#when no one believes she is. feeling incomplete for not looking more blended.

[happyk44]

Sometimes Carter catches Sadie staring at the Nome family photos. It's not like she's the only white-passing person in the Nome these days, but come winter she's usually the lightest. Standing stark obvious in the middle of them all.

Sometimes Carter sees her fumble braids and cornrows and narrow her eyes. He can see the mental berating behind her frustration. He reminds her gently that coils can be difficult. That's half the reason he keeps his hair trimmed nice and short.

They'll watch movies and colonization appears as a theme, a topic, a fact, and she'll drag her sleeves down, pull herself in tight like she wants the the couch to swallow her up.

"Should I even be doing this?" she mumbles into his shoulder. "I mean yeah I'm Isis's magician and whatever but I don't have to do anything. I could just..." As she fades off, she presses her full face into his shoulder.

He strokes her back softly. "You have to stop stressing about this."

"I feel like an invader," she says. "This isn't my-" She cuts off sharply, draws back, and tugs her knees to her chest. Adele plays through her speakers. She stares at it. "I'm British, people think I'm white, I can walk the walk and talk the talk all I want but I'm always the outsider. I can't be black, or culturally anything really. I wasn't even raised in this world."

"Neither was I," Carter says and she blinks at him. There's no dawning in her eyes. She gets it. Understands that his life was sand and professors and rocks, not hiphop and AAVE. If anything he's more Arab than African-American. He knows more about Islam than Christianity, more about Egypt than any other African nation. He may have walked through the cities, eaten their food, spoken with the people, but never long enough to count.

The tombs of Pharaohs were always calling his name.

"It's-" Her legs drop. The heels of her feet thump and skid down the wooden flooring. One hand clutches her shirt tight in the center of her chest, twisting the fabric so tight her fists go pale with effort. "Sometimes I just feel like I'm putting myself somewhere I shouldn't. I know I'm allowed. I'm mixed, I'm a magician and host for the Egyptian pantheon but I still-" She twists her shirt just an inch more. "I feel like a lie."

[oneboxofmatches]

Hi!!! May I request a HP romantic and friendship matchup on both eras? (Preferably male), thanks in advance! 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, Ravenclaw, and my patronus spirit is swan. Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY clumsy, secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over any wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, sarcastic person with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no. 1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), and will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "idealistic" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic crybaby filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive or I might break a belonging due to my carelessness). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, eating a lot, cartoons, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and writings, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity and worse scenarios in real life, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some are too hypocritical.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader). Currently an incoming college freshman, learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

Thank you so, so much for requesting! I had a lot of fun with this one (as you can tell by some of the really long answers lol) and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

One of the most beautiful things about Cedric is that although he may show some introverted tendencies, he still manages to have a natural gift for connecting to others and allowing them to feel comfortable enough to open up. Really, your initial distance and shyness don't last nearly as long towards Cedric as they would with most other people.

Hearing your laughter brings the widest, cheesiest grin to Cedric’s face. Not only does he adore seeing you happy, but he also recognizes that your anxiety, insecurities, and strong emotions can sometimes cloud up your demeanor. Therefore, it brings him comfort knowing that (for the moment) you’re finding joy. He thrives when you thrive!

However, as much as he loves seeing your more energetic and happier self, it goes without saying that he’s the best comfort for when you’re not having the best day.

Cedric is an excellent listener, so he’ll most likely let you talk without interruption for as long as you need before even saying a word. He wants to make sure he truly understands your current state before acting. He may take a few seconds to process everything after you finish speaking, but then he’ll help you tackle whatever problems you’re facing. He’s especially talented at giving words of affirmation.

Cedric’s listening also comes in handy whenever you talk about your interests! He genuinely loves hearing about the things you’re interested in solely for the fact that you’re interested in them. Side note: you can count on him to be at any music performances, pageants, etc. you may have -- this guy is truly your #1 supporter.

Cedric’s a very good student (though I suspect he’s somewhat of a procrastinator himself), so I can also see you two supporting each other through schoolwork and celebrating each other’s successes.

Like you, Cedric has a strong urge to do the right thing. Talking to him about social issues stirs up a need to help, and I could see you two doing volunteer work together in your spare time.

I like to believe one of Cedric’s biggest love languages is quality time. Don’t get me wrong, this guy loves staying involved and busy. But taking a couple hours to be with you in small ways (even if that means just being in the same room while you scroll through social media) gives him a nice balance.

Overall, this kind boy will be there unwaveringly through the bad times and will laugh just as loud as you through the good!

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LUNA LOVEGOOD

You wanna talk about the best conversations, relentless support, and overall the most wholesome friendship you could ask for? Luna’s your girl.

Being unashamed to be true to yourself is one of the biggest reasons why Luna is so drawn to you. While she’s very friendly and insightful towards everyone she meets, it can get a bit repetitive for her to constantly interact with people who try to shelter their unique characteristics from the world. In her mind, these unique characteristics are what make people so fascinating! Why should anyone hide who they are?

Luna’s creativity is endless, and I can see it blending well with yours. Collaborating on a personal project outside of school (ex: novel, blog, etc.) together is definitely something I could see you two doing.

Speaking of creativity, finding creative solutions to everyday problems (both in school and in life) is your specialty as friends.

Admittedly, Luna isn’t usually drawn to louder individuals. However, the complexity behind your personality makes it easier for her to know you are much more than what meets the eye.

Speaking of, Luna has a difficult time standing up for herself -- whether it’s because she doesn’t feel a need to or she just doesn’t recognize the meaning behind certain phrases. She NEEDS a friend like you to stand up for her sometimes, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate!

Ranting to Luna is therapeutic to say the least. While her aloofness at times may make it seem as if she isn’t fully paying attention, that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s actually catching every word, and once you’re done she’ll leave you with a philosophical solution that may seem borderline insane/irrelevant when you first hear it, but it strangely makes sense.

Overall, the lack of judgment from either of you is what draws you together. As a result, you build a unique bond that couldn’t be broken even if either of you wanted it to.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Let’s be honest, it would take you two so long to ask each other out. You were probably already really close friends, but the insecurities and “what if?” questions from both of you delayed an actual relationship.

When you finally started dating, you were both so relieved. You still share a laugh at how almost nothing changed in the way you interacted with each other.

While with mutual friends, Remus sometimes likes to sit back and just watch you, especially when you get really talkative because this is when you become the most expressive. He has the softest smile when you’re actively cracking jokes, discussing something you’re passionate about, or even calling someone out. Sometimes you may be too distracted to notice, but other times you’ll catch him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” (While that same soft smile never leaves his face.)

You both hold really high standards for yourself in terms of school, so expect late-night study/work sessions to be your best bet for quality time.

Though the occasional instance of walking through/lying on the grounds becomes a favorite for both of you.

Remus listens when you’re particularly struggling through anxiety or strong emotions, but he has to consciously stop himself from interrupting because he can’t stand how he feels knowing you’re going through a tough time.

All he wants to do is soothe you during these moments. If you’re comfortable, he’ll hold you while speaking to you in a soft voice. Remus, the intellectual that he is, is also your best chance at finding a reasonable solution. So if you're not in the mood for calming words, he's also a great person to turn to for answers.

As for your ambitions, no matter what you choose to pursue, you already know Remus is going to be your biggest source of support every step of the way. He’s more than happy to help in any way he can!

Overall, Remus appreciates you, and he’s always going to make sure you know it.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LILY EVANS

Lily especially connects to you because you manage to be determined, competitive, and intelligent without sacrificing your kindness, which is something she can relate to.

You and Lily are the C.E.O.s of doing the right thing. Neither of you hesitates to back the other up when it comes to confronting someone because you know it’s justified.

As perceptive as Lily is, you never need to tell her when something is bothering you. All it takes is a quick glance before she puts whatever she’s doing on hold to check in with you.

The reverse works as well. Typically, Lily really doesn’t internally struggle too much, and when she does she tries to hide it. You’re one of the only people who can see right through whatever she tries to pull.

The constant banter between you two is unmatched, but you both know it's because you really care about each other.

Overall, you and Lily have each other’s backs through anything, even when the other isn’t actively asking for help.

[sonderthroughthestreets]

@robbesdriesen you chose 4! So here it is 😌💫

4. “I can’t believe you!”

Dialogue prompts!

Edit: it says he’s halfway across the world and that’s because he was supposed to be in New York but I’m dumb and wrote Paris 🙈

✧ Happy one year anniversary of us being friends bb!! ✧

He was flipping pages back and forth and not a single word was going into his head.

It was raining outside, the pitter-patter of the droplets hitting the window, slowly making their way down to the pane and the sky was as grey as ever, clouds engulfed in each other blending into a hazy wash. Robbe thought it some cruel pathetic fallacy mocking him for the way he felt because he felt rather gloomy on this particular day. His mother was out and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening and though he had some studying to do this weekend, he still felt restless and incomplete.

It also didn’t help that the love of his life was halfway across the world right now.

But it was okay. It had to be.

Because when Sander had told Robbe about this brilliant opportunity to showcase his art internationally, he couldn’t contain his excitement and the sparkle in his eye as he envisioned it all already. His face had lit up completely because “Robbe you don’t understand out of all the students, they only choose three!” and “This is like the opportunity of a lifetime” and “This could mean so much for my career, it’s gonna be so great I can feel it in my bones.”

Then came the doubt. “But what if I’m not good enough?” and “What if they don’t like my work and I slaved away for these pieces for nothing and what if this was all a mistake and they hadn’t even meant to choose me?” and then finally as he had looked down, his eyes losing all that spark, “And it means leaving you.”

Sander might have thought that Robbe didn’t understand the weight of those words, but he did. He knew that even though Sander was leaving now for about three weeks to London, New York and Paris, a week in each city, if he was successful, he’d move onto bigger things. He’d gain publicity and he’d be asked to be present in more showings and if fate allowed it all, then pretty soon he wouldn’t be here much or have much time for him. But Robbe was ready to except that because this was Sander’s dream. This was literally what he’d been working for this whole time. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

“You should go,” he had said, encasing Sander’s hands in his. “You have to go because Sander, your art is breathtaking and it deserves to be seen and even if it means leaving, I know you’d do the same for me.”

And Sander had squeezed his hands back, his heart and gut wrenching at the thought of it all and with the utmost sincerity, with absolutely no hesitation, he’d whispered back, “I would.”

So, he’d packed up for London, the first city in his mini tour, and he’d endured his mother’s fussing while simultaneously mentioning how proud of him she was and he’d trapped Robbe in the longest hug he could possibly maintain before boarding his plane, his head peeking back at the gates, bleached hair falling over his forehead.

That was about three weeks ago and Robbe had just learned that Sander’s stay would be extended for one week more. While they’d FaceTimed whenever they could, Robbe couldn’t stop the ache in his chest, the burning longing that tingled as soon as he woke up, lingering still after a night out with his friends, soaking into him as he fell asleep. And he still felt it now as he sat there at his desk, textbook open but his thoughts diverting to soft hair, the lashes upon his green eyes, the moles on the side of his face. Just as he was about to try to really focus on the letters of the page to get that feeling out, he saw his phone light up beside him.

It was Sander calling him and he felt his soul replenish a little at the sight of his name.

“Hey,” he smiled into the greeting, lifting his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Robin,” Sander’s voice came through, deep and raspy and filled with a static haze.

“You’re not gonna FaceTime me?” he asked him. He heard more static, some shuffling around and it was a while before he responded again.

“Uh no, no FaceTiming this time,” replied Sander, the hint of a smile already present in his voice. “I mean we won’t need to for now.”

Robbe was now suspicious with his cryptic words.

“What are you up to?” he asked, knowing his boyfriend was capable of the most outrageous shenanigans. And even though he was technically in Paris right now, that didn’t mean he didn’t send him videos of the stupid shit he’d be doing in the hotel lobby.

Unfortunately there wasn’t enough time for sight-seeing and Sander had said it ‘keeps him busy’ to which Robbe had laughed and said ‘don’t fuck it up and get in trouble.’

He still hadn’t answered as more shuffling proceeded to sound through the phone.

“How’s your day been?” Sander asked. He probably hadn’t heard him.

“Good. Would’ve been better with you here,” Robbe chuckled.

“Same.”

There came more shuffling and breathing, like Sander might’ve been lightly jogging. It made Robbe all the more curious.

“Sander are you out right now? What exactly are you doing?” he asked again.

He heard his laugh shimmer through the phone, low and enticing, and it made him long for him even more.

“Patience, Robin,” he said and Robbe could practically see the smile that was probably stretched across his lips.

“Precious coming from you,” he teased.

Sander let out a real laugh now, faded and a bit distorted from the line that for some reason didn’t seem to want to connect very well today, but Robbe still wanted to drown in it.

“Just...hold on a sec. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

“What does that mean?” Robbe asked. But Sander was already bidding his goodbyes. “Sander, no, what do you mean?”

He sighed as the line cut, but then suddenly there was a loud knock mimicking the beat of his heart and the look of confusion across his face turned into anticipation as he slowly put the pieces together.

Opening the door, he failed to let his eyes adjust to what he was seeing. He even blinked a few times just to be sure.

No way this was real.

Because there was Sander standing in the doorway in his black leather jacket and his Doc Martens splattered slightly with mud, his bleached hair a little damp from the mist of the rain and his eyes shining bright with a smile.

‘Missed me?” he said.

And Robbe couldn’t help but pull him in, pull him closer and envelope him in an embrace that was sure to break a few ribs. His arms wrapped around him tight, wrinkling his jacket as Sander’s hands returned the gesture, holding his back, fingers grasping softly at the fabric of his dark sweater. Robbe breathed him in. He was almost certain he was forgetting what Sander smelled like and the shirts he’d loaned him weren’t nearly enough. The thing about rain though, is that it always heightened a smell, made it stronger, heavier. The faint scent of leather and cologne and something sterile that smelled of airport clung to him. He buried his nose in the ends of his hair and squeezed him even tighter. He felt Sander do the same, face hidden in his dark curls.

Robbe slowly pulled back but only to lightly smack his arm.

“I can’t believe you!” he exclaimed with the biggest smile on his face, his sentence breaking off in laughter. “You said you’d be back next week.”

“Are you really yelling at me because I came back early? I’ll go back to Paris, the hotel was pretty nice there,” Sander pointed his thumb toward the door.

Robbe just laughed with him, shaking his head, not quite believing this was reality and not a dream.

“I missed you,” he said.

Sander pulled him in, his finger delicately running along his jaw, his thumb tracing the supple skin of his cheek. His eyes flickered from the deep browns in Robbe’s down to his lips still curved at the corners, a residual of a smile. He leaned in and then just waited, playfully delaying this moment.

Fucking tease.

When his lips met him, it was soft and airy, light and feathery, like a barely-there press against his skin. He took his time with that first kiss. The second one, however, devoured him and deemed him senseless. It was urgent and needy, it was tongue tracing into his mouth, it was unspoken words of their love, it was deep and driven and maddening, maddening. Over and over and over and over again.

They pulled away with breathy sighs, lips lingering near the other. Robbe pressed another light kiss to his mouth and their hands travelled slowly, Robbe’s from his neck to his shoulders and Sander’s from his hair to his waist.

“I missed you, too,” Sander whispered into him.

He gave him one more sickeningly sweet kiss.

“Come on, let’s get you warm and then you can tell me all about your showcase,” said Robbe, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from Sander’s forehead.

They got settled in and Robbe heated some leftover lasagna from the fridge and they ate leisurely under the glow of the kitchen lights. Or rather, Robbe ate while Sander took a forkful only to settle his hand near the plate as his other one gestured the words he was saying, talking excitedly about his trip.

“It was amazing, Robbe! There were so many great pieces and the others who were chosen, Elise and Oscar, right? Their stuff is so cool. I think I took some shots before we left, but some of them should be up on the gallery website anyway and I was like,so fucking nervous,” he then looked over at Robbe. “Like I truly wished you were there to hold my hand and I reached for it before realizing you weren’t there and instead I almost held hands with Elise and then she gave me a really weird look after,” he rambled.

Robbe just watched him with all the love in his heart and all the adoration in his eyes.

“That’s cute,” he said leaning closer to him, palm in his cheek.

“No, it was so fucking embarrassing,” Sander gave him a look.

Robbe refused to believe Sander got embarrassed about anything, but after being with him for more than a year, he knew that he tended to get really nervous when it came to art showings. It’s not that he cared about his art being on display, it was mainly the people and the atmosphere and some sense of pretentiousness he couldn’t handle.

He sighed, finally taking a bite of his lasagna.

“Enough about me, though,” he said. “How have you been?” he asked like he didn’t text him that every day. “And where’s your mom? I didn’t get to say hi.”

“I’ve been good. Just studying and missing you and my mom’s out for a bit but she’ll be back,” Robbe chuckled.

Sander nodded.

Then, something settled in the air as Sander forked his lasagna, sticking the metal in the dish this way and that. His lips curved into something, some sort of bittersweet emotion Robbe couldn’t get a grip on.

“It was good, Robbe,” he said quietly, talking about the showcase. Some longing was seeping into his voice. “I mean it was really good.”

Robbe put a hand over his as his stood up with his empty plate (he’d been done his food for a while).

“That’s good,” he smiled, trying to convey with his eyes that he meant it and that whatever insecurities or doubts or irrational fears he had were all in his head because Robbe supported him. He knew how much he wanted this.

He walked over to set the plate in the sink, a chore for later once Sander finished his slice, and then he stepped back slowly grabbing onto Sander’s shoulders, his navy hoodie wrinkling under his fingertips and swung his legs around him as he sat his in lap. Sander let him, holding his thighs to balance him.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if I actually make it. If I actually somehow become an artist,” he said as Robbe leaned into him, his face drawing close.

“You are an artist,” he smiled.

“Yeah, well,” Sander snorted. “A well-known artist, then.” He brushed his nose across his, playfully nuzzling it up. “I’d take you with me next time,” he said.

“We both know you can’t do that,” Robbe let out a rumbling laugh.

“I’d take you anywhere with me,” Sander now stroked his arm, pushing up the sleeve of his sweater a bit, exposing the skin on Robbe’s wrist where his heart pulsed rapidly.

“Hhmm.”

“Would you come with me?”

“You know I would.”

And then there weren’t words left between them anymore. The space had closed and it was lips on each other once again, heads titling and mouths tasting. They mostly tasted of salty and savoury, a bit of leftover grease from the lasagna. But Robbe wouldn’t have it any other way. He wrapped his arms around him tighter, smiling into the kisses he gave and received.

And it went like so for a bit.

Being absolutely overwhelmed with a need for other. Waves inevitably crashing into rocks as they crashed into each other. Some hollowed form being filled by each other, moulding and meshing and weaving and intertwining. It was some kaleidoscope of colours bursting at the seams, some devastating desire and want.

It was

I love you

Me too

I missed you.

I know.

I miss you.

I’m right here.

And suddenly, Sander was lifting him off the chair, barely making it to Robbe’s room in the mess of giggles and kisses adorned with love. His plate of lasagna was still untouched but it was fine because Robbe got the feeling Sander was hungry for something else.

A hunger filled with yearning and joy passion and warmth.

And like he could imagine him saying...

Who was better than Robbe to satiate such a feeling.

[chiaki-translation]

SSR Hisoka [Goodnight To You]: Backstage Translation

People have been requesting me to do this since it’s incomplete in yaycupcake for a long while, I’m actually not sure whether someone else translated it but here it is~ Also also, I’m finally more or less back~

Well, I might be going for End of Year holiday, but that’s for later, I’m going to do as much as I can before I finally start working. As for the giveaway update, I have finally finished arranging it, and I’ll post the result and contact the winners in a few hours~

Summary: Hisoka is doing a part time work at a penny candy shop.

Disclaimer:

A3! is owned by Liber’s Entertainment

Translator’s Note: Some people might not be very familiar with it, but penny candy is referring to candy that you can buy with a penny. It’s an older generation things I believe since you can’t really buy a candy with a penny anymore nowadays.

Be connected

Narration:

August’s shop was surprisingly busy.

It’s not only the children, men and women of all ages came to visit all the time.

Every time after the shop opened, the first thing I heard was always, “Where’s Misha.”

A lot of times, I have to say that he was out on a business trip, and it became a routine to explain why I was there in his stead.

It felt so troublesome that I felt like dying.

I wish I hadn’t accepted this.

Just when I started to get fed up, I remember something August said to me before.

“Why do you run a candy shop in this kind of place?”

“It blends pretty well within the city, I don’t think anyone will be wary of sweets too. You can get a lot of information from the locals as well.”

At that time, I was impressed by his answer, but when it’s my turn to actually mend the store, I figured it must have been a lie.

Old men talked about their declining health, housewives complained about their husband, and children chattered with no meaning. There wasn’t even one useful information here.

I listened to all of them while being half asleep, and when the crowds finally dispersed, I fell into a genuine sleep.

When August came back, I’m going to complain a lot to him.

Hisoka:

…Yawn.

Cat:

…

Hisoka:

…Who?

Cat:

Meow.

Hisoka:

…Are you a stray? Which house are you from?

Cat:

Meow.

Hisokak:

… Well, it’s fine.

See you.

Cat:

…

Hisoka:

… Why are you following me?

Cat:

Meow.

Director:

Eh, Hisoka-san? What are you doing here?

Cat:

Meow.

Director:

What a cute cat.

Hisoka:

… I think I got lost while looking for a place to sleep.

Director:

Ahaha, it sounds like Hisoka-san alright.

Cat:

Meow.

Hisoka:

It can’t be helped, I’ll help you look for your house.

<Shifts to Road>

Director:

I wonder where he came from.

Hisoka:

… I was sleeping, I don’t really know cause he was just there by the time I woke up.

Director:

Hmm… Then, let’s just walk around here.

Eventually we might pass through familiar place.

Old Lady:

Mike?

Director:

?

Old Lady:

Why are you walking at this kind of place.

Hisoka:

… Are you the owner?

Director:

(This old lady, I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before…)

Old Lady:

Yeah.

Perhaps, you’re the one who brought him here?

Hisoka:

… Yeah. It seemed that he was lost.

Old Lady:

Thank you. That was a great help.

Oh, I know. If you have time, you can stop by my place, let me pay you back for your kindness.

<Shifts to Shop>

Director:

Ah! This shop, it’s the one near Tsumugi-san’s house--

Hisoka:

You’re right.

Director:

We came here before right.

Old Lady:

Oh, I think so…

Director:

I have a feeling that I recognized your face, and I finally remember when I saw this shop.

Old Lady:

Fufu, I won’t realize if you never say anything.

Please wait a minute, let me serve you some tea.

Director:

Thank you.

Hisoka:

… Part-time recruitment?

Director:

Ah, it’s in the poster.

Old Lady:

Right.

Actually, the doctor recommended me to undergo a surgery.

I want to keep opening the shop as much as possible, I still need to take care of the cat as well, so I’m trying to find someone to help out inside while I’m in the hospital.

But, it’s a very short duration, about one week, so I haven’t been able to find anyone.

Well, there aren’t many people coming, so I guess no one’s going to be troubled if I closed it for a while…

Hisoka:

… Even so, you still want to continue opening the shop.

Old Lady:

You’re right… I don’t know why.

Hisoka:

… I’ll work part time here.

Old Lady:

Eh?

Director:

Hisoka-san will?

Hisoka:

I have experience mending a sweet store, I’m also good at taking care of cats.

Director:

That’s true, you’re always on good terms with cats.

Old Lady:

Really? That will really help.

Then, thank you for your assistance.

<End of Part 1>

Tasuku:

Hmm, a part time job huh.

Guy:

It fits perfectly with Mikage.

Tsumugi:

When I was small, everyone liked to gather at that sweets shop, but recently, people don’t really go there anymore.

Director:

It’s actually kinda sad.

Azuma:

Since we have the chance, I feel like trying to liven up the shop.

Homare:

How about we hold a reading session of my poems.

The sweet contribution of a collaboration between sweets and poem~

Guy:

I can’t see any customer base for that.

Director:

You’re right…

Tasuku:

If you want to attract customer, I think a play would be more appropriate.

Tsumugi:

But, there’s no meaning if we can’t do it in the long run.

Azuma:

Right.

It must be something that the old lady can continue with even after she’s being discharged from the hospital.

Director:

Hmm…

Hisoka:

… I’ll try to think about it when I’m mending the shop.

<Shifts to Shop>

Cat:

Meow.

Meow meow.

Hisoka:

… Only cats come here.

Cat:

Meow.

Hisoka:

… What did August do.

<Flashback>

August:

It’s imported cookies that grant your wish if you write your wish on the wrapping paper.

Recently, I started handling imported sweets too.

December:

… Grant your wish?

August:

Well, writing your wish on the wrapping paper was just something that I added myself though.

<Back to Present>

Hisoka:

… No, I can’t cheat people.

Cat:

Meow~.

Banri:

It’s really empty.

Kazunari:

Otsu otsu~

Banri:

There’s no one here at all isn’t it.

Kazunari:

I heard that Hisohiso’s starting a part time job, so we came here to see.

Ah, that’s so nostalgic~ This sweet!

So retro, it’s great!

Banri:

I’ve never entered this kind of penny candy shop before.

Kazunari:

Eh!? You never visited even in your childhood?

Banri:

They sold sweets at the basement of a department store right.

Kazunari:

That’s like high class sweets!

Banri:

What’s this? A toy?

Kazunari:

This one, if you cut here and squeeze it, you can eat it.

Banri:

Hoo, this one’s a toy right?

Kazunari:

That jewel part there is a candy.

Banri:

This is hard.

How am I supposed to know what’s food and what’s toy.

Kazunari:

That’s why they’re great!

Hisoka:

… Everything’s 130 yen.

Banri:

Since when we become your customer!

Kazunari:

It’s fine isn’t it, since we’re here, let’s go buy different stuffs~

Banri:

Geez.

Kazunari:

Let’s tell everyone else too.

I’m sure they miss these as well.

Banri:

Well, there are a lot of interesting things here.

<Short Time Skip: Afternoon>

Sakyo:

Sorry to disturb.

Hisoka:

… Welcome.

Azami:

Anyway, why is damn Sakyo here too.

Sakyo:

It’s up to me where I want to go.

Azami:

It feels too strange isn’t it.

What’s a Yakuza doing in a penny candy shop like this.

Sakyo:

This kind of place is the same as it used to be.

A lot of adults come here for the nostalgia.

The location is not bad either. Depending on how you manage it, it’s still possible to improve the performance of the business.

First of all, we can create a site and start advertising on social media, bla bla bla…

Azami:

It’s starting again.

… Ah, I used to like this.

Sakyo:

Your snack allowance is only 300 yen.

Azami:

Hah!? Don’t kid with me!

<Short Time Skip: Evening>

Itaru:

Otsu otsu.

Chikage:

You said there’s a place you wanted to stop by at after work, I didn’t think that it would be here…

Hisoka:

… The spicy snacks are this one and this one.

Chikage:

I don’t need it.

Itaru:

This is so nostalgic.

I used to buy this yogurt and chocolate a lot.

Hisoka:

200 yen.

Itaru:

Chikage-san, here.

Chikage:

I really don’t need it.

<Time Skip: Day>

Director:

Hisoka-san, good work today.

Muku:

Sorry to disturb you.

Hisoka:

… Welcome.

Yuki:

Do you make any profit?

Hisoka:

… Thanks to everyone from the troupe that comes over, more or less.

Yuki:

But it’s not going to be a long-term solution.

Director:

You’re right… We can’t continue with only the troupe members as the customers.

Muku:

Ah, speaking of which, there’s a cat here right.

Hisoka:

Yeah. Over there…

Huh?

Director:

He’s gone?

<End of Part 2>

Hisoka:

Where did he go…

Muku:

I’m going to look over there.

Yuki:

It should be fine if we just bait him with food isn’t it.

Primary School Kid A:

So cute~!

Primary School Kid B:

Let me stroke you~

Hisoka:

?

Cat:

Meow.

Yuki:

Is it that cat?

Hisoka:

Yeah.

Yuki:

He went to play with the primary school kids.

Geez, don’t make people worry like that.

Primary School Kid A:

The cat is so cute~

Cat:

Meow~

Hisoka:

--Right.

Yuki, make an apron.

Yuki:

Eh? An apron, for you?

Hisoka:

Yeah. For the cat.

Yuki:

Huh?

<Shifts to Shop>

Old Lady:

Alright, hmm…

Director:

Are you tired?

Old Lady:

I’m fine.

I’m sorry to ask you to accompany me during my discharge.

You really help me took care of everything.

Director:

Don’t mind it.

I’m glad that everything went well too.

Primary School Kid A:

I want this one.

Primary School Kid B:

Let’s exchange!

Old Lady:

Oh, there are a lot of customers.

That’s rare…

Cat:

Meow.

High School Girl A:

The cat’s so cute~

High School Girl B:

Let’s take some picture for Inste!

Old Lady:

Well…

Director:

We got your cat to become the mascot of this shop and spread the word on the social media, with this, the number of customers should increase slightly…

Old Lady:

You’re right.

Azuma:

There are a lot of different type of sweets here.

Primary School Kid A:

This one’s yummy.

Azuma:

Really. Let me try it then.

Tasuku:

This one has been around for a very long time.

Tsumugi:

Tasuku, there was a time where you only brought that snack over during excursion right.

Tasuku:

… I don’t remember.

Guy:

It’s full of snacks that I’m unfamiliar with.

Homare:

It’s really interesting.

This area, they seem to be snacks that go along with alcohol.

Guy:

Let’s buy some of them for reference.

Old Lady:

It’s been a while since this shop’s this lively.

Hisoka:

… Welcome back.

Old Lady:

I’m home.

I didn’t think that you’ll make it so prosperous.

Good work for the past week.

Also, thank you so much.

Hisoka:

This flower… For me?

Old Lady:

Yes. I saw a flower shop on my way back and it bloomed so beautifully.

When you express your gratitude to someone, whether it’s a welcome or goodbye, you give them flowers right.

Hisoka:

… Yeah. Thank you.

Old Lady:

Anyway, I thought about it when I was in the hospital.

The reason I don’t want to close the shop.

… I think, it’s because I want to keep connected to someone.

Hisoka:

You want to keep connected…

Then, August too…

Old Lady:

Hmm?

Hisoka:

… Nevermind, it’s nothing.

Old Lady:

Do come over once in a while.

I’ll be waiting here with this child.

Cat:

Meow.

Hisoka:

… I’ll definitely come again.

<End of Part 3>

[omgmarieux]

Delos’ Tradition

Summary: The greatest day of your life with Mr. Logan Delos.

WC: 3.4K

Note: I'm so fucking soft while writing this, I’m sure I was fucking crying. And I’m like a stoned-heart person, IDK how I manage to pass through creating the fucking promises. It’s so goddamn sweeter than the red velvet crinkles I’m eating as I progressed with the story.

Written on: 07.29.2020 (3:19 AM)

It was the weekend’s morning when you woke up in your bedroom alone and then suddenly, everything dawned on you. You stared at the invisible air of your suite as you mentally skimmed through what might happen, what could go wrong. Today was a special day, a mark in your lifetime and you couldn’t help but feel excitement and nervousness. Excitement and nervousness of a new path that lies ahead of you and that you might never live the same as you do from that moment.

There was a tray on your bedside, breakfast prepared for you. A boxed of flowers on the corner with a pale pink card, the note embossed with golden letters, “Have a good morning, Princess.” You started on the eggs and bacon and occasionally brought the china cup to your lips for the morning coffee. You felt elated right now as if you were being intoxicated by every second of passing time. As you finished your breakfast, you silently sat on your king bed as you flipped every channel on the television, finding yourself to be bored with the movies or advertisement being flashed. You didn’t waste more time and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and change into a comfortable thin clothing that blends with the tropical season of the country.

As you stepped out from your room’s balcony, you were immediately embraced with the sea’s breeze wind and the noise of the waves filling your ears. The scenery was so perfect already but there is still something that’s incomplete and you cannot wait for the day to end to make it ‘complete’. Just a few more hours, be patient. You thought to yourself.

You stepped back inside your room, closing the glass door behind you and you stride to the cabinet to pull out a sheer coat to bring with you. I need to go outside. You descended to the lower part of the hotel, your feet instantly walking through the direction of the empty hall and you made sure to avoid the restaurant of the hotel to not bump into people you know. They’ll see me later when I look pretty. You opened a grid glass door on the next hallway you turned to. This area was isolated, per your request the day before checking in so you could have privacy on this particular morning. Walking on the checkered tiles, your sandals made an echo of sounds for your every footsteps. You appreciated how grand this place is. The entire wall was white marble and the floor-ceiling windows on your right, showcasing the calm beach outside. The sunlight was sifting through the transparent walls and you could just bathe in your happiness there. There were even potted indoor palm trees every few meters by the window and the leaves themselves were swaying according to the direction of the wind from the window you’ve just opened. You could smell the ocean there from where you stood, leaning against the wall as you let the air ruin your hair. Sighing loudly, the audible footsteps took your attention and you instantly guessed who it was. You told one person that they’d find you here if your suite is isolated.

“Hey, how’s the princess of the day?” Juliet asked, walking towards you. You gave her a toothy grin in which she returned immediately.

“I’m fine, nervous actually. I need the sea to calm me down.” You replied as you stood up straightly. She leaned her right arm on the same wall and watched you watch the sea.

“I know it’s the last thing on your mind, but do you want to drive around?” She asked you. Of course. She’d ask that. It’s Logan’s way of winding up when he feels stressed, but I’m not stressed right now, I’m just… overwhelmed.

“Why not?” you said and shrugged your shoulders. Juliet took your hand in hers and she instantly noticed how your hands were cold and a little sweaty. “Oh my dear, you should loosen up.” She said and started leading you out of the hotel. Looking around at your surroundings, you were wary. Afraid to meet someone you vowed not to meet until tonight. Juliet noticed it quickly of course and she squeezed your hand, assuring you. “He won’t be out here. I told him to not use the lobby.” She said and you nodded at her. The path was so familiar to you. You’ve been in this hotel a number of times in the last year and you’ve almost memorized each and every corner of the lounge, the empty hallways that lead to different ballrooms, but right now you’re just heading for the parking lot. The parking lot was filled with luxurious cars, noting that the guests later were mostly a bunch of money-fueled people though you could find Juliet’s shiny black Audi convertible easily, parked on the reserved spot. Upon reaching it, you both hopped in and she started to manoeuvre away from the spot and headed to the exit. Once you left the building, Juliet sped her way to the highway up to the cliffs. The wind was blowing your hair behind you as you watched the ocean below the cliff. The moment instantly made the day even better as it is already. “Where are we going?” you asked Juliet a few minutes in the drive, turning her head momentarily to you and just smiled. “A surprise.” She said and took her gaze back on the road.

A lot of kilometers later, she parked on the curb of a bank and you looked at her weirdly. “Are you gonna give me money to not marry Logan?” You asked out loud and she cackled at you, shaking her head. You noted the excitement look her face showed and you narrowed your eyes at her.

“No, more than that.” She replied and then pulled you inside the establishment. Somehow a staff assisted you in a mere second and you found yourself being led to a vault. Unlocking it, Juliet pulled out a red velvet box and offered it to you. As you held it in your hands, you felt the smooth material smoothly glide against your skin. The top was embossed with small letters ‘Delos’. Your eyes grew big as you opened it. There was a golden tiara with diamond ornaments that was hidden inside.

“Juliet, what the hell is this?” You asked, shocked and almost shoving it back to her. She shook her head to you, crossing her arms.

“That’s yours now. Mrs. Delos is the one who gets to keep it.” She said wryly. “Kinda envy, but it’s a tradition. Our Mom wore it on her wedding day with Dad, grandmother too, and great grandmother before that. I didn’t get the chance to wear it though.” Your eyes went guilty but she waved her hands. “Don’t worry, Logan’s wife deserves it. You deserve it.” she added. You snapped the box closed and hugged Juliet. “Oh Juliet, thank you.’ the only thing you could muster as you pulled away. She shrugged and smiled.

The ride back to the hotel was spent talking about the history of the heirloom. That the Delos little girls don't get to keep it but the future Delos woman could, in which she mischievously advised you to avoid having a little girl. Juliet also mentioned the value of the tiara today, who made it, why it had become a tradition to the wedding ceremonies of Delos. Your fingers were absentmindedly caressing the velvet box, scared that you might do something wrong with it.

When you were back at the hotel, it was past lunchtime. You were scurrying to go back to your room and prepare for the ‘greatest day of your life’. You found your white dress on a mannequin in the corner of your room, the makeup artist patiently waiting for you with a warm smile. “Have you eaten already?” Franchesca asked and you shook your head.

“Neither did I take a bath. Give me a moment please.” You requested and she just beamed at you and left the room, telling you to call her when you’re done. You placed the box to the vault in your cabinet first before you went to the bathroom and had a cold shower. You made sure to wash your hair with the lavender shampoo and scrubbed your body with a matching lavender body wash. You and Logan used a lot of lavender products as it was calming your nerves plus the smell was simply heaven. After the shower, you wrapped your bathrobe and a towel on your hair, and strode to the bedside to call for room service and ordered a light lunch. Your meal was quickly delivered to your room and you munched it in a haste and brushed your teeth before calling your makeup artist back.

The following two hours were spent fixing your makeup and hair. Juliet was there at your side too, talking to you and distracting you from your nervousness. She spoke about Logan’s childhood experiences, ones that Logan haven’t told you yet and you did end up laughing a lot, which resulted in retouching a part of your eye makeup. Juliet and the makeup artist helped you to get into your gown. The delicacy and luxury of the dress made you feel like the most important person in the entire establishment today. Of course you are, especially tonight, and Logan too. Your mother walked in just as when you were staring at your reflection in the mirror, running to your side and engulfing you to a sweet hug. Your eyes were forming tears and you fought hard to not let it flow. Franchesca already retouched this a lot. “Ah, you look so stunning. I can’t believe you’re a grown up now.” Your mother told you as she too, stared at your reflection. You gave her a playful eye roll and nudged her shoulder.

“I’m always a grown up Mom.” You replied and she curved the corner of her lips down and looked at you seriously. You heard Juliet cough and excused herself and Franchesca, leaving you alone with your mother.

“I’m proud of where you’ve come in life, you know that right?” She started and you looked at her, confused. “And that if you chose to marry Logan, I trust your judgement. We all know he hadn’t had a good reputation in the past.” She added and you instantly realized where she was going. “I mean, this is your choice and I entirely support it… but if you want to run now I’ll get the car and we’ll sneak you out.” She said without a pause and you laughed out loud. Your first laugh today, that’s actually genuine. Oh my dear. The thing that was making you nervous is to imagine that Logan would run away and leave you alone, and you know you couldn’t do that thing to him.

“I’ve considered that earlier Mom.” You said and flashed her a smile, she was about to speak but you didn’t give her the chance to. “But I really do love Logan. I won’t leave him hanging in here. We’ve planned this for a year and I can’t wait to live the rest of my life with him.” Your mother nodded and pulled you in for a hug. You could sense that she’ll cry so you rubbed your hands against her back to soothe her. “Time to let me go.” You said before pulling away.

Glancing at the clock, it was almost half past four in the afternoon. You called Juliet back, telling her to fetch the photographer for the pre-wedding photos of you. You decided that the rooftop of the west area of the hotel was the best place to do a photoshoot, it was kind of low so you could still see the ocean clearly. The photographer had captured a lot of photos of you and then asked Juliet to join in. Franchesca was always a few feet away for your makeup retouch.

“Have you seen Logan today?” You asked Juliet as you leaned on the railings and stared at the sea. The wedding will happen on the east side of the hotel, just before the sunset and you couldn’t wait to know what Logan thinks of the arrangements.

“Yeah. He looks just nervous as you are and well I asked William to check up on him from time to time…” you turned to her in an instant, eyebrows shooting up. “Made him swear to not get seen by Logan.” She quickly added and you lightly nod. Good. He’d hate him here.

“What he’d look like?” You asked, a smile forming on your lips as you imagined him in a tuxedo, but you waved your hand up in the air. “No, I want to be surprised.” You said and Juliet laughed with you.

“Let’s go, it’s almost five thirty.” Juliet said and you agreed. You two walked back inside, down the stairs to the lobby and in a glance you could see a carpeted hallway that leads down to the south that you knew a ballroom with the view of the ocean. We’ll dance there later and people would be congratulating us. You headed east and reached a tall door. Behind, you knew that guests were there, that Logan was there too. Probably already antsy on his ground.

“I’ll leave you here, alright? The cue is the song and then you go walk up there.” Juliet said, clearly becoming nervous as you are. You gave her a tight lipped smile.

“Yes, I know.” You replied and she turned around, about to head to another door that leads to the venue when you called her. “Jules! Thank you very much.” you said and she half turned at you and gave you a genuine smile. “Anytime, Mrs. Delos.” she said and finally walked away to the other door. Now I wait.

Placing my hand shakily on the nearest console table as your other held the bouquet of flower tightly. You’ve reminisced your times with Logan as you waited for the music to be played.

The first time you met him was at the Mesa Gold. You were decompressing from your previous trip in Westworld and he was just there on a chair, getting drunk. He did hit on you of course but he couldn’t get you to bed with him with his drunken lines in which he did not move on from and continued to bother you even after you checked out of the resort. It ended with a friendship first of course, or else your relationship with Logan would be just purely sexual.

You realized you were used to his presence and that you love the man dearly when he almost died of overdose. The memory in your head was still so vivid: Logan unconscious on the floor, you stumbling for the telephone, the ride to the hospital, the hours of waiting for any updates, Juliet on your side crying. Hell you were traumatized then that you can’t remember leaving Logan’s side even the duration of his rehab until he received his certification. You couldn’t say you helped him but you gave him enough support, encouragement so he could help and pull himself out of his misery.

The small speakers on the ceiling suddenly played a familiar music and you were woken up from your trance. You stood up properly, chin up. As the doors were opened for you, everything felt like slow motion. There a few steps down in a red carpet, there were a lot of flowers and ribbons swaying with the wind. You walked to the arch, finally seeing all guests beaming at you, and at the far end there was your man, Logan Delos. He was wearing a beige tuxedo, black trousers and tucked in a black tie. You slowly walked on the aisle, careful. Your veil doing poorly at protecting you with the strong wind but you didn’t mind. You could still hear the faint audible wave noises even with the music being played. There were no glances away to others, your eyes were fixed with Logan’s when it found his. Oh dear, Lo. A few steps away from him, you could visibly see his shoulders loosen up and now he was smiling widely at you.

When you finally reached him, you stared at each other's eyes for a moment. “Hi.” he breathed out and you grinned at him. “Hi Logan. I miss you.” You said and he chuckled. You both promised that you’d not spend time together the night before and until the wedding and funny enough, you lasted that long. He offered his arm to you and you took it.

The ceremony began and time flew so fast. You couldn’t comprehend much what the priest was speaking, instead all your attention was to Logan, how his hand was tightly wrapping yours… “And the vows?” When you turned to Logan, you found him nipping on his bottom lip and you smiled at him, reassuring him.

“Y/N…” He spoke, your eyes darting up to his. “The moment you told me that we should write our own vows, my mind shut down. Later that day I searched how to write one, asked Juliet to write me one but she waved and cursed me off.” You heard guests laughed at him as you did, your hands gripping his’ tighter. “I came across an article saying vows should include my dreams and promises with you in this marriage and I knew then what I wanted to say but I didn’t know if I’d nail it or bore you and these people around us.” You huffed and slightly shook your head no. No, Logan. You could never bore me. “But I’m the groom here and we’re the stars of the night so here it goes…

“Y/N, you were always there by my side and I just knew that I couldn’t have lived without you. I love you and will love you even more from this day forward, like how waves crash on the seashore. I will love you like how trees follow the direction of the wind. I will love you like how my heart pumps blood to my body, and until the day I die, I am yours, and you’re mine. I promise to cherish and honor you as my wife, in any aspect of our lives, in the midst of happiness or challenges we may face.”

You were focused with every word he spoke even as you tried really hard to push the forming tears back in your eyes. Logan’s hand reaching for underneath your veil and attaching his palms against your cheek as he wiped a tear with his thumb. You felt his other hand squeezing yours as he non-verbally told you that it was your turn. Your stomach churned, heart was thudding erratically. You took a moment to take a deep breath before speaking. Alright, here it goes.

“Logan… It is so impossible to speak every single thing I want to say to you right now, but this… our marriage is one that would hold us forever and I am more than happy to commit myself with you. You might not realize it but you’re the best thing that happened in my entire life. I vow to be honest, caring, and trusting wife to you, be with you, to celebrate and agonize about our highs and lows… Our vows could change as years pass by but my love for you won’t. I love you so damn much Logan Delos.”

The placing of rings followed. Logan was able to slip your ring to your finger swiftly unlike your hands which were shaking as you slipped his, but he was there guiding you and letting you take your time. It’s times like this that you appreciate how soft Logan could be. You could hear the officiant saying “You may kiss the bride” to Logan and every single noise was blocked from your hearing and you could only see him. He pulled you to him, your arms flattening against his chest as he moved your veil away and cupped your face, placing his lips against yours, sealing your marriage altogether. The officiant proceeded with the final blessings before you and Logan receded down the aisle.

“How does it feel like being a Delos?” You heard Logan whisper in your ear and you looked back to him and smiled widely.

“Feels too luxurious already.” You said scrunching your nose as you pointed your finger to the gold tiara you were wearing and he laughed at you.

“S’that Mom’s?” he asked, awe in his face.

“Yes, apparently Mrs. Delos gets to keep it.”

[allthatremainsislnl]

Forgetting My First Language | The New Yorker

Forgetting My First Language

When I speak Cantonese with my parents now, I rely on translation apps.

Jenny Liao

September 03, 2021

Illustration by Jo Zixuan Zhou

For many children of immigrants, to “succeed” in America, we must adopt a new language in place of our first—the one our parents speak best—without fully considering the strain it places on our relationships for the rest of our lives.

No one prepared me for the heartbreak of losing my first language. It doesn’t feel like the sudden, sharp pain of losing someone you love, but rather a dull ache that builds slowly until it becomes a part of you. My first language, Cantonese, is the only one I share with my parents, and, as it slips from my memory, I also lose my ability to communicate with them. When I tell people this, their eyes tend to grow wide with disbelief, as if it’s so absurd that I must be joking. “They can’t speak English?” they ask. “So how do you talk to your parents?” I never have a good answer. The truth is, I rely on translation apps and online dictionaries for most of our conversations.

It’s strange when I hear myself say that I have trouble talking to my parents, because I still don’t quite believe it myself. We speak on the phone once a week and the script is the same: “Have you eaten yet?” my father asks in Cantonese. Long pause. “No, not yet. You?” I reply. “Why not? It’s so late,” my mother cuts in. Long pause. “Remember to drink more water and wear a mask outside,” she continues. “O.K. You too.” Longest pause. “We’ll stop bothering you, then.” The conversation is shallow but familiar. Deviating from it puts us (or, if I’m being honest, just me) at risk of discomfort, which I try to avoid at all costs.

I grew up during the nineties in Sheepshead Bay, a quiet neighborhood located in the southern tip of Brooklyn, where the residents were mostly Russian-Jewish immigrants. Unable to communicate with neighbors, my parents kept to themselves and found other ways to participate in American culture. Once a month, my dad attempted to re-create McDonald’s chicken nuggets at home for my two brothers and me before taking us to the Coney Island boardwalk to watch the Cyclone roller coaster rumble by. On Sundays, my mom brought me to violin lessons, and afterward I accompanied her to a factory in Chinatown where she sacrificed her day off to sew blouses to pay for my next lesson while I did homework. These constant acts of love—my parents’ ideas of Americana—shaped who I am today. Why is it so difficult for me, at age thirty-two, to have a meaningful discussion with them? As an adult, I feel like their acquaintance instead of their daughter.

During my visits back home from California, our time together is quiet, our conversations brief. My parents ask about my life in Cantonese over plates of siu yuk and choy sum while I clumsily piece together incomplete sentences peppered with English in response. I have so much to say, but the Cantonese words are just out of reach, my tongue unable to retrieve them after being neglected in favor of English for so long. I feel emptier with each visit, like I’m losing not only my connection to my parents but also fragments of my Chinese heritage. Can I call myself Chinese if I barely speak the language?

My parents taught me my first words: naai, when I was hungry for milk, and gai, when I was hungry for chicken. I was born in New York City and spent most of my childhood, in Brooklyn, speaking Cantonese, since it was (and still is) the only language that my parents understand. In the nineteen-eighties, they immigrated to the U.S. from Guangdong, a province in southern China. The jobs they found in hot kitchens and cramped garment factories came with long hours, leaving them no time to learn English. As a result, my parents relied heavily on the Chinese community in New York to survive. I looked forward to running errands with my mother in Manhattan’s Chinatown, where I heard Cantonese spoken all around me in grocery stores, doctors’ offices, and hair salons. On special occasions, we would yum cha with my mother’s friends and eat my favorite dim-sum dishes like cheung fun and pai gwut while they praised my voracious appetite. At home, we watched “Journey to the West,” a popular Hong Kong television series that aired on TVB, and listened to catchy Cantopop songs by Jacky Cheung on repeat. Before I started school, my only friends were the children of other Cantonese-speaking immigrants, with whom I bonded over our shared love of White Rabbit candies and fruit-jelly cups. Cantonese surrounded every aspect of my life; it was all I knew.

When I first learned English in elementary school, I became bilingual quickly with help from English-as-a-second-language classes. I switched back and forth seamlessly between the two languages, running through multiplication tables with my mother in Cantonese and, in the same breath, telling my brother in English that I hated math. I attended my parent-teacher conferences as a translator for my mother despite the obvious conflict of interest; “Jenny is an excellent student over all but needs just a little more help with math,” my third-grade teacher said, which I’d relay to my mom with pride only after redacting the bit about math.

It wasn’t an issue that my math skills weren’t strong. My parents encouraged me to excel in English class because they believed it to be the key to success in America, even if they never learned the language. English would aid in my performance across all subjects in school because that was the language my teachers taught in. But, most important, my parents believed that a mastery of English would promise a good, stable job in the future. This missing piece in my parents’ lives would propel me forward for the rest of mine.

Before long, I learned that there was also significant social currency in adopting English as a primary language. Outside of E.S.L. class, I encountered the first of many “ching chongs” shouted my way. “Do you know that’s what you sound like?” a kid asked, laughing. I did not know, because “ching chong” had never come out of my mouth before. Still, it went on to be a common taunt I endured, along with “No speaky Engrish?,” even though I spoke English. I was humiliated based on how I looked and the fact that I could speak another language. It was an easy decision to suppress Cantonese in an effort to blend in, to feel more American. This didn’t actually work; instead, I felt a diminished sense of both identities.

[myhauntedsalem]

Types of Shadow People

Shadow people are likely the most common description given for ghosts by people. Theories abound about the different types of shadow people. Some believe they can be classified into different types of beings, such as aliens, demons, disembodied people, animals, and even unknown monsters. While it would seem there are different types of shadow people, perhaps the descriptions differ for several reasons.

Through ghost investigation of shadow people, our findings concluded that shadows of different types are either human or animal in nature. The shadowed form seemed to also differ due to size of the person or animal. Incomplete forms, such as hands or feet missing, were likely more the result of an incomplete manifestation or movement.

If the shadow person is negative, traumatic, or ill-willed, the form often is seen as a heavier, darker mass. Ill-willed specters appeared more diabolical, controlling, and adept at altering appearances to seem more ominous. Manipulating others through fear, they often cause people to feel dread, sparking great fear in those whom they wish to attack. Still, most shadow people are not ill-willed or pose a threat. Often, they are deceased loves ones who either want to observe, watch over us, or even seek our help so they can resolve past issues.

When shadow ghosts become visible to the human eye, it would seem that one of the first forms that may be noticed is a mist. This would explain why some shadow ghosts appear in a fog-like manner or why the end of limbs might be incomplete. As the entity comes further into view, the black mass will begin to take on the shape of a person or animal form. Still, details of the shadow have not yet emerged, so eyes might not be seen, etc. If the manifestation continues, the shadow person will sometimes become visible as a see-through apparition. A seasoned ghost investigator and friend of mine recently witnessed a complete apparition appear before her eyes. The shadow person slowly became transparent and colored in form. Soon, she knew she was looking at a man who had formerly worked at a coal mine where she now resides. Her account is highly credible and fantastic confirmation of the stages of how ghosts might fully become visible to us.

It seems like a mistake for us to classify shadow people into ‘types.’ However, we cannot rule out the possibility that other entities might look like shadow people. There could be other plausible explanations for shadows that look like people, such as astral travelers of the earthly realm (people who purposely practice having out of body experiences in order to become a temporary disembodied human spirit), psychically-created, thought-form ghosts known as tulpas, or if at times we appear to others elsewhere while asleep. We could be in two places at once. How can we know for sure?

Human-Shaped Shadow People

This type of shadow person is self-explanatory and the most common seen by witnesses. The only differences in description might be due to how well the ghost has become visible coupled with the mental condition of the disembodied person. Shadow ghosts have been described as sometimes missing facial features, details of clothing, hair, or outer extremities, such as hands, feet, etc. The shadowed mass can be transparent but has also been described as dark “black static.” Shadow people are often thought to be male in appearance, although children and women have been described in accounts.

Shadow people move quickly, are able to disappear into walls, through doors, etc. Many people claim to be able to see shadow people easier through peripheral vision, especially when the shadow is moving, often causing witnesses to feel like they are being watched. Many times, shadow people are just afraid as those who see them. It is common for them to run and hide. There are some ill-willed specters who attack while in shadow form, sometimes while people are in bed.

Black Mists, Dark Ectoplasm, Moving Shadows

This is one of the most common of shadow people sightings. Many times, the shadow person may not keep their shape when moving fast or be seen as a dark mist before becoming fully visible. They are intelligent and tend to frighten people who cannot readily identify them as a human form.

Animal-Shaped Shadow Ghosts

Sometimes, animals are seen as apparitions or in shadowed form. It is more common to see smaller animals as lower to the ground, moving shadows. Eye-witness accounts of shadow animals are less common than sightings of shadow people.

Other Types of Shadow People

It is not uncommon for people to see a shadow ghost peeking from around a corner. Shadow people typically prefer the cover of darkness. This is likely because they can remain more covert, blending in with shadows. The ghosts of children are smaller and often tend to be more playful. Both adult and child will sometimes peer around corners or from behind objects to see if the coast is clear to move about.

Shadow ghosts have also been seen wearing hats. It is not uncommon for people who are disembodied to still mentally project their image wearing clothing. Apparitions of people attest to this fact, as sightings of see-through ghosts are often described wearing clothes or period dress from their era. Many believe the “hat man” type of ghost to be something other-worldly, but their traits seem to be human.

Other strange anomalies associated with shadow ghosts tend to be disturbing to people. Red eyes, or horns, for example, make this type of shadow ghost seem demonic in appearance. Our investigations and experiments with such entities revealed them to be ghosts very capable of altering appearances in order to deceive and frighten victims. Just like there are people who frighten us here in the physical world, there are ghosts of people who choose to exhibit the same behavior after their body has expire.

[k7l4d4]

Owl House AU Ideas, ZA FOURTH!!

This one is another crossover, but a bit more serious than my last. Show of hands, who here has heard of Black Clover! Really? THAT many? Alright!! Note: This is incomplete, and will be expanded upon at a later date, or at request.

Clovers and Owls!: The premise, the cast of the Owl House exists within the world of Black Clover. Bonesborough is a refuge hidden within the outskirts of the Clover Kingdom, populated by one of the two groups of descendants and survivors of the Elf Tribe massacre and runaways from the Forest of Witches, its inhabitants are gifted with incredibly powerful, and incredibly unusual forms of magic. Near totally self-sufficient, the residents of Bonesborough are a complete unknown to all but the highest levels of the Magic Knights, (technically, the actual king is supposed to know as well, but he is so incompetent that he never learned.) the nature of the residents being elves is unknown, all that is known is that they are the reclusive descendants of Witches and are wary of outsiders. Amity: In this story, the inhabitants of Bonesborough include the Blight family, which boasts a proud lineage as descendants of Licht the Sword Mage. Unfortunately, the Blight parents don't exactly live up to their heritage, being isolationist paranoiacs. At an early age, they, along with one other family, experimented on Amity in the hopes of creating the "Ultimate Elf Mage" as a deterrent in the event of another conflict between Humans and Elves occurring. Due to Amity baring a lack of identifying marks to prove the experiments occurred, along with the Blights' influence with Bonesborough, they managed to escape punishment, though not unscathed, as they lost a large amount of prestige. While Amity bares no memory of the experiments, she is plagued by chronic pains, fortunately non-debilitating, and is fully aware of what her parents were accused of doing, which she completely believes they are capable of. The experiments linked Amity, as well as the other test subject, to the same reincarnation spell as the old Elf Tribe, granting her an immense boost to her already massive reserves of magic, but the modifications to her being resulted in Amity being ostracized as an "unnatural child" and a profound sense of loneliness. Amity wields Catalyst Magic, allowing her to borrow the magical abilities of others in exchange for having none inherent to herself. Amity's variant allows her to wield all her available elements simultaneously, blending them together into incredibly complex workings that even seasoned veterans find impressive. The alterations done to her body have resulted in Amity gaining the ability to store and feed shards of others magic, granting her access to magical elements she would otherwise be without due to not having an appropriate mage on hand, however, she must be careful not to fully expend her shards or she will use them up and lose access to the magic they contained. Another alteration has made it so she can store and wield Anti Magic, but use of it prevents her from using any other form of magic and causes her pain, as it damages her body from within. One of Amity's greatest strengths is her innate affinity for mana, allowing her to detect and record the flow of it perfectly at all times, something she possessed even before she was altered, and may have contributed to her parents selecting her for the experimentation process; her senses are so fine that Asta, someone born without mana and is thus a void in the senses of other Mages, is perfectly detectable to her, as she can feel the ambient mana of her environment flow around him and his own lack of inherent mana.

Luz: In this story, Camila, along with an infant Luz, were on the run, attempting to avoid those seeking to exploit Camila's powerful Healing Magic, with their trek eventually leading them to Bonesborough. Upon reaching the isolated town, Camila managed to plead her case and set up residence for herself and Luz. Growing up as the sole full human in a village populated by Elf-Witch hybrids, Luz experienced isolation from others early on, though she some how always managed to keep a cheerful grin on her face, even when it was just to hide the pain inside. While very similar to her Canon self, Luz is a bit more thoughtful and level-headed in this AU, with the nature of her abilities necessitating her thinking things through before she actually does them. A passionate ray of sunshine, Luz always attempts to look on the bright side of a situation, with a natural flair and charisma that allows her to sway all but her most staunch adversaries. Luz's magical abilities are considered truly unique, as the composition of her mana is technically on the level of members of Royalty, yet its unusual nature presents difficulties for others to sense her true power, with only elves and certain members of royalty being able to truly gauge her magical power, with anyone else getting a reading no different than the average peasant. Luz's magic is known (in homage to her original series) as Wild Magic. Wild Magic, in this setting, is the fundamental magic of nature itself, the use of which causes Luz to literally merge with the magic and mana around her. Due to the current risk of losing herself in the mana, Luz often restricts herself to lower-level feats, creating the illusion that her magic is merely a form of environmental manipulation. Luz is desperate to learn more about humanity and the outside world, so when a chance to join the magic knights to gain intel was offered, she jumped at the chance. Boscha: Boscha's parents were part of the same group as Amity's, with Boscha serving as the prototype for their experiments. I'll spare you the gory details, but to test the feasibility of tapping into reincarnation magic-based forms of empowerment, Boscha's soul was forcefully extracted from her body and shoved back in through a reincarnation spell, known as Evil Eye. Boscha is far faster, stronger, and more aggressive than nearly any other mage her age. Due to the extant of the experiments conducted on her, Boscha's Evil Eye is always open, warping her mind into a near-feral state, and her original flame magic became corrupted into Demon Flame magic, a form of magical fire that can devour other forms of mana, and even the soul itself. Because she had so many more noticeable signs of alteration, Boscha's parents were unable to escape justice for what was done to her, leading to their exile into the Grand Magic Zone outside the Clover Kingdom. Like Amity, Boscha was heavily ostracized due to her altered state, but whereas Amity grew despondent, Boscha grew angry and bitter. Boscha has a horrible temper, and craves violence to a degree that frightens even herself, yet despite her flaws, Boscha is unwaveringly loyal to those she cares about, with Amity and surprisingly Luz counted among that number, and surprisingly friendly to those she isn't against and even to those she technically is! Boscha is incredibly proud of her skills, and any slight as to her strength and ability will near always result in violent retaliation. Boscha wields the power of Manticore, an artificial Fire Spirit created through the same experiments that resulted in her current state. Unlike other spirits, Manticore is nearly mindless, only showing any form of intellect and personality when called upon in a fight, and even then only in the loosest of senses.

As always, feel free to ask questions, comment, or use the AU as you please.

[tarithenurse]

The good Villain - 2

Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually) Content: Darkness with sadness and some gory details sprinkled with old trauma.  A/N: I’m having a lot of fun with the details in this. Feel free to send an ASK for a tag :D Thanks to those of you who already have <3 and to you darlings that have reblogged! Oh! Please check if you are in fact taggable...

2

…   Reader   …

Infinity holds, as the description hints at, infinite options. Take planets. Somewhere, someone has started counting them all and they will never reach the end just like it is similarly impossible to number the types of biospheres, or dangers. Through the Academy, you’ve studied a number of hostile conditions and how to deal with them, ensuring that you can survive most environments, and all things considered: you have been lucky throughout your career.

Until now.

Consumed by the urge to fulfill your destiny, you have started paying less attention to the “where” of things. Now the bill has come due, meaning you’ve landed yourself in the middle of the worst climate.

“Stop! Fracking! Leaking!”

No amount of screaming at the sky will have an effect other than scare the local critters. Huddling near the half-rusted fuel drum, you wiggle each naked toe carefully, ensuring nothing’s gotten too cold or has melted from the wetness. Rain, you turn the foreign word in the mouth. Someone had shouted at you to watch where you’re going, to not mind this…rain. There’s no word for it in your native language, though plenty of options in Kyrrelian, Sakaarian, yes, even the now dead languages of Morag. Obviously Morag.

A drop from your pants, hanging above the barrel, falls into the makeshift fire and causes it to sputter and hiss. Nothing likes water. Huddled on the splintering pallet with a few rags of tarp, you try to keep yourself warm despite the ominous splatter of wetness from outside.

Focus on the mission. Today has brought two victories and a new target.

First, you had managed to isolate a strong Leech, making an end to its life and those it had already started draining.

Then, which was almost better, you had figured out how commerce works on Terra, using the paper flaps assigned some monetary value which in turn got you plenty of your pure, wonderful sustenance. Never in your life had you seen so much of the Life Crystals. Bag upon bag, all advertising openly what is hidden inside as though people would not plunder the little shop to obtain it…and actually, they didn’t. The Terrans  walked about, paying little attention to the valuable minerals.

Drops sizzle, steam rises from your trousers, reminding you of the discovery as you had to leave the shelter of the store. For a moment, you had thought the reasons for the small hairs rising on your body was that someone might be watching you…but as soon as your gaze swept around the surroundings, you found the real reason: vacant eyes and static movements as the little herd navigated the masses ahead of the Soul Leech they belong to. The Leech is old enough that no one will be concerned it is not handled by one of the adults, yet young enough that people would drop their defenses and get too close if it whimpers or calls out for help.

“Yo-ehmm…” a hoarse voice reaches out to you, “go’ room by ‘a’ drum, eh?”

The Terran at the edge of the light has seen better times. Worn and dirty clothes, holey shoes stuffed with newspapers. His hair is long and unkempt without the lustre of health, promising a set of teeth more lacking than anything else. Harmless. He is swaying, either from fatigue or a kind of stimulant.

“Sure.”

Keeping to the far side of the heat source, he shuffles a bit closer after finding a piece of wood to sit on, clearly relieved to find respite from the so-called rain.

Satisfied with the added security by numbers, you recoil to the safety of planning. Sometimes, you fingers stray to pick a few crystals from the pack, allowing them to roll over the tongue and dissolve. Already, you are feeling the boost it gives your physiology and it will not be long before the ridiculous cast around the arm can be removed. It has become quite practical, though.

As you pull out a colouring tube from your backpack, you set to work repairing the blemishes. Black, rather than the glaring white, it blends into the shadows when you stalk your target, and you have come to appreciate the softness of the wrapping which absorbs blows surprisingly comfortably despite the underlying damage.

“How’d ye ge’ one o’ those?” Although his eyes are not exactly on your cast, you know it is about that.

You wouldn’t believe me, Terran. “Crashed. Shit happened.”

“Hm.” While he ponders the answer, there is nothing but the crackle of the fire to be heard – the leak in the sky must be stopped. “So…” He picks at a nail, long since rusted into the wood he sits on. “The docs didn’ take ou’ last bit, eh? Left somethin’ behind in mah head too…say too dang’rous to remove.” A crooked finger taps at a spot at the back of the head, hidden behind the mass of wiry, greasy hair. “Way I see ’t…better if they tried anyways. Head ain’t been mine since come back from over there.”

You find it hard to make sense of most of the things Terrans say, but the look in the man’s face is universal. “You served your…country?”

“Wha’ they say, innit?” Yes, he means yes. “Now…I’m on my own.”

He knows you understand in that moment. None of you have to speak any longer, just sit there in the broken darkness haunted by the memories of the past – that is the real damage, a pain you thought you understood when you signed up as recruits. We didn’t. Even if healers could fix the damage to the Terran’s brain, nothing can be done about the wounds crisscrossing his soul, and for a glimmer of a second you wish he could find the kind of piece a Leech provides as it drains its prey. No. You have seen it happen, seen the desperation flare up every time a soul struggles to remain. They always realize too late.

 …   Loki   …

“That’s just nasty!” Stark voices an opinion shared by all.

Treading carefully through the suburban house, Loki can hear the voices of the firefighters discussing how it only is because of the rain that the fire had not spread. Mad luck, they say. Or smart planning. With the exception of a few of the Avengers none of the dimwitted mortals have realized that the charred remains of the family have been staged together with the destructive blaze to hide the real cause of death.

Bending closer while ignoring the red shock of hair nearby, the keen eyes of the Asgardian can see the cuts running deeper than the roasted flesh. “This one appears more brutally attacked,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Romanova nods, pointing to the wrist, “fracture here’s pre-mortem.”

It happens as Loki circumvents the corpse of the child to get a better look. With a sickening, slobbery sound, the skull begins to tilt backwards before letting go of the still tender muscles and falling to the ground with a thud.

“Look.” He ignores the sound of someone in the background throwing up. “That wound.”

Both the Black Widow and Barnes huddle close, inspecting the circular cavity left from a narrow weapon passing through what used to be a chin. Rounded like a rod…or tube. Carefully tipping the fallen piece of head with the tip of his toe, Loki bares the roof of the mouth through which the wound continues.

“Betcha’s the killing blow,” Barnes offer.

“We don’t bet at crime scenes,” the other veteran scolds, “no betting, joking, or giggling.”

…

Scrolling through the data, only one conclusion presents itself although the evidence is incomplete. Captain Danvers and the mercenaries calling themselves the “Guardians of the Galaxy” – a ridiculously pretentious name – have attempted to uncover more evidence from the past crimes scattered across multiple realms, and in the cases where it has been possible to learn anything at all there are signs of the same killing blow to one victim at each location. Always a child.

But why not just any children? As twisted as the mind of a madman must be, there is always a grain of logic to be found. Broken logic, sure, but a flicker of explanation to why a particular pattern has arisen.

“Intergalactic mass-murderer or not,” Loki interjects softly, pausing an argument between Strange and Stark, “if it was simply a matter of killing, then why travel such distances? You both know there must be more to it.”

“C’mon!” Now both men agree, directing their frustrations at Loki. “You can’t be serious? You think something about killing kids can make sense?!”

Killing or leaving to die, what is the difference? “I do not presume to agree or understand…yet we must operate from the assumption that it’s not random…if that had been the case, then all children on any planet would be left dead and burned.”

“The frost faery’s got a point.” On normal occasions, Romanova would have found herself the target of a knife after such a comment, but maybe she can get through to the squabbling men. “We’re missing the pattern. Why those children? Why’n that order?”

[shipersanonymous]

One Hit West

Chapter 4/?

Author's Note:

Was going to post this much earlier but I just kept on falling asleep 😴🙁. But it's here now! Longer than usual and yess it will offer some answers but I'm pretty sure it's going to leave you with alot more questions.

Still, Enjoy!!

XOXO

****** Cliffhanger Warning ******

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[Flashback]

Iris looked down at the test in her hands and took a few deep breaths. Each inhale and exhale saw her sinking deeper and deeper into her mattress, like the seriousness of the matter weighed her down the more she considered it. No matter how many times she looked away and looked back at the little stick, the result didn’t change. It was always positive.

She was pregnant.

She didn’t know what to feel. What to think. How to act. Her hand rose, tentatively, to her stomach and she let it rest there over her navy blue sweater as her mind raced through thoughts of Barry.

The man she loved. The father of her child.

A smile spread over her lips as was often the case when she found herself thinking of him, something she also did quite often. Her love for Barry was unlike any other teenage crush she’d been through. It was the kind of love that consumed. That melted into your senses till you felt incomplete unless the object of your love was within reach. There for you to smell, hear, see, touch and taste.

It was the kind of love that only happened once in a lifetime.

And now he was inside her. A piece of him anyway, perfectly blended with a piece of her, growing inside her. Taking form and gaining life in the little space that laid beneath her palm. Tears blurred her vision as an incomprehensible joy washed over her, partnered very closely with a hint of fear.

Her phone rang and as she watched Barry’s name flash on the screen the fear grew. Doubts crept out from the dark recesses of her consciousness and soon Iris was trembling.

What if he doesn’t want the baby?

What if he’s not ready to be a dad?

Am I ready to be a mom?

Can I do this?

After all she was only nineteen and after a year of traveling both her and Barry were ready to take the next step into adulthood and start college. Having kids didn’t seem like the first step, it seemed like a leap. She should have been shopping for stationery and dorm hunting instead of picturing herself shopping for strollers and car seats.

The ring persisted so Iris swallowed the knot in her throat and answered the call.

“I love you,” his voice echoed into her heart and vibrated through her body, extinguishing any and all doubt from her mind. It was a little something special between her and Barry, always greeting each other with an “I love you” instead of a “hello” or a “goodbye". She found it sweet at the beginning of their relationship, like he’d been holding off from telling her how he felt out of fear of scaring her away but after he finally confessed he couldn’t say it enough. She asked him about it once it felt like they’d been together long enough that no question proved awkward. His response:

“Hellos seem to always be followed by goodbyes, goodnights, see you later or see you soon and I never want to say any of those things to you. I never want to feel like there’s a chance you might be walking away from me, not even with the certainty that you’ll be coming back. An “I love you” is eternal, it’s a promise that no matter where either of us go we will be with each other. It says that no hellos are needed because this isn’t the awkward beginning and no goodbyes are necessary because there’s no end to you and me.”

The memory made her tear up and brought her all the safety she needed. As insecure as she felt at that moment, the one thing she was certain of with every fibre of her being was that Barry Allen loved her. That’s all she needed to know.

“I love you too,” she whispered out trying to hide the shake from her voice but…

“Are you alright, babe?”…he picked it up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Her first lie.

“Just woke up,” Her second.

“Oh I’m sorry, can you still catch your dream if I hang up now?” he asked apologetically.

“You are my dream,” she confessed truthfully and she could practically hear his cheeks tint.

“What’s up?” She asked, saving him from having to come up with a corny comeback to out cheese her cheesy line.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he answered and her heart melted.

“Well since I’m up how about I do one better? Meet me at the tree?” She asked, her resolve hardening.

“I kinda have something I wanna tell you.” Her eyes flickered to the pregnancy test in her hand.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked yet again and she chuckled.

“Barry I’m fine. Just meet me at the tree in fifteen OK?” She waited as he decided whether or not he wanted to believe her when she said she was fine but soon enough he gave in.

“Alright, see you in fifteen. I still love you.” He greeted.

“I still love you too.” She replied and ended the call.

The floor was white as far her eyes could see except for the shovelled pathways that offered a hint of gravel grey to the scenery. For some reason Iris had bundled herself up even more that afternoon, almost as if she didn’t trust her body to insulate their child against the harsh temperatures of the Central City winter. Unlike her, their favourite tree was barren of any leaves and provided no shelter from the slowly falling snow but despite this she knew that it had to be there. This is where she had to tell him that their lives were about to change, and not just because they would both (hopefully) be going off to college that spring. Her hands moved in the warmth of her jacket pockets, rubbing her still flat belly and filling the silent place with the sound of stuffed nylon being rubbed.

The cold had kept the children at bay, giving the park an isolated quality. It couldn’t be any more perfect. Iris heard the wet crushing of the snow behind her and closed her eyes before his hands squeezed through her bent arms and wrapped around her waist. He kissed her cheek and she smiled warmly at the feel of his arms around her stomach. It felt right.

“You been waiting long?” he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder and swaying gently.

“No, just had enough time to take in the scenery.”

“Yeah it is something. Second most breath-taking thing I’ve seen all day,” he said and gave her cheek another kiss to make it clear that the first thing was her. Iris chuckled and turned around in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling brightly up at him.

“Barry Allen, ever the charmer,” she teased and he grinned down at her.

“Only for women I find irresistible,” he responded.

“Oh really?” she challenged with her eyes wide open. “So how many of us are there?” she asked knowingly.

“Mmm,” Barry closed one eye and pretend to think about it.

“Just one. You.” He answered and leaned in to steal a quick peck but Iris held him there, parting his lips with hers and deepening the kiss. It wasn’t a hungry kiss, on the contrary it was soft and she gingerly played with the hair at the back of his neck that stuck out between his scarf and his wool hat. She gave him a final peck, tugging on his bottom lip, and he rested his forehead on hers.

“What was that for?” he asked, his eyes still closed as her warm breath melted the cold on his lips. She smiled.

“For saying I’m the only woman in your life right now. Besides your mom that is.” She justified and he chuckled though the happy sound had a hint of sadness in it as was the custom when the topic was his mother.

“It’s true,” he reassured her.

“There isn’t and I fear there never will be another woman in my life. You’re it for me.” He promised and her eyes searched his.

“You really mean that don’t you?” She asked, her eyes growing moist.

“With every fibre of my being. I’d go to the end of the world to prove it to you. Even if that meant declining both my scholarships.” He said and grinned knowingly as her eyes grew wide.

“You got them?” She asked a smile teasing the corner of her lips and he nodded, happy to see the twinkle of pride in her eyes.

“I did.”

“Oh my gosh, Barry! I’m so proud of you baby!” She said and covered his face with a dozen enthusiastic kisses. He laughed, his entire chest shaking merrily from the action.

“Thank you,” he said once she seemed to be calming down, the smile on her face making his own smile grow till his cheeks hurt and he could barely see from squinting.

“I knew you were gonna make it. You’re a talented athlete and have the greatest brain in the city. They’d have to be blind not to see that.” She gushed over him and his cheeks tinted further than the blush offered to him by the cold weather.

“And yet you’re still the most important part of me.” He said and pulled her closer, he just never quit.

Then suddenly her stomach dropped as she looked into his eyes. For the first time, his undying love and devotion filled her with a prickle of dread.

“I’d go to the end of the world to prove it to you. Even if that meant declining both my scholarships.”

His words rang through her brain and the infatuation in his gaze told her he wasn’t kidding.

“So what did you have to tell me?” he asked and she couldn’t help but think that his timing couldn’t have been any worse. How could she bring herself to tell him that she was pregnant, knowing exactly how he’d react?

How much he’d be giving up.

Because that’s just how Barry was. He was the type of guy who took responsibility for his actions and valued family above everything. She saw that in how close he was to his twin brother and how much he looked up to his uncle. She could only imagine how proud they both were of him. All the plans they must have for his future. But Iris also knew that he loved her, with every bone in his body. So telling him would be ripping away that future. Snuffing out the flame of his dream and Iris couldn’t bring herself to do that. So she answered:

“Just that I love you. But I wanted to give you the opportunity to kiss me when I did so.”

His eyes shrank as he smiled and she was surprised that the snow around them didn’t begin to melt with the brightness of it.

“I love you too,” he said before leaning in to taste her lips.

And her heart broke a little as she wondered how many more times she’d get to hear him say that before she had to walk out of his life for good.

[10 months later]

Iris’s eyes fluttered open slowly and her entire body felt heavy, like gravity had taken particular interest on her that day. She was completely numb from the waist down and as her foggy mind tried to make sense of her surroundings she grew more and more confused. Nothing about the pale white room or the cold decorations in the space brought about the smallest whisper of familiarity. Then as her mind cleared, small wisps of recollection floated through her brain and suddenly the drugged nightmare she thought she was in became all too real. As her eyes painfully adjusted to the fluorescent lighting, the windowless space with its bland furnishings began to look more and more like the prison she’d grown accustomed to the past few months.

But something felt wrong that day and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. All she knew was that whatever it was, it wasn’t just the room. It wasn’t the white, steel and glass décor nor the sterile smell or unnatural lighting. It was something inside her. Something within her had changed, shifted. Something was missing.

My babies!

The cry popped into her head and her hands automatically flew to her deflated stomach. Some of its swelling remained but it felt different. It felt empty. She started to panic and her breaths shortened as she moved her hands frantically up and down her abdomen in search of some sign of life. Her eyes widened and grew teary as she searched her mind (and body) for some form of explanation as to what had happened. When she felt under the plain white shirt that fell loosely around her torso, she found a thin line of scarring skin stretching across the bottom of her stomach just above her midsection. Blurry memories came to her at the feel of it:

The sharp pain in her pelvic region. A nurse telling her to relax. A heavy exhaustion dulling her senses. The blurred out sparkle of what looked like an operation room in use.

Then suddenly the possibility dawned on her like an unwanted thought:

My babies are gone.

And something inside her snapped.

“Where are my babies!” she yelled to whoever was keeping her hostage in that tastelessly decorated room.

“My babies!” she screamed, the thought that the place was sound proof escaping her mind in her panic.

“My babies! Give me back my babies!” she shouted, flaying her arms around like a mad woman, the fact that she couldn’t move the bottom half of her body, infuriating her further.

As the tears began their trek down her cheeks a knock echoed from the door. Iris swallowed down her tears and fell silent. The round door knob turned slowly and Iris watched it intently, her heart racing. In stepped two women, dressed in blue scrubs and each holding a tiny blanket wrapped bundle in their arms. Iris sucked a hopeful breath in and held it as the women approached.

“Good morning Ms West. Glad to see that you’re finally awake. These two little angels have been dying to meet you.” One of them spoke with a smile. She had fiery red hair and startling green eyes. Her friend wore a smile similar to hers that twinkled in her golden-honey coloured irises, her hair a glossy auburn.

“Let me help you up,” the dark haired one offered as she handed the red-head the baby she was holding before approaching Iris’s bed. She helped Iris sit up and adjusted the pillows behind her with the attention of a dedicated nurse, then she retrieved the baby from her friend (who had also approached) and gently placed it in Iris’s keen arms.

Iris exhaled loudly, relief flooding her body as she laid eyes on the perfect bundle of warmth in her arms. Judging by the blue attire, Iris assumed it was her baby boy.

Joseph Junior, she thought, her previous frustrations forgotten as she met her son. Joey, after my father.

The next baby was her baby girl, and a tear slipped Iris’s eye as her daughter moved in her arms.

Nora, after your father’s mother.

She named them silently and planted a loving kiss to each of their little heads as a half sob, half chuckle escaped her lips.

Joey and Nora.

Her perfect babies.

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

[Iris]

“I love you mommy,” Nora says, her voice distant and Iris chuckles. Knowing her daughter, Nora probably has her eye’s glued to a book and answered the phone distracted.

“I love you too baby. Always will.” Iris sighs her heart beat returning to normal. She hears the soft ruffle of pages being turned and smiles.

“What are you reading baby girl?” Iris asks, trying to contain the tremble in her voice as she steadies her breathing.

“What’s wrong mommy?” Her daughter notes, ignoring her question and Iris chuckles.

Like father like daughter, she thinks to herself. Both can read her like an open book.

“Nothing baby, mommy just needed to hear your voice.” Iris assures her and closes her eyes to commit every note and change in pitch to memory.

“Are you sure? Cause you don’t sound too good.” Nora insists.

“Yes baby, mommy’s fine. I just miss you.” She dropped Nora off at Anissa’s apartment this morning, like always, but the tightening in her chest made it feel like it’s been years. She can’t stand to be away from her daughter for long periods of time. She never could.

“I miss you too mommy. Will you come get me soon?” Nora asks, her voice tiny and hopeful.

“I will baby. I promise.”

“So can I stay up and wait for you tonight? We can read another biography together?” Nora offers and Iris chuckles. Despite being a mere five years old Nora has the brain of a teenager, and it was her heightened intelligence (and Iris’s extreme paranoia) that fuelled her mother’s decision to have her home schooled.

“No that’s alright sweety, go on and let aunt Nissa put you to bed. You need your sleep.”

“So do you mommy. According to your sleep tracker you only got four good hours of sleep last night and you know that you need at least double that to keep your body and mind functioning properly.” Nora lectures and Iris can’t help but smile.

“I know baby girl, I know. I promise I’ll get enough sleep tonight but for now it’s time for bed. I’ll pick you up in a few.” Iris promises.

“Ok mommy. Goodnight then. I still love you.” Nora whispers it like a secret and Iris’s heart flips in her chest.

“I still love you too.” Iris whispers back and laughs just as quietly.

“Goodnight baby.” She greets before Nora hangs up.

For a while Iris simply stands there in the darkness of night with the cool evening breeze whispering it’s travelled secrets into her hair. With her eyes closed she pictures her daughter’s sweet face. The soft caramel of her skin, the fullness of her little lips (like her mom’s), the roundness of her light green eyes (like her father’s) with a beautiful hint of honey, the cute roundness of her nose. She sighs out, content, though a bitter sweet taste lingers on her tongue. Despite the thought of her daughter’s perfect features making her heart swell with so much love and so much pride, it also serves to remind her of the other half that made that perfection. The other half of her heart. The man that was currently bleeding in her guest room.

Her fingers brush over her lips, remembering the brief seconds he’d pressed his to hers. It would have been so easy to give in, to kiss him back. To let herself be swept into his arms, let him love her again. To just march in there and tell him the truth, tell him why she left, that he’s the father of a beautiful, Einstein smart little girl who’s his biggest fan.

That he used to have a son.

Her throat closes up at the thought of her baby boy. Five years had passed but the memory of his innocent little face still made her eyes sting with tears of grief. Iris catches herself in time and blinks the tears away. She can’t risk it. She can’t tell him. He can’t know about Nora. Not yet.

Not before she knows the whole truth.

Her heart hardens once more and she walks back into her house, cold as ever. Iris prays that her poker face is good enough to mask her inner thoughts. As her bare feet land silently on the tiled floor she, wonders which version of her, exactly, she’s trying to hide from him. The girl he once loved or the woman she’s become.

[Barry]

He waits for her in the bathroom, his mouth dry and his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts. Mostly questions without answers.

Every time he closes his eyes he can see the inside of that room as clearly as if he were looking at a photo of it. The light purple walls were covered in posters of old musicals and diagrams of the solar system. The tiny white furniture, a child sized book shelf and a square wooden table with three matching chairs, looked delicate yet sturdy. The bed was neatly made with a lilac and white polka dot set. The stuffed animals, a polar bear, a turtle and a penguin, were neatly plopped up against the pillow and the ceiling was covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. It’s the kind of room he imagines his daughter would have, if he had one.

Would have. Had.

An opportunity lost. A future erased. Because the only woman he’s ever pictured himself starting a family with seems to have started one on her own. Without him.

Is she married?

I don’t remember seeing a ring.

How old is her daughter? Did she really get over me that fast?

Is it even her daughter? What if it’s a niece or something?

Iris walks in interrupting his whirlpool of thoughts as he pieces her life together in his mind without a single shred of evidence besides the child like room. He expects her to say something quirky, like:

“I see you’ve found the bathroom,”

Or…

“Let’s get you all patched up.”

But she, once again, proves that he no longer knows her by silently retrieving a first aid kit from the cabinet beneath the sink before giving his cheek more attention than she’s offered him in the short while since their reunion. He wants to speak to her, to ask her about the room. Ask her how she managed to move on cause he was still hurting as much as the day she walked – ran – away from him. How she could find it in her heart to love someone enough to give him a child so soon after their relationship ended. Did he mean nothing to her?

He flinches as she swabs a particularly sensitive area of his wound with the alcohol soaked cotton ball.

“Sorry,” she whispers and for a second the concern in her eyes takes him back to their high-school days. When this scenario wouldn’t have consisted of silent breaths after fleeing death but a relaxing bath for two that he would have drawn as Iris read their daughter to sleep.

And suddenly he finds himself wondering what the little girl might look like. Is she a miniature version of her mother? Beautiful chocolate skin and adorably big eyes? Are her eyes brown like Iris’s or are they the same colour of the lucky bastard fortunate enough to hold the place Barry once deemed as his in Iris’s life? Does she have soft curls? Pigtails?

“How old is your daughter?” He blurts out, not realising that he’s thinking out loud till the words are out of his mouth. Iris stiffens mid swab then hurriedly carries on.

“What makes you think I have a daughter?” She asks, trying to hide her nervousness but it pleases him to see that he can at least read her some of the time.

“I saw her room. When I was looking for the bathroom that is, I sorta stumbled into it.”

“Oh.” She answers without indication that she means to answer his question.

“So?” he presses on.

“So what?” She asks sternly.

“Are you gonna tell me how old she is?” he asks again.

“Five,” she answers, then adds: “And before you do the math…” a moment of hesitation and his heart fills with hope.

“…She’s not yours.”

Silence.

He can’t bring himself to ask how that was possible. Cheating didn’t cross his mind, Iris wasn’t that kind of woman. She hadn’t been that kind of girl. Yet the thought of someone else touching her as intimately as he once had, a few days or even weeks after she’d chopped up his heart and handed it to him in a paper bag, still packs a nasty sting.

But in his heart Barry can’t bring himself to doubt her love. An emotion of that magnitude can’t be faked, he couldn’t have spent three years of his life being fooled.

That’s what pounds through his mind as she cleans and dresses his wound.

As she gives him instructions to help himself to anything in the kitchen and to make himself at home. He is not to, under any circumstances, leave the premises without her and no take out, it will draw too much attention.

Barry can’t really explain whether its shock or fear that makes him go into auto pilot and silently accept her rules without the slightest bit of protest.

All he knows is that as he watches her walk away again, his heart seems to break a new. Only this time he finds no hope in himself to glue it back together.

[Iris]

Her stomach lurches as she looks over her shoulder at him one last time and notices the light fade from his eyes.

He’d been quiet after she told him Nora wasn’t his. Too quiet, and with every word she saw flash through his eyes and never make it out his lips, Iris found that the lie burned her insides like hot acid. As she steps into his car and drives towards her cousin’s apartment, she knows that she should have offered him an explanation but her mouth had run dry and with his silence driving her crazy she knew that if she opened her mouth it would be to tell him the truth.

So she matched him at his own game and let him make his assumptions. Surely nothing he came up with is worse than the truth. That she’s keeping their daughter away from him despite his history. That she’s lying to him without any shred of proof that he had anything to do with what happened to her six years ago.

What happened to their children.

That despite her heart refusing to paint him as anything but the love of her life, her mind and maternal instinct keep screaming at her to be cautious. She’s already lost one child, she can’t afford to lose another.

Iris stops at a red-light and fishes out her phone from her pocket to give her cousin a call. That’s when she realises that she has five missed calls from Anissa. A tiny voice inside her begins to chant that something’s not right but she pushes it down and calls her cousin back.

“Iris finally!” Anissa responds, her voice increasing Iris’s panic.

“What’s wrong?” Iris asks, her voice as solid as a reinforced brick wall.

“You tell me,” Anissa answered. “Your dad banged on my door a little after you hung up and told me he was taking Nora. I tried to hold him off but there’s only so much I ca-”

“Did he say where he’s taking her?” Iris asks, crossing the red light and making a violent “u” turn to head home.

“He said to meet him at home.” Anissa answers and Iris breathes out through gritted teeth. She knew that her father would want to discuss her little interference at the casino tonight but she hoped that he would leave the dagger throwing for tomorrow.

But he’s desperate, that’s the only excuse she can come up with for him using Nora to get her attention. As much as she wants to be respectful and hear him out she was already upset that he would go after Barry without consulting her and now she’s down right pissed.

So with smoke steaming out of her ears and her heart racing from the anger based adrenaline flooding her body she bangs open her parent’s door to find her father calmly sipping a cup of tea in front of the TV. His feet are up and he barely pays her grand entrance any mind, his nonchalant attitude increasing her annoyance.

“What the hell dad!” She screams and, with just as much force as she used upon entering, she bangs the door closed.

[heyyyharry]

My Girl Series: Chapter 2 - Homeward Bound

…in which childhood friends meet again, this time, at a funeral.

Series description: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same, years later they meet again at a funeral.

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n; (4-year age gap)

Chapter 1 - Treehouse: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same.

wattpad link

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Four years had gone by, and the small town called Holmes Chapel had partly faded from Harry's memories. He had his own life now, which was more than the life of any ordinary 22-year-old, and of course, he must make room in his mind for new, bigger, and better things.

Many years ago, had anybody told him he was gonna get a massive movie contract, and turn famous before graduating from university, he would've laughed and called them crazy. Now his face was everywhere on billboards, on televisions, on the internet. People followed him around and took photos of him. He had all the money to spend, got invited to exclusive parties, and won big awards with his name on them. So there was no reason for him to come back to his little house in Holmes Chapel.

His family still lived there, but he flew his mum out to stay in London for most of the time, and his sister now had her own life with a boyfriend. The Styles hadn't sold that house because it still had emotional value to them, but they were rarely there anymore. Harry couldn't even remember most details of his childhood bedroom, let alone the treehouse in his backyard, or the girl who came there every single day, waiting for him to come back.

He did come back. But it was for a different reason, one he had never expected.

A funeral.

.

.

.

"Look at all of these paparazzi on the street."

Celine heaved a sigh as she peeked through the window curtains to take a look. The heavy silence in that living room was the opposite of the loud and intrusive crowd waiting in front of the house next door.

Eighteen-year-old Y/N was sitting on the bottom stair with her head in her hands, her eyes were red and swollen, while another girl was comforting her. The girl was Amala, Celine’s girlfriend. They had been dating since junior year, now both graduated from high school and were still together.

Even though Y/N wasn't the only special girl in Celine’s life anymore, she had never felt deserted, knowing her tiny best friend would always be by her side and she would also do the same. Now with Amala in the picture, the three of them were inseparable. Those two had been Y/N's rock since her mother's death, and she could never thank them enough for just being there for her.

"Why did he have to come back?" Y/N exhaled, fingers gripping her own hair. "I don't want all these people at my mother's funeral."

"Calm down, I'm sure they'll get tired and leave in no time," said Celine, who quickly exchanged looks with Amala, because they both knew those paps wouldn't leave until Harry did.

"Why couldn't he just stay gone?" Y/N mumbled, mostly to herself, and she really meant it. She wished he had never returned. She'd gone as far as avoiding all the news about him and she'd been doing so well in the last four years. But her mother's death seemed to be just the calm before the storm. With his unwanted return, he would bring a whole crowd of people with cameras to her mother's funeral.

"When is Blake gonna be here?" Asked Amala, but Celine shook her head fast to tell her girlfriend not to mention that name. It was too late since Y/N had already heard her.

"He's not coming," she replied, eyes glued to the floor. "We broke up."

The hurt was still etched in her voice when she talked about him. Even though she would never admit it, her two friends both knew she had really loved that boy.

Blake Roman was Y/N's first official boyfriend. He had treated her so well, and even though she'd lost her first kiss in the treehouse four years ago, Y/N had given all her other firsts to Blake. But two foolish teenagers fell in love at seventeen, what did they know? It wasn't until graduation and facing big decisions of futures and dreams that they realized it wasn't going to work. They weren't going to work.

Blake went to America to become a lawyer, but Y/N wasn't bitter or depressed because she also had plans of her own. Her mother had told her that everything happened for a reason, and that was what she chose to believe. Had they stayed together, a long distance relationship would tear them apart eventually. Take her parents as an example, they had lived under the same roof for that many years but they didn't make it still.

"Y/N..."

The girls turned their head to the kitchen doorway and found Y/N's father with hands in his pockets, dressed in a black suit and a tie. The last time he was that well-dressed was at his wedding, sadly now it was his wife's funeral. He told them it was time to go then grabbed his keys and walked out of the house without saying another word.

Once he had left, Celine asked Y/N how her father had been dealing with her mother's death, and to be honest Y/N didn't even know. She had never known the man well enough to give her best friend an answer, but there was one thing she knew for sure, it didn't hurt him as much as it did her.

.

.

.

Y/N's mother funeral was held at a funeral home in the town central, and only those who were close to the family had been invited, so it was a very small gathering.

Though a part of Y/N didn't want Harry to show up and bring in chaos, during the ceremony her eyes still searched around the room for his face. She saw his mother Anne, and his sister Gemma, but she didn't see him. Maybe for some particular reasons, he'd changed his mind and decided not to go; or maybe he couldn't get past those paparazzi to get out of the house. But without his presence on her mother's sad day, Y/N felt awfully incomplete.

After the burial, all the guests headed back to her house for a wake. There was a small dinner, and the people at the table talked about what a lovely woman Y/N's mother had been. They told stories about her, saying she'd always been wise, and kind, and tolerant, which Y/N knew were all true. But as she stole a glance at her father, who was sitting at the end of the table, focusing on his own food rather than the stories about his late wife, she felt like none of it mattered to him, and that just broke her heart.

Thankfully, dinner was over soon, but the guests stayed for a few drinks while carrying boring conversations to keep the atmosphere indoors alive. It was getting late, a few had left and Y/N couldn't wait for the rest to follow so she could call it a day. The last thing she would expect at that moment was for a new guest to show up, but as soon as her eyes turned to the left corner of the living room by accident, she spotted a familiar face. It wasn't her imagination doing tricks on her like she'd thought at first, it was really him.

Y/N swore the moment their eyes met in the crowded living room, everything else besides them immediately faded away. The background noise was muted and the living room sank to utter silence, so silent that she could hear her blood flowing through her veins and her heart beating all out of rhythm. It almost felt like a scene in those cheesy romantic films she had watched too often.

He was there in person, dressed in a simple black suit but he looked so expensive compared to all the others. His hair was much longer than the last time she saw him, all tied up in a small bun at the back of his head. That new hairstyle almost turned him into a whole different person.

There was a strange kind of familiarity as well as ignorant in that look he was giving her. Then he pressed his lips into a smile, for a second neglecting what the white-bearded man was telling him. She didn't know what to do but smile back and instantly look away as she carried on the conversation with her relatives, acting as if she wasn't bothered at all by his presence. Deep down inside, however, the girl wasn't as calm as she was pretending to be.

.

.

.

Y/N mumbled quick apologies as she grabbed Celine by her elbow and pulled her away from the unfinished conversation, to the back of the staircase.

"How did he get in here without anyone knowing?"

At first, Celine didn't know whom her friend was referring to. But a face like Harry Styles' couldn't just blend into any crowd, especially one as depressing as that. It literally took her less than a second to spot him in the far corner of the living room.

"He must've used the back door," she said, seemingly as shocked as Y/N had been. "Maybe he didn't want to cause a scene, maybe that was why he skipped the funeral."

"Maybe..." The taller girl let go of her friend's arm, keeping her stare fixed on Harry.

"Will you talk to him?" Celine asked.

"I don't know."

"What if he talks to you?"

"I...don't know," Y/N repeated the same three words, eyebrows furrowed at the boy next door.

His name was still Harry Styles, his smile still shone like the sun, and he was still the most beautiful person she had ever seen, but she didn't know him, not anymore. It had been four years since they last saw each other. She was obviously not the same fourteen-year-old girl who had begged him to be her first kiss; and he, now a famous actor, must be very different too. So instead of walking up to him and starting a conversation, Y/N chose to stay away, hoping that he would also do the same.

.

.

.

As the last few guests were heading out and so were her two best friends, Y/N came to her backyard to be alone. It was a long day after all, she needed to recharge herself by spending some time with her own thoughts, and the only place that she could come to think, was the treehouse in her neighbor's backyard.

Unlike people, it never left her.

With her feet dangling in the air as she sat on the edge of her childhood fort, the girl let her thoughts wander with the summer breezes to faraway places, but mostly to the past, to the things she couldn't change, to when her mother was alive and Harry was her friend. Then she couldn't help but wonder if he was still talking to her dad in the kitchen. Was he thinking about her too? Probably not. But a tiny part of her secretly hoped that he was.

"Bambi."

The endearing sound of that nickname got Y/N's head turned in a split second. She hadn't heard it in so long. She hadn't heard that voice in so long, and her heart felt the same warm fuzzy feeling she used to feel whenever he called her that. She rushed to the other side of the treehouse, to the entrance, one hand on her heaving chest as she looked down.

There he was, standing in the middle of his backyard, eyes on her, and the scene was all so familiar yet so foreign. He was different, she was different, and their surroundings were also different.

His garden was no longer the magical place she had always fantasized about when she was a kid. Now that nobody was taking care of it, all the flowers had wilted, the grass had grown much higher, and the sprinklers didn't come on at 6AM anymore. Somehow she felt like it represented what was left between them, absolutely nothing.

He waved his hand to get her attention as if she couldn't see him, and so she did the same, not a single word was exchanged. There was a long pause when they just stood still and stared at each other like two strangers meeting for the first time, probably to take in the new appearance of the other person. She probably had changed more than he had, so she would kill to find out what he thought of her now that she wasn't a kid anymore.

It was Harry who said the first words.

"May I join you up there?"

She hesitated. Fourteen-year-old Y/N would never.

"Uhm...S-Sure," she said at last and watched him make his way towards the tree. Harry struggled to step on the rope ladder and somehow she found it quite funny. When he heard her laugh, he shot her a playful glare, and told her that she was distracting him from his climb.

"Oh God, I'm really getting old."

The man sighed in relief once he had made it to the treehouse in one piece as he took a bow, making the girl shake her head and giggle at him. Once again, they sat side by side with their bare feet dangling in the air like the night he had left. This time, however, she was staring blankly ahead and he was looking at her. He was second-guessing what she was going to say, but she remained in silence until he was once again the first to speak.

"Bambi," he said. "Are you okay?"

She turned to look at him, flashing a single smile. She didn't need to say anything else after that, since he already knew she wasn't okay. She took a deep breath, letting it all out as her eyes turned to focus on her fingers toying with the hem of her black dress.

"Bambi's mother died in the movie too, right?"

That one question shattered Harry's heart at once. He was so used to seeing her as a happy and positive little girl. Now she wasn't little anymore, and she wasn't happy either. He used to know everything about her because she had never kept a secret from him, now he had to try and read her mind because he knew there was more than she was willing to confess.

He waited for her to tell him about her plans after graduation, which university she'd got accepted in, fill in the blanks about all the things he'd missed in the last four years. However, she gave him nothing. Maybe she didn't even trust him anymore. He couldn't blame her though. He'd been gone for too long.

"The car accident happened right before my graduation. She didn't get to hear my speech." Y/N lifted one hand to wipe the tears running down her cheek though she didn't want to cry, at least not in front of him. But the girl had been holding back for too long now and that moment was her breaking point. "Had she been there...she would...she would've been so proud of me..."

Harry quickly wrapped his arms around the girl's shoulders and pulled her close to his chest. She let him hold her, drowning her in the unfamiliar scent of his expensive cologne, which made her feel as though she was in the arms of a complete stranger. But right now she needed that hug more than anything else.

"Your mother didn't have to hear your speech to be proud of you, Bambi. She'd always been proud of you," he mumbled into her hair, one hand stroking her back.

It took Y/N a moment to quiet down and pull away a bit to look at him. They were face to face again in four years, this time, in the kissing distance. She had never sat this close to him before, and he had never looked at her that way before.

The childhood best friends held each other's gaze as if trying to recollect each memory of their past, to form the complete picture of the many years they had left behind. There was a quiet moment, followed by awkward hesitation, as they both leaned in, eyes closed. Neither was thinking when their lips attached.

This time, they were really kissing.

She felt his fingers tangled in her hair as he deepened the kiss and she kissed him back with as much passion, like she had never been kissed before, like it was their first. For a second there, she wished it had been.

The sound of his ringtone broke them apart, and it was only then that they realized what they'd done. She expected silence from him, or at least something else, but instead what she received was, "I have to take this. I'm very sorry." 

Just like that, he stood up and hurried his way back to the rope ladder. The first time they kissed, she was the one to run away. This time, it was him.

He set his feet back on the ground and picked up that call as he hurried to his house, without a second look back. Y/N was still sitting there, not sure what had happened. It didn't even feel real, though she knew it was, because she could still taste his lips on hers. She didn't know who had called, and why it was so important that he couldn't stay and give her an explanation for that moment between them.

If that was revenge for that kiss she had stolen from him four years ago, when she was only fourteen, then it just wasn't fair.

.

.

.

The next morning, Y/N came to Harry's house to talk to him, and once again, his mother said he had already gone back to London; but afterward, the kind woman gave Y/N his phone number and told her to give him a call.

Maybe Anne could see how much her son still meant to the girl, and that she needed his comfort now more than ever. Y/N wondered why Harry couldn't see that as well. Was it really because he was a boy? Or was he just denying everything he saw because he didn't want to believe it was real, that her feelings for him were real? There were too many questions needed answers, and Y/N couldn't be patient anymore.

That night she decided to call him and talk about that kiss. She wasn't gonna sit there and second guess his next moves like Rapunzel in the high tower, waiting by the window for her prince to come back on his white horse. Because this wasn't a fairytale with a happy ending, she was never a princess, even though in her eyes he'd always been the prince.

The girl started biting on her nails while her heart was beating in time with the beeps on the phone. It took a couple ones until someone finally picked up, and she didn't even hesitate.

"Hey, Harry, it's Y/N," she said. "Your mum gave me your number and—"

"Sorry? Who is this again?"

That wasn't Harry's voice. That was a woman. Y/N double-checked the number on the piece of paper Anne had given her, and as she was sure she had put in the correct one, her heart fell to the bottom of her chest.

As Y/N remained silent, the woman on the phone went on, "Harry's in the shower right now, is this urgent?"

"No..." Y/N faked a soft laugh. "I...uhm...Could you please tell Harry that...Y/N called and...please tell him to call me back when he's free?"

"Sure," said that woman, and it was a lie. Harry never got to find out about Y/N's call, but Y/N didn't know about that, so she waited. She waited for that entire week, and by the end of that week she'd made up her mind, this time, to give up on him for good.

.

.

.

(two years later)

"Hey little girl, get up."

"No...One more!"

"Enough, time to go home," said the big fat bartender as he refused to sell the girl another pint. Normally he wouldn't care if his guests got so drunk they forgot their own names, but since that girl had come to the bar every night that week, and got wasted almost every single time, he felt like it was his responsibility to stop giving her what she thought she needed.

"I'm not a little girl" Y/N grumbled, lifting a finger as she narrowed her hooded eyes at him. "I'm turning twenty next month! You're a little girl!"

The man shook his head and took the empty glass in front of her away before she drunkenly smashed it like she had before.

"Do you even have a life, kid?" He asked.

"I do!" She shouted with her eyes closed, pointing a finger to the ceiling. "I'm a...uh...a college student...and a writer..."

The big man rolled his eyes when she said 'writer' but he hadn't got time to argue with a drunk 19-year-old that owning an emo online blog (he assumed) didn't make you a writer.

"Look, kid, this is London. There are plenty of other fun places for young people to hang, you shouldn't be spending this much time here, drinking your ass off."

"But I want some more!"

"Trust me you don't."

"I do! Now give me another..." She trailed off, then cracked a weird smile at him.

The man raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish that sentence, but she never did. Y/N dropped her head down on the counter and just lied there like a dead body. Of course, the bartender knew she didn't die, she was still breathing. But he couldn't just leave her there because the bar was closing soon. So he asked a waitress to search for her phone in one of her pockets and called one of her emergency numbers.

That same night, Harry received a call from a bar not so far from his home in London, telling him to pick up a girl named Y/N.

.

.

.

When Y/N opened her eyes, she found herself in a room she had never seen before. At first, she thought she was dreaming, that in her dream she'd become rich and finally got a bedroom twice the size of her current flat. But everything seemed too real to be just a dream. She could actually feel the softness of the mattress she was lying on, and the pillow beneath her head was so comfortable that she didn't want to get up. But she must get up, because Y/N soon realized she wasn't dreaming and it was somebody else's bedroom.

Quickly, she kicked off the duvet, and sighed in relief to see that she was still wearing her clothes from the night before. She thought if she'd been kidnapped, then her kidnapper must be a decent man. But why would anyone want to kidnap a lonely and depressed university student, who could barely pay her own rent? If that person didn't want her or her money (which she didn't even have), what did they want?

The answer to her questions showed up at the bedroom door just as she sat up and threw her legs off the bed.

"Harry?"

Y/N blinked fast because she couldn't believe it was him. But it was, unfortunately. He was standing there, staring back at her with the same dimpled smile on his face. It'd been two years so she'd expected him to look different, yet she was still surprised. His hair was shorter and one could hardly imagine he used to have hair so long that he could put it in a man bun. Overall he still looked good, the opposite of what a mess she was at that moment.

Harry didn't wait for her to ask, he went ahead and explained the situation last night, saying he had to drive to a bar at 1:30 AM just to pick her up, and bring her to his house because she was too drunk to remember her own address. She was glad he didn't ask her why he was in her emergency contact list, because she didn't even know what had been on her mind when she put his number there. Maybe in case something bad ever happened to her, she wanted him to know as well. She just had never expected it to be like this.

"How bad was I?" She asked.

"You threw up all over my shoes." He slightly chuckled.

"I'll get you another pair, I promise!"

"It's alright. You don't have to."

"They're very expensive, aren't they?" She scoffed, and he nodded his head to confirm it was true.

"They're Gucci," Harry emphasized the brand name with a funny grimace to make her laugh, but all that he received from the girl sitting on his bed was a nervous frown. "So..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "Mind telling me why you drank to the point you passed out last night?"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"You don't." He agreed. "But I'd appreciate it if you do."

The girl turned her eyes away from him and let the silence take over once again. Harry prayed that she would say something, anything. She could just start yelling at him if she wanted to, even though he knew she never would.

"Thank you for everything. But I think I should go now," Y/N finally said and rose up from the bed. But the older man didn't move out of the way for her to walk out.

"You expect me to let you go after what happened last night?" He asked, giving her a stern look as he shoved both hands into his pants pockets.

"What?" She scoffed. "So you're gonna keep me here?"

"If I must. Yes."

"Don't try to be my dad, one is enough already," said the girl as she tried to get past him, but he quickly placed both arms on the doorframe to block her path, forcing her to finally look him in the eyes.

"Bambi, talk to me," he pleaded, eyebrows knitted together, looking more serious this time.

Y/N took a step away from the older man with her head held high and her arms crossed as she told him they didn't have anything to talk about. "If you really wanted to talk, you would've done it two years ago."

Just like that, she pushed him aside to head out, but Harry was quick to grab her elbow and stop her before she left.

"I owe you an apology, I—"

To his surprise, Y/N cut him off by yanking her arm away from his grip. Then she looked up, eyes to eyes with him this time. He knew that look so well, she used to give the same one to the bigger kids who had always teased her on playground, but that was actually the first time she had ever looked at him that way.

"We don't owe each other anything. Goodbye, Harry," she said, and he knew better than to try and convince her to stay. Once Y/N had made up her mind, she wouldn't change it for anyone, not even her mother, and certainly not him.

So he had no choice but to let the girl go even though it was painful to watch her walk away like that, it hurt him even more now that he began to think about her cold look from earlier. Maybe that was the moment Harry realized the part of him in her was barely there anymore.

.

.

.

Not until Y/N had walked a pretty far distance from Harry's house did she finally stop and burst into tears. She had never got so emotional that she ended up crying in public before, but now the girl was too upset to care who might be judging her. It wasn't only Harry, it was the entire series of unfortunate events, a circle, all leading back to him.

When she saw his face again, it hurt her so much because she wanted to tell him about everything, why she had been at that bar, why she had been drinking. Y/N wanted to hear him say everything was gonna be okay, and that he would be there for her through it all. But the last time he tried to comfort her, he left a bigger hole in her heart, so maybe this time she should deal with the problem on her own.

The girl told herself to stop crying, and all of a sudden, she heard the camera sound as someone had taken a photo. Y/N looked up and saw a tall man holding his camera, she assumed he was a paparazzi and had seen her walking out of Harry Styles' house.

"Did I give you permission to take pictures of me?"

Her loud voice caught the stranger by surprise, causing him to instantly lower the camera as he apologized, and swore he was just a street photographer. He probably thought that she saw him as a creep, but he didn't seem like one at all. It wasn't just the fact that he had a pretty face, but also because the look in his eyes was genuine.

Y/N's first impression of the man was that he was tall, very tall. She guessed he was the same height as Harry, but his thin build created an illusion that he was at least two inches taller. She didn't consider herself as petite, still, she felt so small standing next to this stranger.

The man, probably just a few years older than her, had smooth, dry skin with little freckles sprinkled here and there across his nose and his cheekbones. His blonde hair looked even more golden in the sunlight. It was short and unruly, yet perfectly framed his face.

Now that Y/N had made eye-contact with him, she couldn't look away anymore. Those were the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The shade resembled a cloudless sky in the spring, full on Prince Charming kind of blue. The more she looked the more prominent they became.

Maybe it was just an illusion, but Y/N swore she could see a bit of green in them.

"This is for a small project I'm working on. I'm taking photos of random scenes and people I come across," the stranger explained as she approached him, and didn't hesitate to show her the proofs on his camera. "Here's an old man feeding the birds, a cute puppy, uhm....a lady who sells flowers on the sidewalk, a kid with his new soccer ball...and a pretty girl crying on the street."

Y/N glared at the young man for what he'd just said, but his cheeky smirk remained as he shut down the camera and introduced himself. He told her his name was Isaac, and he was a professional photographer. Since he'd already shown her those photos he'd taken that day, she could confirm that he wasn't just boasting.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Miss..."

"My name's Y/N."

"Alright, Y/N, I'm really sorry." Isaac paused to bite his lip, waiting for the girl to speak, and when he was sure she wasn't gonna say anything else, he went on, "I could just delete the photo."

"It's okay, keep it," she said, sighing. "If you wanted to take pictures of me, all you had to do was ask nicely."

"Really?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Okay then, Y/N." His emphasis on her name made the girl smile and roll her eyes. "May I take a few more photos of you?"

Y/N actually thought twice about that offer. She had just met the guy, for all she knew he could still be a psychopath, a very charming one if that was the case. But since she had nothing else to do on that Sunday morning, and needed a distraction from reality, getting to know a good-looking stranger didn't sound like a bad idea. If he turned out to be a real psychopath, then maybe she was just very unlucky.

"Okay." She nodded, turning her face to the right. "But only on my good side, got it?"

"Got it," Isaac said with a grin, and quickly snapped a shot of the smiling girl.

[sterling-silvers]

Killmonger - The Subtly of a Scene? (Black Panther - 2018)

Above is concept art of the prolific museum scene that was featured in Black Panther (2018). While the illustration is fairly on par with what actually happened in the movie, a fundamental difference - and focal point of this piece - is the choice attire N’Jadaka (aka Killmonger) chose to wear in it. While the art depicts him in a suit the actual movie had him adorned in what I like to call “Trillmonger”. 

While I can’t help but respect the vast oceans of drip that are flowing from this regalia, I truly felt as if the message the scene was parlaying would have been more impactful if he had been profiled while wearing the suit.

When I voiced this opinion to a fellow constituent - who continues to impress and influence me with his insightful wisdom and perspective on life, particularly when it comes to Afro-centric media - he, strongly disagreed with my remark.

He, summarily, stated that Killmonger’s persona of unapologetically Black would and should extend to refusal to conform to a norm put forth by systemically racist and thus inherently Eurocentric ideas of what looks "professional". To which many agreed; I however did not. I took umbrage with the notion in several aspects and while the interpretation was valid, it was not sound in my eyes based on the below analysis of the diction and semantics that’s been highlighted in the first sentence of this paragraph.

“Unapologetically Black” – I didn’t think wearing a suit at all took away from him being unapologetically Black, even with his radically pragmatic sentiments. For me, as Black man, unapologetically Black is not simply an aesthetic – it’s who you are; what’s cardinal to your core. It cannot be taken away and or hidden. Killmonger wearing a suit as opposed to what he actually wore would not have taken away him being unapologetically Black – if anything, it would have added to it BECAUSE of how the security and curator would still have profiled him; even with the suit, he’s still Black in their eyes - and Black is a threat. This particularly rings true when you take into account his CIA training and knowledge of how to best cultivate and usurp the resident power in question. This, aggregated together, adds to the scene and what it was meant to represent. He wanted all eyes on him and whether he was in a suit or dripped out, it was going to happen regardless BECAUSE at the end of the day, he’s Black – unapologetically speaking.  Granted, my cohort tried to differentiate the two scenes by pointing out that the clothes that were worn in South Korea were for the purposes of blending into the casino environment; particularly when it came to the wig that Okoye wore, much to her chagrin. He continued with, the fact that both Nakia and T'Challa “were people who often have to conform to their surroundings to blend in, to help others, or to be taken seriously as the world still thinks Wakanda is some podunk farm country” (slight disagreement here as, up until the end of Black Panther, the idea was to keep up the facade of being a podunk country as if the world, at large, were to know what Wakanda had, they would never stop trying to steal it). He concluded this strain of logic by contrasting Killmonger and Okoye;  “Okoye who is wearing a wig that falls in line with Eurocentric beauty standards and is the opposite of the very Wakandan armor and bald head she's used to wearing day to day. She is not a diplomat, she is a warrior for her people. Killmonger is not a diplomat, he's a revolutionary for his people.” 

Once again, I found this to be valid but not sound. T’Challa, Nakia, and Okoye, wore those clothes in South Korea to blend into their environment to get into a specific place for their MISSION. Even Okoye, who is proud Wakadan warrior was willing to wear the garb of colonizers in order to carry out said mission. However, for some reason, it didn’t occur to him that the same could have rung true for N'jadaka. Even if the suit was conformist, is it that hard to believe that the very person willing to team up with Klaue, who committed a TERRORISTIC ACT, killing his fellow Wakandans -  for a time in order to obtain his access to Wakanda; moreover, his arguable birth right to the throne -  would be unwilling to put on a suit if it meant getting closer to his mission AND birth right? “Conform” – Wearing a suit is not conforming to a Eurocentric understanding of professional. For me, that utterance simply follies at nigh every conceivable angle. I asked him, if the suit – in this particular scene – is to be a representation of Eurocentric ideology of professionalism does the logic follow that N’Jadaka’s clothes are the aesthetic of Black American exceptionalism (I used Black American but, Killmonger, himself, is actually African American; yes, there is a difference between the two - nonetheless his garb seems to emulate Black American style)? 

Moreover, if we extend the idea to the rest of the movie, specifically when T’Challa is wearing a Black suit – along with Okoye’s and Nakia’s red and green dresses, respectively (creating the colors of Pan-Africanism, unapologetically) is that still a representation of them conforming? 

Besides, even if one were to accept the notion that wearing the suit was conforming to the Eurocentric value, by that same logic, when T’Challa addresses the UN and is unapologetically wearing a scarf of clearly African influence, he is thusly, either showing a dominance of his African roots (as the scarf is literally draped over the Eurocentric representative) and or an integration of cultures.

To this inquiry, he summarily responded that because T’Challa is a diplomat first, him wearing the combo of the suit and scarf was symbolic of seeking integration - as it is in line with his persona. This response seemed incomplete as it failed to address the fact that the scarf over-encompasses the “Eurocentric” symbol and therefore could be seen as African excellence dominating the Euro view... 

He continued with the argument that: “For all the profiling Killmonger would've experienced in a suit he'd still likely would've experienced less. ‘Professional’ clothing makes [W]hite people, especially in high places, feel safe. It's why house servants were put in tuxedos. If the goal was to have all eyes on him then he should've stuck out like a sore thumb. Which he did.” 

Once more, this is semantics with an addition to the playing of the scene; depending on how you define unapologetically Black - via skin being the center point or skin and clothes fitting the interpretation - significantly affects how you view the degree to which he was profiled. However, the true nail in the coffin, comes later on when we see one of the members of the Council - River Tribe Elder and Nakia’s Father - wearing a suit not only during Killmonger’s fight with T’Challa but also prior when he is with the other council members. 

I suppose HE was just conforming to the “Eurocentric” understanding of professionalism, right...?  In terms of my Black American exceptionalism through line he responded with: “His clothing shouldn't mean or imply ‘African American exceptionalism’; that's as conformist as a suit. It's supposed to imply ‘I don't give a fuck’ it's supposed to be rebellious. He's not there to make anybody comfortable.”  This response was a bit comical to me. I replied with; “You can’t have it both ways – if the suit, in your mind, was to be a representation of a certain cultural aspect then his actual clothes could and should also be taken to represent a different aspect of a cultural perspective.” It’s as simple as that; if you open the door, don’t be surprised when people peer inside. 

This hilarity rang true even further with his final line of; “Finally, yes, you're right a suit doesn't inherently make you more or less unapologetically Black. However we’re talking about a movie, where what you see is as important as the dialogue that your characters say. It's a cinematic decision to have every piece of his character not only be unapologetically [B]lack and the opposite of T'Challa on every level. It's not nearly as effective piece of art if he's wearing a suit. Supported by the countless people who posted about how he rolled up in a museum looking like a drench god.”

These last sentences are foolhardy; for one, we’ll never know how people feel about the suit when compared to the drip clothes because the suit scene was and probably will never be shown - if it exists. So, there’s nothing to compare and contrast it with. For two, a consensus of people in agreement does not automatically beget validation; it could just mean that they are wrong in mass unison. 

Despite the disagreement, there’s definitely more than a few lessons and perspective one can attain from this back and forth; moreover, it shows just how poignant an impression Black Panther left on its audience - all, with the just the subtly of a scene. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Through His Eyes - Part 11

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

He had done the right thing.

Whilst that wasn’t what Jaebum’s heart believed as he replayed your crushed emotions from the other night over in his head, his rationale continued to chant it over and over in his head as a well-versed mantra. In hopes, it would somehow make him feel better. That it would wash away his guilt.

Jaebum had panicked seeing you so easily in his practice space. When you first walked in, he thought he was day-dreaming, hallucinating you into the room as a way to shake off some of the exhaustion and stress he was experiencing. But he knew when Jinyoung suddenly stood up that you weren’t a figment of his imagination, your brightly smiling face was actually there.

For a second, he felt the warmth of that smile. He was comforted by the happiness you exuded. He could tell you had done something worth celebrating.

And yet he realised just how out of place you were just standing there.

You weren’t a part of the endless schedules, the dance practices, the business management of his career. And so Jaebum had grown too angry too fast, not having the energy to deal with something more than what he already was.

He had been rash, even if he felt he had been right. No matter how many triumphs you faced, eventually you had to find solace in your own accomplishments. You didn’t need him to tell you how well you were doing at each step of the way. He could already see how the return to your art was making you flourish within yourself again.

Soon, you wouldn’t even need him to hold your hand. You would be flying with your own set of wings.

Jaebum stared at your painting across the room and wondered just how you did it. The colours blended evenly, as if you had meticulously chosen each one and placed them side by side in harmony. It amazed him to know someone like you. Even though he had always believed in you, your painting was evidence that human nature was beautiful.

You were beautiful.

Sighing heavily, Jaebum climbed out of his bed, moving over to the painting and picking it up. When you had placed it down next to his possessions, he could tell it was something you had put a lot of effort in to. The hesitancy was evident in your posture on whether to leave it. He had been selfish to hope you would. And when you stormed out of the studio, this present was all he had to return to, staring at the simple brown paper packaging, wondering if he had the right to even open it now.

It had taken him two days to finally slide it out and when he did; his heart craved you more than anything. He longed to tell you just how much he loved it, how well you had painted it, how thankful he was.

But all of that would mock you and he knew that reaching out to you under that premise was a cheap shot. Especially since you had been silent towards him ever since your argument, Jaebum knew that when he saw you next, he couldn’t use the painting at a conversation starter. You would need more from him.

His head hurt every time he tried to figure out a way to seek you out.

“Maybe it’s for the best that you both take a break from each other,” Jinyoung mentioned over the phone as Jaebum made his breakfast, preparing for another long day ahead.

“You too?” he questioned heavily, shaking his head slowly. “Even you think Y/N doesn’t match me?”

“Match you? Hyung, is your relationship, well, have you finally established it?”

Jaebum frowned at the sudden urgency in his best friend’s voice, wondering what exactly he had said that alerted Jinyoung to react like that.

He thought over the question he just received and scoffed. “Establish what?”

“Oh, so it’s still at that level.” Jaebum couldn’t tell if Jinyoung sounded disappointed or not.

“At what level? I just thought you were agreeing with the others that I need to distance myself from Y/N instead of doing everything for her. The promotion has helped with that, of course, but I don’t know, I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You’re missing her.”

Jaebum sighed heavily again. “Yeah, I really am.”

It hurt more the longer Jaebum didn’t hear from you. He had faced breakups before, yet nothing had pierced so deeply within him like this. Sometimes Jaebum would laugh at himself, incredulous that he could even compare missing you like this to the aftermath of a relationship dissolving. You hadn’t dated him, yet this separation felt final as if you had once been his lover. Everything connected to you, memories flooding his system on the regular. How you scrunched your nose up at the smell of coffee, how you laughed like music, how the trees felt under his hand. Even his sanctuary, his studio, was full of you.

Jaebum couldn’t concentrate and his music was suffering.

He was incomplete.

It was a hasty decision to turn up outside your house. It wasn’t his first time driving all the way here, he had done that countless times now. But actually appearing in front of your door had been out of his reach until now. He wondered why he had hesitated, why it had taken him almost a month to do so. Jaebum should have come here immediately and approached his apology sooner.

The guilt was eating him up.

“Jaebum?” a voice called and he turned, seeing your mother before him. He bowed in greeting and then smiled weakly. She didn’t return the gesture, even though he could see in her eyes that she was relieved to see him.

Thankful there could be some progress.

“Is Y/N home?”

“She is, but I don’t think you seeing her would benefit her at all anymore.”

His hopes faltered then. “Are you sure?”

“I’m certain. Actually, Y/N is adamant she doesn’t need you in her world anymore. She’s finally finding her rhythm again and for you to come back in and disrupt that… I just really can’t allow that to happen.”

��Did, did she struggle?” he wondered, not really wanting to know the answer. It would be natural, after the way he had crushed you like that, to feel some pain, yet he hoped it was fleeting, unlike his own. The idea of you crying for too long without his arms to hide within caused Jaebum to experience despair.

He should have come earlier.

“You are struggling.” He glanced away from his heavy thoughts to the mother’s statement, eyes wide at her conclusion. Words failed him and she toiled with wanting to protect her daughter’s feelings and reach out to comfort his. Jaebum realised this woman before him had constantly been a bridge between him and you, relentlessly withholding the brunt of your combined pain, of your worries. He choked up then, unable to figure how to say thank you for something so intricate.

“I warned you both from the beginning, yet you each thought you knew better. Feelings are complicated and connections are precious. You were so busy looking out for each other that you failed to recognise your own feelings and labelled yourselves as selfish when you did. For Y/N, breaking free from you was hard but necessary. You relied on each other to be safe, to feel wanted, cherished. She’s finding her own self-worth now, Jaebum. They say acknowledging how you truly feel deep down can help you understand the actions of others. Ignore your guilt; she is stronger than you think. My question for you is do you even know how you feel?”

“I miss Y/N.”

“Why?”

He didn’t know how to answer, standing there racking his brain for a reason. Why did he miss you? There was no definite answer and the longer he dwelled on it, the more confused he was.

The mother smiled softly. “It seems you have a lot more to consider before you turn up in front of Y/N again, Jaebum.”

Whenever things got tough for Jaebum, he would just work harder. If he was busy, he couldn’t think and when he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t need to know how he felt. He spent the next three weeks living each day in and out like that, waking up early, cramming as much as he could into his day so by the time he crashed onto his bed, he couldn’t stop to ruminate over you.

It wasn’t as simple as that, however. Jaebum still met with you in his dreams. Sometimes you would appear completely at random, smiling at him from afar, as if to let him know you were okay. That he could move on without you. Others, he wished you to appear, to hold his hand like you used to, to dive into his arms, to allow him to be your safe haven. His yearning for you in these dreams almost mimicked the growth of friends into lovers and on the odd occasion when he knew his mind was taking things too far, he would force himself awake, thumping at his chest that felt too restricted, all the air within it being sucked out as the tears fell from his eyes.

Why was it so hard for him to move on when you already had? He wondered if you had made new friends who supported you, who encouraged you forward. Did you have someone at your side who helped you see or were you doing that for yourself now too? Jaebum was convinced you now saw more of the world than he did. Although he had his eyesight still intact, he felt blinded by this internal emotional hell, unsure of what he felt anymore. Was it fiction or fact? Nothing made sense anymore.

When he dreamed of you in the way that was unfathomable for what you once had, he would stare at your painting until morning arrived, trying to decipher something within the way the colours mingled with one another, the brushstrokes, anything that could clue him onto how you felt when you made this piece.

Why had you painted this for him? What about it made you think of him? None of his favourite colours were prominent, and without any clear design element, he would often grow frustrated, the puzzle he needed to crack eluding him.

Mocking his inability to understand you.

“It’s all just layers,” he mumbled as he stared at it for the umpteenth time on his evening off work, his gaze still searching even after convincing himself it was a lost cause. “Layers of paint. Layers of colour. Just layers.”

Layers of you. From when he first met you as a fan. The smiles he gave you like everyone else. Recognising you in the crowd and tipping his head in acknowledgment. Grinning when he saw you that morning of the exclusive pass.

The accident. The loss, the pain. Those were layers you shared together as well. The trauma of knowing you would never see again. The constant worry if you were okay.

And then the time you spent together. They all stacked up on top of each other, creating a blend of your lives together over the last several months. How he would smile at your silly mistakes. When you made his heart beat faster without him expecting it to happen whenever he just looked at you. How he felt complete whenever he was with you.

Layers.

Jaebum lurched towards the painting, laughing at how stupid he had been all this time. He eyed everything in a new light, seeing the build-up of everything between you both for what it was. Picking it up, he smiled at the painting, the burst of understanding enabling him to take a deep breath.

The first of many.

It was then when he felt the bump sequence along the spine of the canvas, turning it to see your painting had extended there. What was the message you had made? Jaebum had taken an avid interest in Braille ever since it became a form of being able to communicate with you, yet he didn’t know how to read it himself. He had used apps to translate text to Braille or read Braille aloud for you in the past, and he stared dubiously at your hidden message before taking the painting back to his bed and reached for his phone. Sometimes the scanner could pick up on pieces that weren’t necessarily as well-formed as properly prepared Braille was, so it was worth a go.

“Come on,” he urged the app, waiting for it to read it back in real time.

Jaebum’s breath caught in his throat when the answer was relayed to him and he placed the painting down before racing out of his home, his heart thumping in his chest noisily. Had it been dormant all this time? With all his layers of confusion towards you, had he really misplaced the normal beating of his heart? It seemed like it was only thriving again now, beating in rhythm to his anxious desire to see you.

Nothing would stop him this time.

“She’s not home,” your mother mentioned at his frantic arrival on the front doorstep and before she could explain further, Jaebum nodded, fare-welling the woman before dashing back out to his car. The rain that had been drowning the city sombrely all day long had conveniently picked up, Jaebum laughing at its harsh way of falling from the skies.

“I know, it took me long enough,” he told the heavens, as he swung his car into a park near the art studio. He wondered why he was so confident that this was where he would find you, uncaring of the water bullets lashing down at him. He made his way inside Madam Cho’s art gallery and studio, only slowing down when he noticed the new artwork that lined the entryway. He eyed each and every piece that belonged to you. Jaebum needed this pause, to steady that heaviness the skies and his heart were labouring him with.

He also just wanted to remember everything about this moment.

When he saw you, it was from outside of the room, in the darkened hallway. You were surrounded by light however, painting alone in the brightest spot of the studio. It suited you to be illuminated that way and he slowly made his way into the room, watching your subtle changes.

You angled your head when the door opened. Your paintbrush stilled with his footsteps.

And then it fell to the ground when you sensed him behind you.

“Jae… Jaebum?”

Encasing you in his arms for the first time in what felt like forever, Jaebum was unsure if it was the rain or his emotions that dripped down onto your shoulder. He smiled when you didn’t immediately push him off.

“I’m sorry I’m late to receive your confession, Y/N. Will you accept mine?”

_________________

[Part 12]

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[ebbforeman]

The Court of Fen’Harel

(Just a little something that I started working on to pass the time until DA4. Bioware is seriously killing me with the lack of updates...I’ve had to start new play-throughs to satisfy my needs!!) 

Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574054

The Court of Fen'Harel

Chp. 1 King of Old & New

It was decided long ago that the place where he would settle would be that of the Elven Ruins from the time of Elvhenan. He would restore what was old in addition to adding some new. It was necessary, he deemed, while molding and shaping all that it would become. He had grown accustomed to certain comforts during his travels and adventures, things he never truly cared for or dwelled on prior to his time among the humans, children of the stone, and the qunari. At first, when he stood on the overgrown path, feeling the breath of wind mix with the will of magic and observing the subtle changes of nature; he realized ironically that he would miss the world he vowed to destroy in order to restore what was lost.

He realized within those brief, calm moments, before he summoned the divine power of the ancient magics to break down the very fabric of the veil, that he in truth would reshape some aspects out of necessity and not selfishness.

The foundation of the world shook and he watched, as promised, as all that had risen in place of the old burned in the chaos. With the flick of his wrist he destroyed the shrine, unbothered by the crumbling of the wolven status or the cracks that webbed along the painted frescos, and in its stead erected a castle to call home. His desire to create a haven for the Elvhen people manifested itself in the shape of the stone fortress nestled in the rocky cliffs just beyond the long bridge.

It wasn't difficult, or at least no more so than reconnecting the eluvians had been. The magic flowed through him like air in his lungs, swiftly, easily, and naturally. His agents across Thedas, under his instruction, knew how to protect themselves. He'd sent scouts long before the veil began to pull against reality. They fanned out across the land with a message and small bundle for each of the elven faction leaders on where to go and how to survive. They gathered like lost sheep in the grey mists of the crossroads, the only place shielded from the uncontrollable madness that raged just beyond the protection of mirrors.

He watched as wild and willful spirits eagerly took to their new home. Much like the elves, they pressed together to learn of the world they once seemed no more than a dream or a reflection of their own reality. New and old magic blended beautifully. He often found himself speechless and surprised by the glimpses of forgotten dreams and dreamers lost to time.

One piece, one small piece of that world he refused to surrender. For a time he foolishly convinced himself that he could. Naive and childish notions of longing and need fueled him, and after a time that need grew and proved stronger than anything he'd ever felt. Go to her, he had commanded Briala, You are a familiar face and will bring a welcomed comfort that I will not be able to give at this time. While Felassan paid with his life for his error and failure, Briala had been more willing to obey. He allowed her to live, knowing or perhaps hoping that doing prove to be useful later. The truth had revealed itself like a glimmering gift. Her role would be to serve, not as a slave, but as a handmaiden. Briala's skills as a spy and assassin in addition to her history with the human empress made her the logical, if not perfect choice for this task.

"What makes you think she will come willingly." She asked, as she stood under the stone arch of what would become his throne room. "Last we met, she and I did not part on the greatest of terms."

He cared little for her doubts and only desired compliance. "She will come. She has a strong heart, and is determined and thoughtful. She will be unable to accept death and she deserves more than the world she was born into." he waved his hand across an eluvian and the glassy surface rippled as if water. "Go by way of Vir Tanadahl. The foliage and trees will shield you and hide your intent, be swift for we are running out of time. You will find her near Skyhold and at the edge of the Frostbacks."

He thought of that day often. It plagued his dreams more so than any of his misgivings and deeds throughout the years. He rose from his bed, moving silently so not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, and crossed the room to the open balcony window. The moon had long since risen casting a bright, pure white glow along the marble railing and tiles that decorated the balcony. He peered beyond the towers and walls of stone to the crystal spires that floated in the distance. He had missed them and it wasn't until now that he knew how much. The marvelous craftsmanship of his people, the wonder and beauty of the infinite potential of the imagination - it was all breathtaking. Imbued with ancient magicks, that were long thought lost and forgotten, he found whispering at the edge of the broken veil searching for an amenable host to pass the knowledge on to. And even now, such knowledge still lingered flittering aimlessly in the world. He alone was up for the task of collecting them all - that and ensuring it was utilized correctly.

He sighed, utterly frustrated. There was still much to be done. This new, old world was still incomplete. The Tevinter Imperium refused to collapse and somehow, either by the use of blood magic or stolen elven artifacts, survived the shattering of the veil. It was a surprising and unforeseen act that would be rectified in due time. He allowed the waterfall below the balcony to cleanse his mind. It was a peaceful sound and absolute peace was something the world was in short supply of - that too would change before his time was done.

The night air swirled around him causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He stood there, face the dark, naked and his mind restless. "There is so much to be done," he mused, his tone flat. He felt smaller somehow as all of his plan came rushing to him unbidden and all at once. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, something he was not accustomed to. He peered over his shoulder and watched the rise and fall of the sleeping figure's chest and smiled - well, almost not accustomed to.

He turned back, focusing on his duty once more. While he was no god, he was indeed prideful and hotheaded, maybe even cocky in his belief that alone could purge the world of injustice and evil. He shook his head, no, no, that was merely doubt. He was certain of his purpose. Actions and consequences. Cause and Effect. These were the black and white dichotomies of life.

"Solas?" a voice from within the bedchamber called, thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

She was up and moving before he could reach her and he cursed himself for being so selfish and causing her undo worry. She shuffled awkwardly toward him, her silver white curling hair spilling across her shoulders like liquid starlight.

"Vhenan," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. "I am sorry, did I wake you? I did not mean to. You should be resting and enjoying your sleep."

She hummed thoughtfully and inhaled his scent. "Vir sumeil, I could sense something was wrong through our bond."

He smiled down at her, kissed her head and nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, I continue to underestimate your sensitivity to such things."

Her sleeping silks clung to the curves of her body, the fabric so thin and transparent it looked to be flesh. He could feel her full and heavy breast pressed against his chest and the swell of her budding belly touching his own stomach. "You are beautiful."

She laughed softly, the sound so lovely and feminine it seized his heart. "Really? I feel rather like a druffalo, minus the rather intimidating horns."

"Ma vhenan, I could hardly agree with that sentiment, given you are carrying our child within you."

He remembered their time together before, when he led her to the cove near Crestwood and offered to reveal the truth of the vallaslin to her. She had balked at the idea of marking herself as a slave, as he knew he would, but what he was unprepared for was the visceral pain it caused her to know how fragmented her knowledge of her history was. He wanted to tell her then, the truth of his intentions, and lose himself in his love for her, but….

"Yes, our child. Abelas believes I am carrying a girl, though why he would wish that on me…" Her ears flattened slightly at the idea. "I wouldn't know where to begin with a girl."

This time he laughed and brought his lips down to meet her's. Guileless emerald green blinked back at him, dazed and hungry. There was lust hidden within her weary eyes and he felt his manhood swelling and grow stiff the more his hands roamed her body.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Ashalle. Should we have a daughter, I believe she could find nor possess no better mother than you."

"I never knew my own mother, or father. I'm not sure I really know how to care for a child."

"You will take to it naturally, as you do with most things."

She scoffed. "You have more assurance than I do."

"Come, vhenan." he said, offering her his hand. "Let us go back to bed."

She had become his distraction, his weakness. He soon learned after that orchestrated meeting in this very place five years ago, that he would betray himself for her. To be with her. To see her. To smell her scent and feel her warmth. He resolved himself to save her, for a life without her in existence would be hollow and dull in comparison.

And so, Briala brought Ashalle to him. Regrettably a fight had ensued and the now ex-inquisitor refused to be drawn back into any game involving the Dread Wolf. The resistance was inevitable, it was, after all, who she was and what she represented. A hero who rose to stand against evil, a shining light to fight the darkness from swallowing the world whole. Sleep magic was required, something that even Briala, who possessed no innate magical gifts, was able to perform without harming Ashalle.

The slumber was not unlike the one he experienced after banishing the Evanuris into the beyond. It was careful, well practiced and formulated magic, that would retain all that she was but make her more….amenable to his intentions. She woke, confused and frantic and he would never forget the shrill sound of terror when she realized her left arm was fully restored.

Ashalle kissed his neck and pressed herself against the hard mold of his body. She was rather good at distracting him. She ran a hot tongue down his neck and whispered sweet words of love to him as her hand reached for his length.

"You should be sleeping." he moaned, struggling to fight against his own lust.

This was not the first time. He once swore he would never lie with her under false pretenses; however, back then his tenacity, his sheer strength of will and character seemed stronger. The barriers he created as he walled off his heart and the distance he placed between them assisted with alleviating his emotional entanglement to her, if only for a while. Soon, he could no longer bear the thought of being separated from her or her dying by his hands.

"I will sleep after, my love."

He could not keep himself from reaching down between her thighs and exploring the wet folds that lay at the center of them. He pulled his face down to a round supple breast, took the peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked at it. His manhood throbbed with longing, an ache that begged to be satisfied whenever he laid eyes on her.

Ashalle's mouth was sweeter than the deepest dream, than any dream he ever experienced both in and out of the Fade. He plunged himself inside of her, ravenous for her flesh and the sweetness of her. A moan escaped her swollen lips as glittering strands of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Oh vhenan…"

She was everything that was beautiful in the world. Though the Evanuris hindered his perfect dream, of a life with his love and their child, here and now, in this moment nothing could pull him from her.

Ashalle was honey and sweet cakes, she was the finest wine and warmed spiced rum, she was the very air that filled his lungs and the food that nourished his body. Small shuddering gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the bedchamber and mingled with the stillness of the night.

They both reached their climax, the world exploded before their eyes in swirling shades of color and light. He ran nimble fingers across the tender taut skin of her belly, feeling the warmth and surge of life and magic within, as she lay quietly in his arms. A soft kick, a subtle movement, reached out toward. His child, a kindred spirit filled with old and new magic.

An heir. A queen. And he, now a king. He would rule this world, correcting the actions of those who came before to ensure a brighter, better future than the one the Evanuris sought to create. His child would be born never knowing fear, hardship, or pain. The corrections, so easy and precise, like the blossoming fruit of a tree, would take more time. Dissent within his court needed to be eliminated otherwise the transition could be hindered further. He was nothing if not efficient. It could be done.

Sleep, he thought, for the dawn comes soon and only you are prepared to greet it.

[statementends]

Okay that cousins au thing was The Cutest Shit and if you’re still taking prompts... more of that? In whatever way you wana interpret that

So this story happens in a universe that is sort of a blend of By the Seashore and Broken Web.

By the Seashore involves Gerard on vacation with his little cousin Martin who he takes to the beach and helps him win the attentions of his crush, Jon. 

Broken Web takes place a few years later. Gerard saves Jon from A Guest for Mr. Spider and comforts him. He promises to remain Jon’s pen pal and tell him more about the supernatural. Jon and Gerry do not recognize each other from the events of By the Seashore

This story takes place when Jon and Martin are thirteen and Gerard is about twenty. The timeline is a bit shaken up since Mary doesn’t bind herself to the book until 2008 when Jon and Martin would be twenty-one. In this universe it happens earlier. 

Characters: Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Pairings: Minor Jon/Martin background in this chapter

Rating: T

Warnings: Parental neglect, homophobia. The story starts out sad, but I do plan for warmer feelings in the later chapters. 

Summary: Gerard opens the door of Pinhole Books the summer after his acquittal. Standing in front of him is his younger cousin asking if he can stay with him. 

AO3: Link

-

Gerard almost didn’t get the door.

It wasn’t like he got any customers for the dingy old bookstore by appointment or otherwise. When there was a ring it meant the paparazzi or some busy body wanting to see ‘where it happened.’ He wanted to sell it, but his mother wouldn’t let him. It was tempting to burn the place down when she was weakened.

After the mistrial he had tried for normal as he had done in the past. It hadn’t lasted long. Didn’t help that people recognised him. He considered cutting his hair short and bleaching it, but the thought of it made him wince. He’d rather be miserable as himself rather than miserable as someone else.

The buzzer rung again. He sighed, but decided to shoo off whoever it was bothering him. Last time he had left it someone had tried climbing through the window not knowing they were already nailed shut.

He opened the door. His scowl switched to confusion.

He had grown a lot. He would still be one of the tallest boys in his class, he already overtook Gerry. The chubbiness hadn’t faded any and the freckles had multiplied. He was big, and if it wasn’t for his babyface he might be mistake for a full grown man, as it was Gerard recognised him as his thirteen year old cousin, Martin Blackwood.

“Why…” The answer was probably Gerard’s luck honesty. It had been… a very bad year. Not that he disliked Martin, but…

Well, whatever this was it was going to complicate his already complicated life, he could feel it.

Martin was trying very hard to smile, but there was a watery look to him. Brittle. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled suddenly, as if realizing he couldn’t bring himself to start the sentence.

Gerard frowned. “Martin?”

“I–” Martin’s voice cracked. “Could I maybe stay with you for a little while? I… I don’t have anywhere to…” He crumpled and quickly wiped tears from his eyes.

Oh shit.

Gerard looked wildly around. He couldn’t bring him upstairs. He couldn’t slam the door and say no, which was tempting only because if Martin thought he would find safe shelter here, he was very much mistaken.

“I…” Gerard said slowly. “You… you know about the…” He gestured. Surely his Aunt had told him. Not that she had kept in touch for more than the occasional Christmas card, especially in the last few years, but she had been pretty clear about him staying the fuck away from her. She rung him up the night he got out of prison.

Martin nodded miserable and hesitant. “I don’t–they wouldn’t have let you go if you had done it.” He offered weakly.

Gerard shrugged. Honestly they would have jailed him. He knew he didn’t do it and knew there wasn’t much of a chance of convincing anyone otherwise unless he wanted to show them his mother’s ghost. Martin’s uncertainty did hurt a little though.

“You must be desperate then…” Gerard sighed. He still had Martin on the doorway. He quickly glanced around. No one seemed to be watching, but that didn’t mean someone with a camera wasn’t around the corner. He relented and pulled back.

“Close the door behind you and lock it,” He told Martin.

“Y-Yes of course, thank you Gerard.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we need to talk about this.” Gerard led him up the stairs. He felt the usual claustrophobia of all the books stacked around him. He lead Martin to his room. It was the only place free of clutter and the stench of paper and the crawl of silverfish. He sat on his chair at his desk and Martin sat on his bed. Martin looked amazed in the way someone is amazed by a house fire. There was no way he could let him live here even if his mother wasn’t literally haunting him.

“So.” Gerard said. No use beating around the bush. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Martin bowed his head. He played with the hem of his shirt. “Do I… do I have to say, Gerard? I… Mum kicked me out and I … there’s no one else…”

“She kicked you out?” Gerard asked. His Aunt had never struck him as a warm woman. He had only spent a long length of time with her once, a summer vacation in Bournesmouth. She didn’t seem to be a particularly tolerant woman, but Martin did his best to be obedient. Only a kid but he was well behaved… maybe… maybe too well behaved…

Martin was nodding still playing with his hem, not meeting Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard almost asked what he did, but caught himself. He doubted it had anything to do with what Martin had done and more to do with the fact that she was a terrible woman.

Must run in the esteemed Von Closen line.

“What happened,” he asked instead. “I won’t hold any of it against you.”

“I… you can’t know that you won’t.”

“Martin I was suspected of murdering my own mother,” Gerard said bluntly. Maybe to shock Martin out of it. “There’s not a whole lot worse than that.”

“You didn’t do it though.” Martin said, more certain this time.

Gerard sighed. “Right, but I’ve had a lot of people hold things against me, so I’m not inclined to do that… especially not to family.” Not that family inspired anything in him really, Martin was probably the only exception.

“I’m … I…” Martin took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

“Right.” Gerard couldn’t be less surprised by the revelation considering he facilitated Martin getting to spend time with his first summer crush. He felt a weird sort of emptiness though. Mary Keay wasn’t a good mother, but he had a cold comfort certainty she would never abandon him.

There was a long pause. Gerard shrugged.

“I… already knew,” He said thinking it might put Martin more at ease. Martin looked terrified.

“You can tell?” He squeaked.

“Oh–no. I mean… you and your friend that you played with that summer. Jack? Josh? You were obviously smitten.”

Martin’s cheeks heated. “Oh…” He said softly. “I… I never thought of it like that… but… yeah…” He looked down. “I guess it’s weird to want to marry a boy you just met.”

“It’s not weird,” Gerard said. He felt tired all of the sudden. He can only imagine what Martin’s Mother said to him before throwing him out of the house. “It’s just… love.” he shrugged. He didn’t really have any sort of experience with that sort of thing, but he knew it was stupid for people to get offended over it.

Martin still had an ashamed look on his face.

Gerard wasn’t sure how to comfort him. He had embraced a very alternative lifestyle at the age of eleven. Was used to sneers and jeers and assumptions about his personal life. Had the shit kicked out of him a few times for it. He had never slept with anyone to make either side of the argument true, but he considered beautiful people beautiful, and the idea of masculinity incomplete and shortsighted. Gay probably wasn’t quite what he was, but he was certainly queer. It had just… it hadn’t mattered. It wasn’t a worry, it was just… part of him. Like liking oranges and getting sunburned easily.

But for Martin this was probably the most afraid he had been in his life.

“You’re fine,” Gerard said. “Hey.”

Martin looked up.

“You’re fine,” He repeated.

Tears spilled down Martin’s face.

“Th–Thank you. Gerard.”

Gerard got up and sat beside him on the bed. He squeezed his shoulder awkwardly. Martin instantly pressed in quietly shaking on his shoulder. He gave his back a few pats, but let him cry it out. It was uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, but the kid needed it, and Gerard was emotionally distant for his own sake, but he wasn’t emotionally dead.

His crying subsided eventually.

“Why don’t you rest in here for a bit, I’ll get us some food. That alright?”

Martin nodded. “Y-yes. You really don’t mind me staying?”

Gerard knew he should kick him out. Give him to child services and let the government sort him out because keeping him here was a bad idea.

Maybe he was lonely… or maybe it was because he wanted to believe family did matter in the good ways. Maybe it was just Martin’s lost look. Whatever it was he nodded.

“Long as you like,” He told him.

Gerard left the room and headed upstairs to his mother’s old office. He dug around and found a plain brown box, packing tape, and a sharpy, as well as enough stampage. He stared at the book he had avoided touching knowing she might pop out at any moment.

“Right.” He inhaled slowly. Slipped the book into the box and wrapped it. Carefully wrote out the address of the Magnus Institute.

If anyone could hold her it was them.

He went out and threw the book in the post, then grabbed some curry and headed back. He opened the door and stepped on the junkmail. There was a letter among it all in familiar and precise handwriting. He dipped and picked it up, slipping it in his pocket. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Martin said. His voice sounded a lot stronger.

“So, it’s actually good timing if you don’t mind the work,” Gerard said as if Martin was just here to visit him. “I need to pack up and sell this place.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. There was a strange lift inside him saying it out loud. “I mean… we are…”

Martin nodded eagerly. “Right. I can help!”

“We don’t have to start right now, eat your curry.”

“In here?”

“The place is a disaster,” Gerard said. “I’m almost tempted to burn it all and save some time.”

Martin laughed. The first time he heard since he got here. Small and a bit timid, but there all the same.

-

He gave Martin his bedroom and made do on an old couch in a room Gerard couldn’t have put a name to. It was full of books like the rest. So more of the store. He remembered the letter and pulled it out. Neatly written in Jon’s handwriting:

Dear Gerry,

You haven’t written back since my last letter and I’ve lost patience with you which is why I’m writing now. If you’re trying to protect me, or think that I might think the worst of you for what I’ve read in the papers you’ll find yourself very much mistaken. All you’re doing is being stubborn and thickheaded.

I know that you didn’t kill your mother, and if you did, you probably had a good reason for it and she probably wouldn’t have been considered anyone’s mother anymore, so you need to write me back, or I’ll break the promise we made and come straight to this address and make you talk to me.

Gerry snorted at that. He’d like to see Jon try. He hadn’t seen the weedy boy in years, but he had the feeling he hadn’t grown all that much.

So. Write back to me. You said you would. I know whatever happened you did what you had to. And I’m sorry for your loss. I hope you’re okay.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Sims, Bournemouth  

P. S. I think I’m right about the docks.

Gerard scowled at the post script. That little… he sighed. Two thirteen year old boys he had no business looking after. He shook his head.

The ending was nice. Through all of his bluster Jon was worried about him, but if he thought Gerard wouldn’t go down to Bornemouth and kick his arse for going anywhere near the docks after he had explicitly told him not to…

He got up and grabbed a pen and paper.

Jon,

Do. Not. Go. To. The. Docks.

I’ll look into it.

-Gerard

P.S. I’m fine.

He stared at the letter. He should go into it a bit more, but he was too tired for it. He put it in an envelope and addressed it, planning to send it the next day. For now he’d sleep. Try to figure out what to do with Martin.

[ourmanifestoisfun]

4x17 & 4x18 episode thoughts

IT’S OVER YOU GUYS!

That was one hell of a journey, and while I’m sad I won’t be able to write up week after week anymore, that still doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of things left to say.

Dream ghosting! I was kind of hoping she went to the real Dr Akopian, but honestly dream ghosting works equally well for me. But falling asleep on the toilet, Rebecca? Really?

I love the red dress Rebecca wears, because that is the color associated with love and of course she will wear it on this important night.

Tim...spend Valentine’s Day with your wife. You learned about her clitoris, now learn to handle your 11-12-year relationship. Seriously.

Maya looks cute though. Love her Reveal

All of Paula’s heart decorations are marvelous. Especially digging the earrings.

The time fakeout was nicely played. I got spoiled for that going in, but I appreciated how they clarified when “earlier” actually was.

Josh’s panic about Rebecca’s decision made it sound like it was...not entirely about her, more that he had finally reached a new stage in his life and was ready to share it with someone compatible. I wish they had delved into that more.

George’s “Raven’s Nest” is terrifying

Yay for Darryl and his blended family with April. Also holy hell that is going to be a crowded household.

All of Rebecca’s flashforwards were very short, but I liked those different glimpses into different lives and how frustrated she was that the Rebeccas in them were not happy.

So much cuteness: Rebecca + Greg’s wedding dance, pregnant!Rebecca presenting a baby Ruth Gator Ginsburg to Nathaniel, and her+Josh’s family breakfast with their adorable kids

Having the episode be a little more stripped down and center on Rebecca and Paula felt very natural, because that is how the show started and it would be the way to make it come full circle. While their relationship is no longer nearly as codependent and have other aspects of their lives as priority, it is good to see them still come together and rely on each other for pivotal moments.

ESPECIALLY having Rebecca bring Paula into “that weird thing [she] does”. Seeing her run around and peer excitedly at the costumes, and being so excited about this rich imagination of her best friend is just so heartwarming.

What she needs “just happens to be here” and the handholding moments GAHHHHHH

Also ‘11 o’clock’ was PERFECT. Love how they took all of these seminal songs and brought them together with the mannequins and the outfits and everything gahhhhhhh

I’m so proud of Paula for sticking to her guns about the pro bono arm of the firm and being prepared to walk away in order to continue doing something that she felt was right. Paula now knows her worth as a lawyer - now she can figure out how to use her worth and apply it to her drive. And Julia was willing to listen, so it paid off!

Watching Josh get his heart broken was hard, because the poor boy did not see it coming.

It makes sense for him to move out, but I wish we knew what he was doing for a living now.

I like the tidbit that him and George hang out now.

Josh’s new magic club girlfriend looks super nice and cute. But meeting Rebecca must have been so awkward. Especially if she followed the saga in the Daily West Covina.

Also, I wished she had a name. Please, for fan-fictional reasons!

AJ moving in with Rebecca is fun, but also such a bad idea. I am relieved that he will never tell her whether he has a vibrator or not.

I love AJ in general. For introducing a new supporting character, they came out very strong with him and I’ve really enjoyed having him around.

I hope she does get him that Harvard t-shirt

Valencia and Beth are engaged! And it was both quiet (in bed) AND a little bit dramatic (the drone). Looking forward to that wedding.

Heather and Hector got a hot tub! 

...maybe Rebecca shouldn’t be using it at the same time as them.

I liked that Nathaniel recognized what was happening with Rebecca very quickly and I kinda hope he was joking about the rock (knowing him though, he wasn’t). Still, the “you only have one life to live and you should live it the way you want” was a sweet sentiment.

Nathaniel walking away from his father’s firm was exactly what I wanted for him. I’m not sure he should stay long term in Guatemala, but a change to reevaluate his life will be good for him.

Also that he did it with the support of two psuedo-father figures and yelled ‘’I love you’ at his dad before hanging up. I am very pleased by that because Sr would HATE it.

I’m glad that Greg made it clear that he wasn’t going to wait for Rebecca

I loved Rebecca’s tribute to him at the open mic night, that he is someone who has always been ahead, and that she wants to have the passion in her life that he has for Serrano’s.

Whijo’s grumping about it was hilarious.

I am sure that Whijo had great things happen in his life too in the past year, but ouch re: the wildfire burning both his apartment and his childhood home.

To the surprise of no one, Rebecca is not in a relationship at the time of the ending. But given how they played her breakups with the boys with gentleness, and the idea that she has a focus of her own now rather than needing to actively “choose herself”, really worked for me, because romance is still important and desirable part of life. It’s just not the only part of it, and when Rebecca says that she feels ready to welcome the other side of love into her life, I believe her.

The panning shot of all of the eligible guys made me laugh way too hard.

I did want to hear her song, but that is an excellent way to close things off.

For the concert special I don’t have this kind of list, but it was fun and sweet and a perfect send-off as well. My favorite gag is either between David Hull dancing in Vella’s song, or Michael MicMillan’s sexy toothbrushes. The Period Sex choreography was GREAT. Especially the incredibly obvious maxipads. They are all stupidly talented.

It’s also really cool that they were able to have so many of the supporting cast come join them for props/backup vocals/gags. That made it feel really warm and complete.

Also loved Vinnie popping out of the bed for the Sex Medley

In many ways, this episode resolution was simple and probably predictable for anyone who has thought about the show as deeply as the people here think about it. There was so much focus on the boys in the last few weeks that it was incredibly obvious that the solution would be that she would choose none of them, because to actually have the conflict for the final episode narrowed down to that choice would go against the very nature of the show. But the way it was handled really worked for me. Rebecca has a life and routine and friends, plus now she has a passion to nurture to its full potential. This first version will be rough, but it will be something.

I do have my criticisms, because while I love this show, there have been quite a few plot points/character beats that I feel were shorted/not touched upon: Josh’s story in particular feels incomplete to me, especially when it comes to having direction in his life. I wanted to see more of Heather+Valencia this season and especially have a stronger focus on Rebecca being a better friend to her gurlgroup, which was often glossed over. I wish things hadn’t gotten so frenetic, or the love quadrangle taken up so much time that could have been spent on moving the characters more gradually in certain directions. In general, I wanted to explore other background character relationship dynamics on a deeper level. There’s also the consistent question of when and how often the writers were knowingly subverting or playing into with tropes, which I suspect also contributed to how the back half of this season was devised.

But this story has always been Rebecca’s story, for better or worse, and that focus is part of what makes this ending feel satisfying, knowing that she is in a centered, happy place, that she is surrounded by people she loves, and the room might include the guy who will be her future mate or not, and she is about to give them words from her heart. This was an apt ending to a phase in her life where she wasn’t sure what she wanted, and I’m happy for her and for everyone, and in the end that is what I wanted from this show.

“I open at the close” - written by JK Rowling, tweeted by Rachel Bloom, and applicable to Rebecca Bunch’s story. She now knows the passion that makes her happy, so we can leave her to a future wide with possibilities.