens her, but she has to be dreaming. She can’t be this lucky — she’s never been lucky. What are the chances someone like Gigi can have a crush on her?

This flawless, beautiful girl with a golden personality that Crystal’s been making heart-eyes at for months has a crush on her.

God, she thinks. If I fell asleep Jan better never wakes me up.

“Crystal?”

The redhead blinks a couple of times, meeting Gigi’s eyes in the process.

“You were lost in thought, babe. You alright?”

The fucking pet name again. Crystal isn’t dreaming; her brain wouldn’t be mean enough to make up scenarios like this.

“Was I? Sorry.”

That’s not the answer Gigi wants. She drags the other barstool from the other side of the kitchen bar to Crystal’s side, sitting down with her beer still in hand.

“Stop overthinking.”

It’s not a suggestion. Crystal attempts to laugh, but no actual sound comes out of her mouth.

“Well, I can’t,” she babbles, “it’s hard. This doesn’t feel real.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” she whispers, more to herself than to the other girl. “I always thought that you were…  romantically different than me.”

Gigi looks utterly confused. “Please elaborate?”

The butterflies are not dead. They’re flying around Crystal’s stomach now, begging her to not fuck it up.

“I never thought you’d feel the same,” she admits, too quietly for her taste.

Vulnerability is not a good look on her, she has decided years before, and definitely not in front of Gigi. She has all the time in the world to be a cry baby in the comfortable privacy of her dorm, not right now, for Christ’s sake.

“This is real,” Gigi gestured at herself, then at Crystal. “We’re real. Everything is. I can’t understand why you’re so impressed about it, but I know for sure it’s not enough of a reason.”

Crystal nods. Gigi’s right, as always, and she’s just wasting time questioning why has her day taken the path it did instead of enjoying it.

“I’m just being stupid.”

Gigi rolls her eyes, pulling her again for another kiss — a shorter one, but Crystal can’t help but try and memorize how her lips feel against hers. She’s never stopped and think of how it would be to kiss Gigi, and she’s somehow glad; none of her expectations would have been better than the real thing.

“I like you stupid,” Gigi comments once they part, receiving a smack on the arm by Crystal. “You know I’m kidding; you’re never stupid, but I do like you.”

“I like you too,” Crystal breathes, feeling every of her limbs relaxing. Gigi doesn’t say more, and maybe it’s the end of their conversation, but there’s something else forming in Crystal’s throat and before she knows it, she blurts out, “thank you.”

Gigi looks up, puzzled. “For what?”

“For the ride. It was the best birthday present ever.”

Under the dim lights of a small kitchen in an even smaller apartment somewhere in Los Angeles, Crystal knows there’s nothing better than Gigi Goode.

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Their Favorite Gift From MC

-- Zen: Customized Bracelet --

Zen’s sort of an excessive person so he’s almost always the one giving you gifts. He doesn’t want for much and the stuff he does - like skincare products - you used to buy for him but he eventually convinced you to buy it also for yourself so you could do sheet masks together.

When you do buy gifts for him, it can be a bit difficult. His fans send him a bunch of stuff all the time, like baked goods, or fanart, or neckties. He, of course, is a lot happier when you decide to hand him something, but it’s almost never something he’s ever gotten before.

You have to outsource. So you order a custom-stamped leather bracelet from an indie crafter, something he can wear while rehearsing without worrying about it falling off. On the outside, you have ‘I love you’, and on the inside ‘Zen x MC’. 

You give it to him for Valentine’s, his favorite holiday. Zen dedicates the entire day to you and him, and pushes aside the many packages from his fans for later. 

You hand him a little box, and he opens it to gasp dramatically at the bracelet, immediately putting it on and exploring the texture of the leather. The lightly-colored tan matches his complexion perfectly.

First, a kiss for you, then its 904709 selfies with him proudly modeling his gift. It goes on his social media to a slight ruckus, because Zen’s never shown off any gifts he’s gotten before. 

“My love is so thoughtful!!! Such a beautiful bracelet <3333″

Your name isn’t on the outside to maintain privacy, which proves to be a good idea since that picture is circulated like crazy to mixed reactions.

Zen doesn’t care, this is by far the best gift he’s ever gotten. He hugs you tightly and promises to wear it always.

-- Yoosung: Vinyl Laptop Stickers --

You like to buy knick-knacks for each other on occasion. Yoosung’s wallet isn’t packing so he can only get you stuff once and a while, and you return the favor with other little things.

And Yoosung is also kinda already surrounded by little trinkets and other stuff he’s collected on his own. Little figurines and toys from vending machines, plastic reward favors from convenience stores, character-themed pens and mugs and phone charms. 

It can get a little cluttered. His backpack alone is heavily decorated with pinback buttons and enamel pins, and you know he’s home just by the jingling of the many charms hanging off the zippers.

He’s also of a romantic and ‘cute’ mind, so when you give him practical gifts of a headset holder for his gaming desktop, he’s pleased but ... he prefers it when your gifts aren’t quite so banal.

You eventually do some deep surfing for his upcoming birthday, and find this adorable pack of laptop stickers based off of LOLOL characters. These wouldn’t take up anymore of his space, and he could still carry them with him. So during his birthday dinner, you give it to him over cake and he opens it with a gasp. 

“It’s ... oh, it’s so cute! It’s perfect, MC!” He hugs you tightly and immediately has you help him stick them on. 

He uses this laptop for school, bringing it with him on most days, so it was the perfect gift to remember you by. Whenever he opens his laptop in the student lounge, or in class, he sees all those bright colors reminding him of his favorite pastime, but also he thinks of you and how much you love each other.

-- Jaehee: Promise Ring --

You’ve gotten her spice giftboxes for her cooking, a set of cozy loungewear for the both of you, and other cute things she absolutely adores.

But her true favorite? Her engagement ring. A dainty little band that matches yours perfectly. You had proposed to her during a beautiful evening in the park, making her tear up. 

“We’re partners, now,” you said. She gave a watery smile and put her ring on proudly.

South Korea wouldn’t allow marriage between you two, so these rings promised more than a union. It promised a brighter future in the face of adversity. It promised progress in the name of love and equality. 

Jaehee struggles with societal expectations for a woman like her. This ring was like a shield against the worse thoughts, or an anchor during the more tremulous times. She had chosen to pursue you against the world’s wishes, and it was the best decision she’s ever made.

You and her wear the rings 24/7. To an onlooker, it just seemed like the two of you were separately engaged people. But she knows differently. A proud little secret. 

Customers sometimes make comments about them. She’d be ringing them up, and they’ll notice the brilliant white sapphire. “When’s the date?” some have asked. She stammered,  “It’s in the making.” The customer nodded, and wished her a happy union. 

She twists the ring around her finger, looking at you wistfully. It will be a happy union. One day!

-- Jumin: Custom-Made Cologne --

What the heck do you gift the man who could have anything he wanted? Material possessions are never a strain for him. He grew up knowing that any toy, any trinket, any new technology or experience he desired, he would get. He’d ask for ice cream and his father’d purchase an entire chain. 

His current self rarely buys indulgences. He’s had years of being fulfilled already. But he definitely buys gifts for you, almost to ridiculous levels. You can see from the diversity of gifts that he has a reach for any product or merchandise, anywhere at any time. 

When it came time to get him a gift, you had asked the RFA for advice. And everyone was as clueless as you were. Even Jihyun wasn’t sure; the two of them have almost never exchanged gifts throughout the long years of their friendship, since they knew the other was showered in generosity already. 

“You’re gonna have to go custom. Something that can’t be bought,” Zen suggested. So when Jumin announced that he had to go to Birmingham for a business meeting, you came along with him. Which you seldom do, since it’s two days of Jumin being stuck at meetings leaving you to your own devices. But you had a plan.

You looked up a luxury custom perfumery, and with the help of an expert nez you crafted a bottle that would complement him perfectly. On the bottle was a label that said “Love Forever by MC”. 

So for his birthday, he accepted his gift with grace and asked where you bought it. “This bottle doesn’t look like its from Clive Christian, is it? Maybe it’s Dior ...” 

You explained where you got it, and giggled when his mouth dropped open in surprise. He opened it, sniffed, and his smile grew bigger ‘cause it was so much more special now. It was made under your hand, something that will never be replicated. His and his only. 

He loves wearing it to work. It’s so wonderful to be surrounded by a smell that reminds him of you. 

-- Saeyoung: Fingerprint Charm --

He’s a surprisingly complicated man to gift. Like Jumin, he neither lacks nor wants for material needs. Sometimes you’ve given him cute candies or hand-knitted mittens for winter, and meanwhile he’ll give you ridiculously advanced robot cats or he’ll bust out his packing wallet and boom, you’ve got a new Gucci clutch bag.

He kinda knows that he’s hard to gift. So whenever you shyly hand over a six-pack of gag-flavored soda for Christmas or something, he makes a big show of loving it and thanking you with kisses and nuzzles. And he does love it! He’s never had gifts before, not from V or Rika or his co-workers, and definitely not from his mother. Just the thought that someone cared enough to surprise him with trinkets is so heartwarming.

But your anniversary was coming up. It marked the day that Saeyoung’s life turned around a complete 180 for the better. A very important day, one that you couldn’t mark with an exotic beef jerky bouquet or whatever.

One day, while touring a small art fair, you found an indie jeweler who offered custom fingerprint charms. You set up a date to come in and make a mold by pressing your thumb into a block of sand, which was cast into a mold and into which steel was poured. 

You gave it to him over a late-night car ride date. He took the charm out of the little bag and stared at it, you explained what it was. “That’s my very own fingerprint right there. I hope it’s something you can carry with you, and remember me by.”

He was silent for a few long seconds. You saw that his hand was shaking. So you reached over and kissed him, he embraced you tightly and said with a wavering voice, “Thank you.” A sniffle, and he was back to his cheery self. You helped him put it on his keychain, next to his car keys. 

He loves it dearly. Especially when he fingers the print and feels the groves, imagining your hand.

-- Saeran: Sweater --

For a long while, Saeran couldn’t live a proper civilian life and spent many days holed up at home, stuck in an anxious and depressive slump. Any venture outside was an ordeal for him. Bit by bit, through therapy and medication, he regained his confidence.

You found this sweater online, and you knew how much he liked wearing sweaters at home. It had this quote on it that the both of you were familiar with. It had been one of the repeated self-forgiving phrases his therapist suggested. Saeran took to that phrase particularly well. He repeats it in his mind when he feels himself on the verge of a breakdown, and it helps de-escalate. 

You knew you had to buy it. But keeping it secret from Saeran was kinda a challenge because he likes to tour around your internet history when he’s bored. Not for malicious reasons, he’s just curious and wants to know what kind of stuff you like to re-tweet, or what shops you frequent. 

So with Saeyoung’s help, you ordered the sweater under a guise Saeran wouldn’t be able to crack without some effort, and it ended up being a legit surprise when you handed Saeran his gift. 

You watched his eyes trace the quote carefully, and at his fingers tracing the screenprinted flowers. He was quiet for a long while, just exploring the sweater thoroughly.

He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a gift. Maybe it had been never. His eyes teared up.

You hugged him close and stroked his hair like he said he enjoys. It was almost hard for him to accept this from you; he’d spent years trying to approve others under threat of violence, and he’s rarely gotten to experience true generosity. 

He wears it at least once a week. It’s his absolute favorite article of clothing forever and ever. 

-- Jihyun: Filled Scrapbook -- 

For the holidays, Jihyun had given you a beautiful set of jewelry over dinner, along with a framed photo of yourself that he had taken some time before. He rarely decides to spoil you with his riches, but sometimes the occasion calls for it. 

How can you match up with his generosity? You knew Jihyun would be charmed with whatever you gave him, but you wanted your gift to mean something. 

Once your anniversary began to creep up, you had an idea and began working on your project two weeks in advance - it was going to be a beautiful scrapbook of not just Jihyun’s photos, but also little momentos and decorations on every page, detailing particular moments of your life together up to this point. 

You scoured his instagram, printing out copies onto photo paper and cutting and pasting. You folded within old plane, bus, and boat tickets. There were sightseeing brochures from trips abroad, old restaurant menus, stamps from envelopes he had sent you. You wrote messages and captions with multicolored ink. 

Extra special were the pages dedicated to when the two of you moved into the new apartment together, and when V was officially recovered from retina surgery, and also the first RFA party he co-hosted with you. Some pages touched on more sad subjects.

Finally, you finished the scrapbook just in time for the anniversary, and it was all worth it to see Jihyun completely blown away by the effort you put into it. He spent several minutes on every page, talking them over with you and reminiscing. 

He managed to hold in his tears until the last page, which you kept empty except for a calligraphy script that said, “... and into the beyond.”

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: As a staunch royalist I would be interested to hear your views about Prince Harry and Meghan Markle deciding to quit the British royal family. Did they do the right thing or are they just being selfish and ‘woke’? Does this ‘Megxit’ the British royal family is in crisis and its future looks bleak by this act of betrayal to the Queen?

Short answer:

I have been avoiding answering this question precisely because I became tired of hearing about it around the family dinner table or with friends when I visited England recently or now with French friends here in Paris who can’t fathom what is going on. But too many have asked about this in my blog inbox.

I don’t mean to sound so dismissive but to me it’s just a passing storm in a tea cup rather than some cataclysmic crisis of the British monarchy. Everyone should stop take a deep breath.

After the joint press statement by Prince Harry and the Duchess of Sussex statement came out on 8 January 2020 it set in motion the usual hilarious pastiche of Cold War Kremlinology by the British press.  So at any one time you had sensationalist and sanctimonious headlines such as the fury of the palace press knew no bounds. How dare they? The Queen humiliated. The palace insulted. And so on and so on.

Every newspaper editor knows there is a yawning gulf between the “public interest” and what interests the public. By any standards, Harry and Meghan have become huge celebrities. They were idolised, their charities blessed, their presence craved. Unfortunately such is human nature, the public invest something of themselves in their heroes. They see in their idols a reflection of their own fantasies and delights, hopes and fears. When they witness celebrities traumatised it can be unsettling, as the death of Princess Diana vividly showed. People cried in the street.

As Harry knew from his mother’s tragic experience, all this is par for the royal course. The British newspapers - or rather those peddling in royal tittle tattle such as the Sun, Mirror, and the Daily Mail - have a habit of erecting pedestals one minute and then the next minute they enjoy destroying the icon in the name of the public interest. Andrew’s former wife, Sarah Ferguson, was appallingly treated. So at times were Princess Anne, and Prince Edward’s wife, Sophie. Press attention should be water off the royal duck’s back. Prince Philip’s advice was reportedly: “Don’t read the bloody papers.”

While Harry was brought up surrounded by the furies of the celebrity media, Meghan’s career was the opposite. In her profession as a known actor (albeit a middling TV actor at that), image is an artifice, daily crafted and laundered by publicists.

This does not work with British royalty, which comes with its own carefully minted image attached. Its rituals are those of mind-numbing deference. It has no accountability. The only mirror it has is the press. The tabloids are the price that must be paid for adulation. They honour no discretion and have no sense of fairness. The press is a memento mori, whispering into the victor’s ear that he – or she – is only mortal. And gosh do they take that role on with sanctimonious glee. 

To be daily compared to the Duchess of Cambridge, from an utterly different social background, must have been intolerable for Meghan: the dress comparisons, the stuffiness of the court, its hyper-caution and obsession with precedence and procedure, added to the impossibility of contact with ordinary people. As a self-made millionaire already perhaps she wanted to be more than a mere civil servant in a tiara. Perhaps it proved too much but who really knows? But then I don’t know what else she expected when she decided to marry into the British royal family.

Similarly one can only speculate how much it was really Prince Harry who wanted to drop out riding on the royal carousel as he has been since birth. Regardless of who he married perhaps this was always the plan. His loathing of the British press and paparazzi is well known - he still blames them for his mother’s tragic death in Paris. It’s well known the paparazzi have tried to catch him out in manufactured scandals as he grew up. He has refreshingly come clean and has talked about how he still goes to therapy over his mother’s death. It’s no wonder he would ever subject a future wife and especially a child to the level of press intrusion that he had endured.

Prince Harry is nobody’s fool. I won’t say a bad word about him because - unlike previous and present royals with the exception of his grandfather, Prince Philip, who did active naval service during the Second World War and his uncle Prince Andrew, who as a naval officer flew Sea King helicopters during the Falklands War - he didn’t play the ceremonial toy soldier. After Eton he worked his arse off to get through Sandhurst and got commissioned with the Blues and Royals regiment. Upon the outbreak of war in Iraq, he was alleged to have said around 2006, “There's no way I'm going to put myself through Sandhurst and then sit on my arse back home while my boys are out fighting for their country.”

As it was the military chiefs got cold feet and pulled him out. But he did see active service with the British forces in Afghanistan with two tours. By all accounts he acquitted himself very well as a Forward Air Controller in Helmand Province and later as a co-pilot and gunner on Apache helicopters. He was widely respected and accepted by rank and file because he was down to earth and never asked for special treatment.  He wasn’t a typical ‘Rupert’ - a squaddie’s nickname given to British army officers who typically came from privileged aristocratic backgrounds but were also ‘nice but dim witted’.

Overall I sympathise that the Sussexes’ predicament was clearly desperate, and it is perhaps to their credit that they have brought it to a head early and not let it drag on. I feel they are sincere in their reasons to ’step back’ from the royal family and frenzied media circus around it. The fact they want to pay their own way and pay back any outstanding sums back to the royal household is perhaps a sign of that sincerity.

Instead some sections of the British press rolled out the tired old trope of the parallels between the Duke of Sussex and his great-great uncle, the Duke of Windsor, are overwhelming. Once again, a dashing, sporting, ex-military prince leaves royal life for the love of an American divorcée. This is exactly the opposite of what Edward and Mrs Wallace Simpson did when they bit the hand that fed them. They took money to support their lavish lifestyle in exile from the Queen and all the while took every opportunity to snark the fledgling young Queen from their own alternative royal court in Paris. Harry no doubt loves his grandmother and his family and would try not sully the Windsor name.

Where I would be critical a little is in their handling of it which appears naive at best and inept at worst. I suspect - since verified - that having a transatlantic split of publicists, and in addition didn’t understand the full import of how this would play out, would inevitably drop the ball. But I would extend a finger of blame to the palace courtiers who were involved in their own games of intrigue with a whispering campaign to selected journalists of the press. Indeed multiple newspapers, including the Daily Telegraph in the UK, reported that the queen was “disappointed” with the surprise announcement, and had asked the Sussexes to hold off on issuing a public statement. When The gossip mongering Sun newspaper published a front-page story that the couple was contemplating a move to Canada, the Sussexes pushed the button on their statement.

I do think the Sussexes  and their advisors were fooling themselves into thinking that they could have their cake and eat it - in other words keep the royal titles but cut back on the public and ceremonial duties. The blunt truth is if you want to stay on the books, you do so by the leave of the firm and its boss i.e. The Queen. The contract is for life. If not, you resign. There is no half in and half out. This seems to have been the gist of the family only summit at Sandringham in January 2020, with media attention worthy of the Treaty of Versailles.

I am frankly surprised how worked up people are about this. Cut out the white noise and the picture is more prosaic.

The first point is that when all is said and done, none of this drama really matters. Politically, constitutionally, it is an irrelevance. Harry, at number six, is not seriously in line to the throne. The British monarchy has long shown itself immune to crisis; indeed I wonder sometimes if it welcomes crises as implying continued importance. The divorce and death of Princess Diana were awfully tragic, as was the very public shaming of Prince Andrew and his questionable friendship with billionaire paedophile Jeffrey Epstein. But how Harry leads his life is between himself, his wife and his father, Prince Charles. That is the point of heredity. It is immune to character, as it is to merit.

The second point is we should remember that other European royal families, of the same constitutional status as Britain, have been down sizing for many years now. These royal families balanced privacy and discretion whilst holding down ordinary professions. The King of the Netherlands, Willem-Alexander, is still an airline pilot. He occasionally flies KLM jets, safe in the knowledge that few people recognise him. In 2001 Prince Haakon, heir to the Norwegian throne, married a single mother with a drug-fuelled past. Despite some controversy, he survived incognito. 

The King of Sweden, Carl XVI Gustaf, has reigned for 46 inconspicuous years as a nine-to-five job, his family merged into the Swedish bourgeoisie. The Crown Princess, Victoria, works intermittently for the UN. The King of Spain, Felipe VI, may have taken after his philandering father, Juan Carlos, but he became king without fuss on his father’s retirement in 2014. None of these “houses” has an extended state-subsidised royal family. None has grown unstable as a result.

There is no doubt that the exploitation of the British royal family celebrity by palace courtiers as PR handlers has worked. The royal family recognises that truth for itself when HRH King George VI famously quipped, “We are not a family, we are a firm”. The Queen is regularly cited as central to “UK plc” and to tourism. The British people remain overwhelmingly in favour of retaining monarchy as the focus of their patriotism, even during the wobble over Diana’s death. Republicanism is dead. The last ostentatious republican, the Fife MP Willie Hamilton, left parliament in 1987. If Scotland ever went independent it would almost certainly retain the Queen as head of state.

As for how royalty behaves, a constitutional monarchy should be beyond all controversy. As the great political and constitutional commentator (and founder of the Economist magazine) Walter Bagehot put it, “the monarch should be a dignified rather than efficient element of the constitution”. In other words, the monarchy as personified in its reigning king or queen can represent the whole nation in an emotionally satisfying way - everything else is but pure embellishment.

The Queen must be a glorious anthropomorphism of the nation as a whole. If she has opinions, she keeps them to herself - much to her credit. The contrast is clear with countries where state headship is combined with an elected executive presidency. The state risks being tainted by partisanship: witness the embarrassment many Americans feel at having their national loyalty identified with any president based on divided partisan feelings e.g. from FDR to Obama and Nixon to Trump.

A rare occasion when the monarch might overstep the mark was conjectured by Mike Bartlett in his ingenious play, King Charles III, in 2014. It was based on the present Prince of Wales as king, refusing formally to sign a bill censoring the press (good on him). In the resulting crisis, William and Kate engineer Charles’s abdication, while the tearaway Harry takes up with a republican girlfriend. It was not wholly implausible. When Belgium faced a similar crisis over King Baudouin’s refusal to sign an abortion bill in 1990, he was allowed to abdicate for a day.

How the monarchy conducts itself is not wholly irrelevant. It is part of the collective context in which the nation’s politics are enacted. It represents tradition and upholds precedent. It sets boundaries and dictates a courtesy in the conduct of public affairs - however often that courtesy is infringed. What outsiders forget (especially our American friends) is that the British political system is gloriously resilient, as the past three years of Brexit hell have shown. It can tolerate the odd eccentricity, such as the blatant purchase of parliamentary seats in the House of Lords. But the question is how far such eccentricity can extend. 

The present heir to the throne, Prince Charles, is deft at stepping mildly out of line. His views on architecture, health and the environment are not overtly partisan. But it does not matter as he is no more “powerful” than a newspaper or television commentator. His influence is that of celebrity. I would rather have the heir to throne engage intelligently in public debate than arrogantly indulge in the sordid sexual antics of his younger brother, Andrew.

For all his perceived faults, Prince Charles knows his limits. To expect such controlled nuances in the constitutional mystique of royalty to apply to an ever larger family has always been an accident waiting to happen. More prescient is the fact that the current system will impose the same disciplines and direct the same public exposure on an ever widening array of royal offspring as the years go by. I feel genuine sympathy for the royal children. Most British minors have their faces blanked out on camera, but not royal ones. They are sentenced to be recognised for life.

As a nation then we are extremely fortunate that Prince Harry is no more militant than in defence of the planet, wild animals and injured military veterans - all worthy causes if we are honest to admit it. Full disclosure: as an ex-veteran, I do give charitable donations to Invictus Games Foundation, the multi-sports event put on for wounded, injured or sick armed services personnel and their associated veterans. Prince Harry was instrumental in founding the Invictus Games in 2014 on his own initiative so that we never forget the courage and sacrifice of our military veterans.

What is already clear is that the Sussexes intend forthwith to redraw the lines of engagement with the press. They are opting out of the Royal Rota, the arrangement whereby, for decades, the royals have given access to a pool reporter from the national papers; instead, they will invite coverage from personally selected media outlets and will use their own social-media accounts, especially Instagram, to communicate directly with the public. Having railed against the media’s commodification of his wife, Prince Harry now seems prepared to take its commodification into his own hands: it was reported in January 2020 that he and the Duchess have lately submitted a trademark application for hundreds of items, from clothing to printed items, that may be issued with the couple’s personal brand, Sussex Royal.

This step is unfortunate and unedifying. To my mind, Sussex is a title, not a brand name. It is no more Harry and Meghan’s to exploit than Buckingham Palace is the Queen’s to sell off. Even if they distance themselves from the monarchy by being financially independent (as well as disowning their titles) by pursuing other commercial opportunities it only takes one scandal - e.g. a goods with their brand made from sweat shop labour or some other unforeseen PR disaster - to reflect badly on the Queen and the British monarchy solely because of Harry’s proximity to the throne. Harry may not be a Prince but he is a Windsor.

We are back to Bagehot again. For it was he who argued that the constitution was divided into two branches. The monarchy represents the “dignified” branch. Its job is to symbolise the state through pomp and ceremony. The government -Parliament, the cabinet and the civil service - represents the “efficient” branch. Its job is to run the country by passing laws and providing public services. The dignified branch governs through poetry, and the efficient branch through prose. The monarchy certainly doesn’t govern through commercial exploitation of its brand as an end in itself.

Today, the dignified branch is trying to adapt to an age of populism and until recently it’s been doing a much better job than the efficient branch. But the monarchy must never lower itself to the lowest common denominator to satisfy the base instincts of populism. As Bagehot aptly said, “An element of exaggeration clings to the popular judgment: great vices are made greater, great virtues greater also; interesting incidents are made more interesting, softer legends more soft.”

A family spat of no public importance is obsessing the nation and the world. Everyone should sit down and have a nice relaxing cup of tea.