#within the first page or two we have 'they say the slippers were glass and the carriage was made of a pumpkin which is so dumb'

[fictionadventurer]

*

[sabraeal]

The Most Perverse Creature in the World, Chapter 11

[Read on AO3]

You had been concerned this evening-- no, that was too mild a description to contain how you waited outside the castle gate, alone and shrouded beneath the anonymity of your black lacquer. It had been anxiety that plagued you, every inch of skin alive and shivering with your nerves. You trusted Obi implicitly-- he had given you no reason to not these past weeks. Despite the reputation that recommended him for this business--whatever it was-- his behavior at the bawd house reminded you less of an unrepentant rake and more of a small boy made to sit and do sums in the summer.

But even so, your ladies had placed their trust in you. They had little choice; a woman of ill repute would be laughed out of the council, branded a greedy whore, but you--

Well, you were a widow above reproach. A countess in your own right, no matter what scandal brought you the title. Where their words would sink like oil in water, yours would rise as air, right into the upper echelons of the court, perhaps even into the king’s ears themselves. That didn’t mean that they’d listen to them, but yours at least had opportunity, whereas theirs--

Theirs would be laughed at, ridiculed for daring to speak above their station. You held their hopes in your hands, and to ask them to trust a new man, sight unseen, vetted only by the prince’s messenger felt like a favor too far.

It was good then, that as large as this Sir Lowen might be, he had all the gentleness of a princess from the pages of a storybook; the sort that might see animals eating out of his cupped palms, should he offer them. The instant he squeezed into your carriage, an apologetic dark shadow, your fears had eased, steady with the knowledge that the girls would be like kittens in his hands.

Your instincts were correct; hardly a breath has passed since he entered the boudoir, and already your ladies are eating out of them. Or perhaps, more accurately, trying to entice him to eat out of theirs.

Tsubaki may have spoken first, but it’s Himawari who stands closest. She uses every inch of leverage it gives her as she saunters closer, raking Sir Lowen with a speculative gaze that leaves no doubt as to what she’s measuring.

“Sorry, petal,” Himawari purrs, placing a finger right on his sternum. “But I’ll be handling this one.”

“That’s not fair,” Tsubaki whines. “Kikyo, tell her that’s not fair.”

“I...” Kikyo’s mouth works, and she tears her gaze off the prince’s aide with a flush. “I don’t think milady brought him here for any of that business.”

“Aw, come on now.” Himawari’s wide mouth breaks out into a wider smile, the sort canaries might see before they flew to the great coop in the sky. “It’d be a pity to waste milady’s coin.”

If skin could burn then Sir Lowen would be a bonfire. “P-please, ladies, I’m not here for anything like that!”

“I changed my mind.” Himawari turns a hard, thoughtful look on him. “I’d let this one handle me.”

“Well,” Obi drawls, having entirely too much fun, “now there’s some high praise.”

Sir Lowen shoots him a dubious glare. “Is it?”

“Well, none of them have ever offered to handle me on milady’s dime,” Obi informs him, mouth twitching at the corner. “You must have a certain...I don’t know what.”

“A third leg?” Tsubaki offers, quickly shushed by Kikyo.

“Please,” Himawari snorts. “Milady couldn’t pay me enough to put up with you.”

Obi presses a hand to his chest, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very generous--”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she informs him. “You say you want to be handled, but there’s not a pair here you’d trust to do it. You couldn’t take a direction if it was dipped in gold and had your name carved in it.”

At once, the shy maiden melts away from Sir Lowen, replaced with a grin so satisfied and familiar you wonder which face it came from first-- Obi, or this man.

“Why, Obi,” he says, deceptively friendly. “I didn’t know you were taking me to a palm reader.”

Obi huffs, chin tilting up and arms folding tight across his chest. “I don’t think she’s interested in your palms, mister.”

Himawari’s brow tics, speculative. “Depends on where he plans on putting them.”

“I wasn’t--” Sir Lowen’s high ground turns to quicksand beneath his feet-- “I only meant--”

“If you are all quite finished bothering Sir Lowen,” you inform them, ignoring Himawari’s gleeful ‘hardly’-- “we have very little time left if we do not wish to squander the opportunity his name has afforded us.”

Kikyo bounces to her feet, leaving an empty space on the bed. “Ah, right. Sir Lowen, if you wouldn’t mind...”

He coughs, the red on his skin appearing uniquely painful. “I couldn’t...not...ah...”

“Oh!” Her fingers flicker in the air, all nerves. “Ah, then, perhaps this chair? If that would suit?”

“It would,” he allows graciously, the tension in his shoulders finally deflating. “I’ll just...stay here for the evening. I guess.”

“Don’t feel like you have to, sir,” Tsubaki purrs, rolling onto her back. “There’s plenty of room here on the bed.”

“There certainly will be, when I kick you off of it,” Himawari replied, leaping over to tweak the girl’s cheek. “No room for little girls while the adults are, hmm, talking.”

“The chair is fine!” he yelps, availing himself of it pointedly. “There! Hardly...hardly any different than a night in the palace!”

Obi’s lips give a dangerous twitch. “Well, I’m sure these ladies could change that if you only--”

“Obi.” You may not have had any child of your body, but you have raised a boy just the same; you know the precise octave in which one may raise their voice and insinuate trouble. He jolts at the sound of it, eyes rounding to innocence. “If you would...”

“Ah, right.” His shoulders hunch as he slinks toward you, a cat scolded but entirely unrepentant. “Well, mister, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Sir Lowen’s head snaps up, eyes wide and white as he catches the open door. “Obi! You can’t--”

A large hand presses to your spine, scurrying you through it. Obi leans back, head poking through the gap. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”

“Obi--!” The door snicks shut behind him.

You frown, glancing at the door behind him. “Are you sure you two are friends?”

“The most bosom companions.” His teeth flash white in the hall’s dim. “Now let’s go see to your entertainment for the evening, my lady.”

You have never had reason to stray long in the brothel’s halls; Obi usually sees to it that your trip involves only the briefest stint through the back stairs, quickly and quietly depositing you in a room within moments of your arrival. So as your eyes adjust to the bare light, you cannot help but stare.

“Stripes?” Your fingers rise to trace the paper. It’s hard to make out their color in the dim, but you squint anyway, shuffling close enough for your slippers to brush the wainscoting. “Green stripes?”

“Well, not everything can be hand-painted cocks and balls.”

You nearly laugh, only tamping down when you see how his eyes have bulged, how stiffly he’s standing before you. Obi hadn’t meant to let that gem slip from his lips.

“Of course not,” you say, deceptively mild. Behind your veil, Obi can’t see your lips twitch. “I’d expect there to be quite a few cunts as well.”

You may restrain your laugh, but Obi doesn’t, a wheeze bursting from his lips. “My lady...”

It’s not until his shoulders ease, body hanging with its usual boneless grace, that you realize how tense he’s been. After that little scene in Tsubaki’s chamber, you half expected him to be prancing through the halls, giddy as a schoolboy he hung yet another of his bosom companions out to twist in the wind. But instead he’s...nervous.

“Obi.” His name hoists itself through the air with the heft of a feather, but he flinches nonetheless. “Is something wrong?”

His mouth opens, but closes just as quick, mouth curving in a rueful grin. “I wonder...”

You nearly call out to him again, his name right at the edge of your lips, but Obi’s voice startles you instead. “Come on, my lady, it’s this way.”

The door he stops at must be the one-- who else would have delicate violets painted in clusters along the jamb?-- and he hesitates once more, hand poised just above the knotless wood.

Gold eyes cast you one last long look, but you cannot read the message in it. There is too much regret, too much pity, too much of everything, and you would ask, you would take your gloved hand and hold him back, but--

You’re too late. His knuckles fall, a sharp rap, and suddenly he’s the Obi you expected to see once more, grin spread too wide on his angular face, the shadows clinging to him as if he might disappear if you took your eyes from him.

“Custom’s here,” he calls out gruffly, the perfect imitation of one of the brothel’s bouncers. Quieter, he turns to you, door creaking open as he says, “Good luck, my lady.”

You shore yourself up, becoming the implacable widow behind a facade of bombazine. “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”

This is not what you expect from a prostitute’s boudoir.

Gauzy rose curtains flutter between whitewashed posts, stirred by the door’s closing. They match the ones over the windows, a massive bank of glass settled over a seat meant to sit two, buried in pink striped cushions. The knobs on the vanity gleam golden, matching the subtly shimmering vines on the wallpaper, interrupted only by sprays of violets and roses.

It’s a child’s room; the very same you might see for a beloved daughter among your set. Save for the flowers, it could quite practically have been your own before you left it for your marriage bed.

Your hands clench where they hang knitted before you. Perhaps that is...part of the fantasy. Just as Himawari’s room is done in dark woods and deep hues to match the tastes of her clients, this might be much the same. A girl who catered to the illicitness of making love in a lover’s childhood room-- or, you cannot help but think, one that might be bound to do a man’s bidding, like a child might.

“Oh sir.” A pale shadow moves behind the curtain, as delicate as the voice that  slips through the gauze. It’s a soft one, high-pitched and sweet, a part played to the hilt. “I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

You startle, heels bumping back into the door. You’d braced for confrontation, not seduction; even if this Sumire has never once seen a glimpse of Sir Lowen, there is no conceivable way that she could mistake a window in her weeds as the prince’s foremost aide. But thin as these curtains are, she can see just as much of you as you can see her-- nothing above a vague impression of color and shape.

It is not to last. Slender fingers slide through the seams, pushing the cloth aside. “I do hope you’ll take care of--”

A sweet face peers out between the curtains, chestnut hair pinned back and curled just like a little girl’s-- because that’s what she is. By her size, her proportions-- if she’s had her courses, she can count them but months, not years. Fourteen, at the most. At the least--

Your mind refuses to speculate. How can it, when all that fills it is an angry buzz, as harsh as the cicadas in summer. You had thought Tsubaki young, but this, this...

Her full mouth crumples into a child’s pout. “You aren’t Sir Lowen at all.”

And a good thing, too. Gentle as that man may be, you doubt he would take this with any sort of subtlety. “No. You may call me Countess Bederin.”

Those large eyes go wide, rounding until you can see white around the iris. “B-bederin?”

Your mouth curls. “I see my reputation precedes me. I suspect the girls have spoken about me.”

The girl-- Sumire, the madam’s favorite flower, sniffs, her coltish limbs folding over her. “They don’t need to tell me anything. I know all about you.”

It has been years since you’ve had a child in your home, but you recognize the prideful hook of that mouth. Less they don’t need to tell me anything, then, and more they wouldn’t tell me anything, even if I asked.

She settles back on her heels, eyeing you askance. “You’re the widow that comes around here to talk about, ah...?”

“Taxes, mostly,” you admit. “Working conditions as well. May I have a seat?”

With all the primness and pretension of a lord’s daughter, Sumire draws her spine straight, seating herself at the edge of the bed with ankles crossed. She would look every inch a girl born to it if it weren’t for her sullen pout-- or her negligee, one strap slowly slipping down her shoulder. “If you must.”

“I don’t,” you assure her. You’re not so old that standing for the duration of this conversation would harm you. “I would prefer to be invited, rather than impose.”

Her eyes widen before she drops them down, giving a begrudging nod. “Fine then. Over there. But you should know I don’t have any complaints.”

Her hand juts out; you follow its line to an overstuffed chair tucked in a corner. It’s pink as well, though not striped, its velvet worn bald in places. Your nurse had a similar one-- no, you had a similar one in your old room, a big wing-backed monument you’d climbed as a small thing, right into her lap until you got too big for it, then up the back itself. That is, until you’d fallen from the top and knocked the wind clean out of your chest. You’d taken your stories from the floor, after that, leaning your head against her knee as her finger stroked through your hair.

Your jaw sets as you sink into its cushioned depths. This furniture might share a shape, but you doubt Sumire has experienced the same sweet memories.

“Of course,” you manage through your teeth, “but that is valuable information as well. I am looking for as complete a picture as I can create when I make my recommendation to His Majesty.”

It’s an overstatement of your power to be sure-- the only time His Majesty would hear your opinions would be shortly before they were torn to shreds by the teeth of the council-- but it has the desired effect. Sumire’s small chest puffs, chin tilting up, eyes sparkling. You’ve made her important. No, you’ve made her words important.

“I should tell the madam you’re here,” she says, words crisp, threat idle. “So she can throw you right out for...for...ah...sedition.”

That would require the brothel to be a country and the madam its head of state-- a metaphor that might work if it did not require you to also live within it as well. Still, it was a poor point to quibble with a child, not when a girl like her could never afford to spurn a lady who has a king’s ear. At least, not when she could dream of putting herself in his bed. This was all a bit of theater, a way for her to cast the illusion of an equal field.

It is ground you can afford to cede. “You might. Or you might allow me to have your ear first, before you decide. The choice is yours.”

Sumire’s small feet still against the footboard, her body stiff and still with a hungry kind of wariness. You doubt she has ever been given such a choice before, paltry as it is.

“Very well.” Her voice takes on the clipped cadence of the upper crust; an affectation to your ear, but a good one. She’s been trained, at least, the streets scrubbed clean from her vowels. “Though there’s not a thing you could offer me that the madam won’t give if I ask.”

Besides a childhood, you don’t say.

“I’m not here to make any offer,” you tell her, as gentle as you are able. “Only to be a listening ear.”

Her head cocks, a sparrow offered seeds from a strange hand. “What do you mean?”

You stifle a smile; even if she cannot see it through the veil, she’ll hear it in your voice. Still-- she’s taken the bait, even if she hasn’t hopped up into your fingers. “My purpose is not to propose, but to listen. There is a proposal among the lords that would require all those engaging in acts considered...superfluous to the point of procreation for money to pay a certain extra consideration to the crown.”

Sumire blinks. “What’s that all mean?”

“They want to tax you for every act of sexual congress that does not involve, ah--” you flounder for the words; she may be a professional, but she is also a child, and oh, Obi might have teased you for asking, but he’d certainly have ideas-- “the insertion of a man’s member into your, hm...”

Secret garden, your nurse would have said, but that seems too pale, too flowery--

“Cunt?” she offers, so innocent, as if there were no other word.

“Yes.” Were the madam to stand before you now, you could choke the very life from her and feel no guilt. “Quite.”

Her small face rumples, wrinkled up in thought. “So if I let a john take me on hands and knees, would that cost extra too? Or only if he’s got his cock outside my--”

“Ah!” It had been too much to hear this from Tsubaki’s mouth, but an actual child’s is far, far worse. “Yes. I am afraid that anything that is not with a man top and a woman beneath--”

“But I am--”

“-- And, ah, facing him,” you add, hurriedly. “Any of it would be considered a...lewd act, subject to the tax.”

Sumire doesn’t speak, not at first; instead she merely sits with the knowledge, shadows rolling across her face in intervals.

“Well,” she decides, finally. “The madam handles all that for me. So I need not worry about any of this business.”

Frustration could grind your teeth to stubs, but you take in a breath, let it out. She would hardly be the first woman to place her trust in fiscal matters where it did not belong. Too many of your own acquaintance would say the same of their accounts; what use was it to balance books or be money-minded when their fathers, their brothers, their husbands all took care of such things. As long as there was enough credit to draw at the modiste, a woman needed no notion of how it came to be.

That had not been the education your father gave you-- you and your brothers alike learned to keep ledgers. It had been your cramped hand that wrote in Bederin’s, yours that tallied columns that no longer came to sums you could account for.

You cannot blame a woman for wanting to keep herself innocent of the things men might do, when they only amounted to numbers in the end.

“May I ask,” you begin, sliding your pencil from its place in your notebook’s binding. “What is the percentage the madam takes from your earnings?”

Sumire stares. “What do you mean?”

“The madam takes a cut of your earnings, does she not?” Your fingers tighten painfully around your pencil; it takes effort to ease it. “Part of your keep. For room and board and her private business. Do you know how much it is?”

She was always a child, but suddenly Sumire seems quite small indeed. “No, the madam...handles all my money.”

The lead pauses on your page. “Do you see any of it?”

“I...” Her brow furrows, doubt seeping into the shadows of her face. “She gives me pocket money. From my accounts. She says she puts it all away for me until I’m older.”

You have known plenty of young ladies with the same story. Your father had been of the old school where a woman took care of a manor’s accounts while its lord saw to its improvement-- but that philosophy was unpopular among men of the court. A good, obedient wife never handled any of their allowance; they merely took what their lord husband gave them for pin-money and never questioned its amount. That is, of course, until their creditors came. Even a title could only protect so far.

“Do you know the amount she takes from the other girls?” you ask, knowing full well the answer. “Perhaps we can extrapolate from there. Make an estimate,” you clarify, seeing confusion cloud her face.

“No,” she sniffs. “They don’t tell me anything. They’re jealous.”

There is some truth to that perhaps; Tsubaki certainly acts as though they are rivals for a mother’s love even if she hates the parent in question, and Himawari has made no secret that she doesn’t appreciate the pomp and circumstance around the search for Sumire’s custom. But still, it’s not the whole of it, though to say so would certainly fall upon deaf ears.

“You know,” you hum, setting your pencil back in its binding. “We want to have a larger meeting. One where the girls voice all their ideas. Where we can begin to see what needs should be met, should I bring a counter proposal before the council.”

Her mouth curves into a frown. “The madam won’t like that. She won’t let you do it.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, an anxious tattoo that rattles in your ears as you say, “That’s why we don’t plan to tell her.”

Sumire’s face takes on a petulant cast. “What if I did? Then you all couldn’t. Madam would like that.”

“You could,” you admit. “But if you came to it, perhaps you might know better what the madam keeps for you.”

From you, you mean, but you doubt she’s ready for that conversation. Not right now, when the idea of betrayal is so new.

The temptation is clear on her face, but curiosity shutters tight behind pride. “No one would want me there. They don’t like me.”

“I would want you there.” You set aside your notebook, letting nothing come between you but your veil. “I think you have important things to contribute.”

Her eyes widen, but only for a moment. The next she shakes her head, tossing her curls proudly. “I could still tell the madam, even if I go.”

“I trust you.” You want to at least, but she’s so young, and the madam is her world. Her protector and abuser both.

“The others won’t.”

“That may be,” you agree, “but it only takes one to convince others. I’ll be the first.”

Sumire eyes you warily, both dubious and hopeful, and you wish there was some way you could prove it, some way you could give her the assurance every child deserves. You drop your eyes to your lap, veil pooling on your hands--

And you do. Your fingers trace the lace edge, and it’s with an exaggerated motion that you lift it, the breeze from the widow caressing your bare cheeks.

Sumire’s jaw falls slack. “Why...” It closes as she leans closer, surprise etched in every plane of her face. “You aren’t ugly at all, miss.”

That’s not quite the reaction you expected. “Ah...thank you. I suppose.”

She hesitates, then gives you a quick, pained nod. “I’ll come. But I don’t promise I’ll keep quiet after.”

“I could expect no less,” you murmur, veiling your smile once more. “We all have to do what’s best, don’t we?”

You leave the room more troubled than you entered, but lighter somehow still.

“Did what needs doing?” Obi asks, levering himself out of the shadows.

“Not yet.” Your mouth stretches into a determined line. “But I’ll see it’s done.”

[haveamagicalday]

My reads of 2020

My top ten is in a separate post but here are the rest of my reads!

5 Stars

If You Tell by Gregg Olsen 

This is a memoir about the Shelley Knotek case. It focuses heavily on the relationship and struggles of her three daughters that were just children when Shelley’s tortures started. This book was fantastically written for such a morbid tale but be warned, it is not for the faint of heart. Trigger Warning: Abuse, torture, murder

Wayside School Beneath the Cloud of Doom by Louis Sachar 

The Wayside school books were some of my favorite growing up. I made sure to reread them all before reading this one. It felt like no time had past at all. This is a great blast from the past that won’t disappoint old fans of the series. 

4 Stars

All Your Twisted Secrets by Diana Urban

A group of seemingly unrelated students are invited to a scholar dinner that turns out to be a trapped. Once all the students arrive, they are locked in with a bomb and the the option to choose one person to die or they all die. As the night slips away, we learn the secrets and connections the students share that brought them to their predicament. Surprisingly not as suspenseful as you would think it would be and the secrets/bad things the students had done in the past really weren’t that twisted. Still it was very fun with an explosive ending.

Beyond the Shadowed Earth by Joanna Ruth Meyer

This is a sequel to Beneath the Haunting Sea and actually focused on the hero from the first’s books antagonist, Eda. Eda overthrow our hero from the first book as heir to the throne, blamed the king’s death on her and had her wrongfully banished to an island that launched the story of the first book. After that we never visited Eda again as the book focused on a different story instead of getting her kingdom back. So in this one, we see what happened to Eda after she took over. She is not a good person and the author isn’t afraid to make her unlikable at first, but also redeemable through her adventure and misfortunate. 

Break Your Glass Slippers by Amanda Lovelace

Another book of poetry from Amanda Lovelace that delivers profound and touching poems.

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier 

A classic retelling of The Six Swans. This story takes place in a medieval/fantasy version of Ireland. Marillier is one of my favorite authors of fairytale retellings. This book is definitely a slow read but is gorgeously written and rich in character development. The story follows the fairytale with little variation. Trigger Warning: Rape (graphic depiction).  

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer

Nonfictional account of female serial killers. I liked that this wasn’t written like a wikipedia page and took a more narrative approach. After the first few women, they all start to blend together though. Lots of poisoning happens. It would have been nice for some variety. 

Malorie by Josh Malerman

The sequel to Bird Box that we probably didn’t need but was still good nonetheless. This one focuses more on Boy and Girl (now named thankfully) as teenagers and their view and challenges of the world they’ve grown up in. This book introduced new concepts that were interesting and creative. Somehow this managed to have a relatively happy and satisfying conclusion.

The Monstrous Feminine by Barbara Creed  

A look at horror films through a feminist and psychological lens. I absolutely loved this book and the ideas it presents. The first half of the book takes a look at certain horror films (such as Carrie, the Exorcist, Alien, ect.) and “challenges this patriarchal view by arguing that the prototype of all definitions of the monstrous is the female reproductive body.” I liked the first section of the book more than the second part where I felt it focused too much on Freud and his findings and challenging them through horror films.

No Judgements by Meg Cabot

A cute, fluffy romance that takes place on a small island preparing for a category 3 hurricane. Bree finds herself forced to shelter with the island’s resident heartbreaker and they don’t get along. At first ;)

The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

Alicia, a famous painter and wealthy wife, shocked the world when she killed her husband and then stopped speaking afterwards. Now committed to a mental institute, Alicia is still refusing to speak. Theo is a therapist who jumps at the opportunity to work with Alicia and discover what really happened with her husband. Some of the twist was easy to pick up on at first but there was plenty that kept me guessing. This was a real page turner.

When We Were Magic by Sarah Gailey

Alexis and her group of friends have one very big thing in common; they are able to preform magic. One night, Alexis’ magic causes an accidental death of a classmate and the friends have to ban together to make things right. This was a creative and moving read. There’s plenty of magic but it almost comes secondary to the friendships and blossoming love between two of the friends. 

The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson

Immanuelle lives in. a patriarchal society where the prophet’s word is law and the town is bordered by the evil and forbidden Darkwood. In the Darkwoods lurks four witches that seem to be calling out to Immanuelle. This book had fantastic world building and the story was unique and engaging. Sometimes it felt like we were just skimming the surface of possibilities and I felt that the book could have been longer or divided into a series. While the story wraps up in the end it does turn out there is going to be a sequel so I’m excited for that! Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape

3.5 Stars

The Cousins by Karen M. McManus

Jonah, Aubrey and Milly never knew their rich grandmother. Her children were all cut off ominously with a note simply saying “you know what you did.” Now their grandmother is reaching out to the cousins and inviting them to work at her island resort for the summer. Lots of secrets and twists await them! This book was a lot of fun and probably my favorite of this author’s so far. Some of the twists border on zany but the overall tone of the book is a little zany so it works.

Horrid by Katrina Leno 

After her father’s death, Jane and her mother are forced to move across the country into Jane’s mother’s childhood home. The manor has many secrets hidden within that Jane must face. The book was well written and intriguing. The books deal with grief and mental illness with a touch of the supernatural. I felt that the overall pacing felt off though. Very little happened in the beginning and then a lot happens in the last 30 or so pages and then it ended abruptly. It was a great concept though and I'm interested in more from this author!

One of Us is Next by Karen M. McManus

A sequel to the hit novel, One of Us is Lying. This book focuses on one of the character’s from the first books little sister and two of her classmates. The stakes in this one didn’t feel quite as serious as the first book but it was a fun read with interesting twists!

The Return by Rachel Harrison

Julie went missing, leaving her 3 best friends grappling with tragedy. Then, exactly two years later, she comes back with no memories. The four friends decide to spend a weekend together but something is not quite right with Julie. This book was creepy! However, it focuses more on the relationships of the four characters and dealings with grief with a touch of supernatural sprinkled throughout. It’s a gripping novel from start to finish that will keep you guessing.

3 Stars

All the Missing Girls by Megan Miranda

Nicolette returns to her hometown for the first time in ten years after the mysterious disappearance of her best friend. Shortly after arriving another girl goes missing, forcing Nicolette to relive what happened years ago. What made this book a page turner was that it tells the story backwards. Once she gets to her hometown it starts on her 10th day and works backwards to what happened on the day of her arrival. Unfortunately, while the concept works at first it builds up to a lackluster and disappointing ending. If you were to put the book in the correct order, it wouldn’t work as there are stuff that is found out in the first few days that the reader doesn’t know about but the characters do that wouldn’t make sense in a narrative sense.

Behind Closed Doors by B.A. Paris

From the outside Jack and Grace come off as the perfect couple but behind closed doors, everything changes. No twists here, Grace is Jack’s prisoner and she is desperately trying to get away. The book alternates between past and present about her current situation and how she got there. This involves a lot of suspension of disbelief. Jack is a cartoony type of villain with no real motive and he would never be able to get away with what he was doing. Grace is also not the smartest person, there were a lot of different ways she could have escaped but for the sake of the story she doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, this was still a suspenseful and fun read but also questionable and some points.

The Blue Salt Road by Joanne M. Harris

A quick, fairytale like story about a selkie who was tricked into becoming human and now longs to return to the sea. I feel like there was a message being preached in this story, but I can’t really pinpoint what it was. Regardless, this was a magical little read.

Clown in a Corn Field by Adam Cesare

Clown in the corn field is a slasher film put on page. It starts off like a typical YA novel and sets up a mystery as to who the clown is, but then the clown attacks at a party and the rest of the novel is that one night as the clown wrecks havoc and the teens have to escape. I think I wold have preferred and more drawn out mystery but fans of slasher films would really enjoy this!

Coral by Sara Ella

A sort of retelling of the Little Mermaid. Sort of. This book focuses on strong themes of mental health. The mermaid/fantasy side is minimal and almost completely disappears in the 2/3rds in to the novel. It was a slightly confusing read but had a powerful depiction of depression. Trigger Warning: Suicide

The Doll House Murders by Betty Ren Wright

A sad but sweet little mystery novel about a preteen girl who discovers a dark secret via an old dollhouse and its mysterious moving dolls. The subject matter was dark but the story was written for middle graders and thus mystery is handled with simplicity and strange charm to it.

Good Girl, Bad Blood by Holly Jackson

The sequel to A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder. This book hasn’t been released in the US yet but you can still get the British/original version on amazon which is what I did. This novel requires a stretch of disbelief and I didn’t think the mystery was as good as the first one. However, if you are a fan of the first one, you will still want to check this one out as well!

I Know Who You Are by Alice Feeney

You definitely have to suspend your disbelief when you read this one. It's gripping and while some twists were easily guessed, the final one took me for a surprise. It's equal parts dark/chilling and cheesy/silly. I'm still left with a lot of questions after the ending. It makes the book fall apart when you think about it but if you just take it for what it is, an entertaining but cheesy thriller, you'll enjoy it.

The Harp of Kings by Juliet Marillier 

This book features the children of the main characters from the Blackthorn and Grim series but you don’t need to read that series in order to read this one (though you should!). The book features three teenagers that are training to be warriors that are selected to go undercover in a nearby kingdom to find the stolen Harp of Kings before the new king’s coronation can take place. It was slow in the beginning and I felt there wasn’t much character development but it was an enjoyable read.

In Darkling Wood by Emma Carroll

Alice’s sick brother is getting a lung transplant and Alice is forced to stay with an estranged grandmother. Her grandmother lives on the edge of darkling wood, a place rumored to be filled with fairies. This book reminded me of a less dark version of When A Monster Calls. It deals with some of the same themes but this is more aimed towards children with a feel good ending.

The Lost Girls by Heather Young

In the summer of 1935, six year old Emily disappeared leaving her two older sisters and parents devastated. Sixty years later, both sisters are dead but one of them left behind her house and a notebook detailing what happened that summer for her grandniece, Justine. This book wasn’t so much of a thriller but focused more on Justine’s current issues with her daughters and ex boyfriend. I found the chapters with the notebook pages in between chapters more interesting than the modern story.

Love, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli 

I read the first Stargirl years ago but reread it before reading this one. This sequel doesn’t manage to capture the same charm as the first one did. The book is a series of letters that Stargirl writes (but doesn’t send) to Leo from the first book following her over the course of a year. I found it surprisingly boring at times and Stargirl seemed far to normal as compared to the first book. It was neat to see what she was up to after the first book but overall I didn’t think it was a necessary sequel. 

A Psalm for Lost Girls by Katie Bayerl

Callie’s older sister was considered a saint in her small town before she tragically passed away. Now the city is trying to have her canonized, but Callie knows her sister wasn’t a saint, and the pressure is what ultimately killed, so now she’s on a mission to prove that her sister was just a normal girl. This book involved a missing child that Callie’s sister was supposed to find before she died but couldn’t. The mystery there was very predictable and was kind of on the back burner to Callie’s story. I think this would have been a more interesting story if it had been from the sister’s perspective and how it felt to be a teen saint while she was still alive.

The Rose Without a Thorn by Jean Plaidy 

The story of Katherine Howard, the fifth wife of King Henry. I was looking for a novel that painted Katherine as sympathetic, as most adaptations make her out to be a seductress. This novel was strange as it read as a wikipedia entry in a narrative form. It was all telling and no showing and lacked real emotion. From the minor research I’ve done, it seems to be pretty accurate in terms of events that happened. Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse featuring a minor (but isn’t presented as such)

Sadie by Courtney Summers

Sadie’s sister was murdered and she is determined to bring the killer to justice. In between each chapter about Sadie is a the transcript for a podcast that is covering the case, as well as Sadie’s future disappearance . This is a very popular book but to be honest, I'm not sure what the point was? The podcast was an interesting idea but it basically just rehashed everything we already knew. Not much was added by it. The ending just fizzles away and the story tended to drag in places. It was very well written though and I think I was just not the right audience for it.

The Seventh Bride by T. Kingfisher

A creepy retelling of Bluebeard. It reads like a YA in some places but Adult in others. It was definitely unsightly and out there but I found it confusing in some places. It has some great creepy imagery and slight body horror to it.

The Supervillain and Me by Danielle Banas

Abby’s brother is a superhero beloved by the whole crime ridden town. But when a supervillain comes into town, Abby finds her paths crossing with him again and again. Okay, so the supervillain wasn’t even a villain and the reason for wanting Abby to help him was not a very good one. The book is mostly about the romance between the two which was nice but nothing spectacular. I found myself more interested in the musical Abby was starring in. It was about a cannibalistic royal family whose oldest son falls in love with a servant and he has to save her from being eaten by his family. Now THAT sounded interesting!

Winterdream by Chantal Gadoury

A Nutcracker retelling. This was a sweet retelling of the story. It didn’t add much to the original tale or the ballet but it was a good winter read to get into the spirit of Christmas.

They Wish They Were Us by Jessica Goodman

Freshman year, Jill’s best friend was killed by her boyfriend., Graham Now it’s senior year and Jill is the president of an elite school club but someone keeps texting her about Graham’s innocence and she can’t keep herself from diving deeper into the mystery to unearth what really happened to her friend. Gripping and twisty, this book was a solid teen mystery!

Not Rated

I’m Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid

I read this almost a year ago and I still don’t know what to think about it. I can’t decide if the story was genius or simple shock value. Did the twist make sense? I don’t know honestly. I read this before I even knew there was a netflix adaptation coming and I while I read this book in one sitting, I only made it halfway through the movie. I personally don’t think it translated well to screen. If you are looking for a quick disturbing read with an ending you WILL NOT be able to guess, then I highly recommend this one.

The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror by Mallory Ortberg

There’s a pretty popular post on his webiste that has a link to a horrifying retelling of Curious George. This is a collection of retellings/unrelated short stories by the same author. I didn’t read all of the stories in this because some of them were just too difficult to get through and confusing. However, the dark retellings of fairy tales and children books were really enjoyable. I particularly liked the retellings of The velveteen rabbit, the frog prince and the six swans. I think they can all be found online and not just in this collection.

Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer

Is it good? No. Is it garbage? Yes. Did I still read it any way? Yes. Team Edward for life.

[sxfterhearts]

66. [6:04 pm]

“Damn it,” Mark cursed under his breath as the two of you exited the restaurant and was immediately met with menacing grey clouds that threatened to spill rain droplets over the innocent people roaming the streets. “We were supposed to have a picnic by the Han River, but I guess it’s not possible now…” He trailed off, clutching the bag of takeaway dakgalbi in disappointment, his shoulders slumped and his lips forming a deep pout.

“It’s fine, Mark,” You reassured, huddling closer to him as a strong gust of wind threatened to blow you away. You locked arms with his and guided both of you towards the subway entrance.

He huffed out a huge sigh. “I had the perfect date planned, Y/N! We were gonna get dessert at that bingsu place you like, then watch the sunset from Namsan Tower.” Mark continued, his sorrow clearly written all over his face.

“Mark, baby, I don’t mind,” You tugged him along, making sure that he got out his T-money card in time and urged him towards the correct train line that would take you two back to his apartment. “As cliché as this sounds, I honestly don’t care what we’re doing on our dates, as long as I get to spend quality time with you.”

It was true, considering how both of you were final year university students and already had insufficient time on your hands due to the continuous stream of work, assignments, tests and exams. You could understand Mark’s disappointment, though. This was only your third official date after he asked you to be his girlfriend, and he had planned each date meticulously, exceeding your expectations every single time.

Unfortunately, the past few weeks have been tough. Midsemester exams were coming up and Mark was bombarded by emails from the anxious first year students he tutored for a marketing unit. You had to prepare a presentation for your research project as well, and your supervising lecturer had been far less helpful than you’d imagined. Overall, the time apart made you miss him even more. It seemed like it was harder to meet up with Mark compared to before when you were just friends. Previously, the two of you made it a point to invite each other over for dinner or grab drinks together regularly. Now, it was getting nearly impossible to clear your schedules because of the urgency of your respective deadlines. Time with each other was scarce. You found a small part of yourself wishing to go back to those simpler days filled with impromptu meetups and midnight ramen sessions.

Miraculously, the two of you boarded the train and were fortunate enough to find two seats next to each other. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” Mark whispered close to your ears and pressed his warm lips against your temple. Your eyelids fluttered shut at his soft gesture. It had been nearly two months since Mark asked you to be his girlfriend, and you still hadn’t gotten used to his kisses. They always left a tingling sensation in your stomach.

A short fifteen minutes later, you entered Mark’s apartment. Although you had visited his humble abode many times before, you couldn’t help but to linger in front of the shelf standing beside the TV while your boyfriend got out the plates and cutlery. A fond smile worked its way onto your lips as you perused the vast collection of photos he had on display. There were older, framed family photos of the young Tuan siblings standing beside their seated parents, all wearing identically radiant smiles, and another faded picture of Mark’s baby photoshoot. A polaroid photo album that consisted of more recent snaps stood proudly in the centre, opened to a page containing Mark’s favourite polaroids. They were mostly from his trips back to LA with his family and close friends, and a couple from weekend getaways with his university friends.

Your gaze fell upon a particular polaroid that caught your eye. It was a candid shot of you taken by Mark on the night he asked you out. He had sent you a text near midnight asking you to come over for ramen. You turned up shortly after in slippers and an old band t-shirt with your hair messily tied up, the novel you were engrossed in tucked under your arms. As you leaned over the counter to catch a glimpse of his signature dish, Shin Ramyun with an egg (the egg whites for him and the yolk for you), he sneakily whipped out his Polaroid Camera and took a quick shot. Later that night, you nearly choked on the semi-runny egg yolk when he suggested that the two of you should go on a movie date together.

“Babe, food’s ready. Come and eat while it’s still hot.” He called as he made his way to the living room, placing the dakgalbi on the coffee table. “Are you looking at my photo shrine again?”

“Photo shrine?” You repeated, chuckling at your boyfriend’s interesting choice of words.

Mark unveiled the tasty prized possession as you sat cross-legged on the floor, beside him. “Yeah, it’s a photo shrine because it contains pictures of people and memories that hold a special meaning in my heart.” He gave you a lopsided smile as he waved a piece of fragrant, spicy stir-fried chicken in front of your lips, beckoning you to open your mouth. You accepted gratefully. “My favourite picture of all is the one of me lying on the ground with my sister’s baby on top of me.” He continued teasingly.

“Hey!” You let out a muffled exclamation as your mouth was filled with the well-seasoned meat, feigning jealousy over the fact that your polaroid wasn’t his favourite.

Mark laughed heartily, clearly amused at your reaction. “I’m just kidding. Of course yours is my favourite. You’re my favourite human.”

You hummed happily upon hearing that. “Are you sure about that, Tuan?”

Mark’s thumb came up to the corner of your lips to wipe off the reddish stain from the sauce. “Such a messy eater.” He commented as he raised the thumb to his own lips and licked the remnants off. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Y/N. I said you’re my favourite human, not my favourite living thing. Milo still takes the top spot.”

Right on cue, the white fluffy ball of fur trotted towards Mark from his usual resting place in his bedroom, tail wagging eagerly at the attention. “Hi Mi Mi, my baby. I’ve missed you.” He picked Milo up and cradled him in his arms, giving him several loud smooches as the puppy licked his lips.

You playfully sighed in defeat at the pair’s blatant display of affection. You were about to give him a snarky retort when you were abruptly disrupted by a deafening crack of thunder.

Milo padded over to the glass door leading to the balcony, barking furiously at the dark skies. The puppy refused to calm down until Mark scooped him up, babying and distracting him by scratching his favourite spot behind his ears. “Silly baby, it’s just the rain.”

“Great…” You remarked sarcastically. The summer rain usually lasted for hours, which meant that getting back to your place would be a huge hassle. “I’m gonna have so much fun taking public transport in this weather.”

Mark placed Milo down between the two of you and the puppy cosied up next to your feet, nudging you lightly with his head. The sight warmed your heart. You’ve known Mark ever since he got Milo and you’ve basically watched him grow up, but it was always a pleasant surprise when the puppy acted so comfortably around you. “Stay over then?”

You nearly choked on the dakgalbi that was halfway down your throat. A sip of water later, a soft “What?” left your lips.

It was the first time you would be sleeping over at each other’s houses, or sharing a bed, for that matter. Your response was totally understandable. Mark could feel the tips of his ears heat up and flush dark red, somewhat embarrassed that he brought up this topic in the first place. “I mean,” He added hastily. “I don’t want you going out and getting sick. I’ve got a towel and a spare toothbrush. You can take a shower, change into my t-shirt and a smaller pair of boxers. And I can take the couch if you’re not comfortable with sharing a bed.”

It was a very tempting proposal. You nibbled on your bottom lip, silently wondering whether it was too soon for you to sleep over at Mark’s. He did make a strong argument, though, and judging by the violent whacking of raindrops against the glass doors and windows, the rain outside was relentless and wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Staying dry and warm within the comforts of your boyfriend’s home definitely beats walking back in the rain. “Alright then,” You replied finally, putting a nervous and embarrassed Mark out of his misery.

“Okay.” He replied without missing a beat. “Sure, cool.” An awkward air hung above your heads at the thought of you spending the night at his place, of saying good night and good morning to each other in person. It was the next step in your relationship; yet doing domestic things like brushing your teeth next to each other and exchanging kisses filled with morning breath excited him to no end.

“But like,” You paused, uncertain. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. If that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, totally okay with me.” Mark said quickly, barely containing his smile. He tried to feed you another piece of chicken, unable to handle the awkwardness any longer. “Here, have some more.”

//

Mark stirred awake as his mind registered a ticklish, cold sensation near the bottom of his neck. Reluctantly, he blinked away the last traces of sleep from his eyes and stole a glance towards the source of his discomfort.

His eyes laid upon your sleeping figure and your face, framed by your mildly dishevelled hair, resting upon his chest and left arm. Your mouth was agape, indicating that the wet patch close to his collarbone was a result of your drooling. A small hand was splayed possessively across his torso, while your legs did a good job of tangling themselves with his. Soft snores were released amidst the chirping of birds outside his window. Despite the fact that he had lost all sensation in his left arm and was starting to get uncomfortably warm from the body heat you were emitting, he stayed as still as possible to admire you for a little longer.

Mark couldn’t stop beaming at the sight. He wouldn’t mind waking up to this every single day for the rest of his life.

So far, he had learned three things on your third date: you brushed your teeth in the funniest and most adorable way possible, you clung to him like a teddy bear in your sleep, and you were a heavy, heavy drooler.

It was almost as if you could sense him teasing you in his head. Just as he was preoccupying himself with counting your long and plentiful eyelashes, your body shifted in search of a comfier position. Mark thought it wasn’t physically possible for two bodies to get any closer, but you somehow managed to position your entire body on top of his.

“Babe,” He croaked, his morning voice gravelly and rough.

You cracked an eyelid open slowly, trying to face him but digging your chin into his chest in the process. Mark wiggled slightly at the discomfort. “Morning.” You yawned, seemingly unaware of your current position.

“Good morning to you too. Listen, I always say that you’re the perfect size and the perfect weight for me, but right now, can you please do me a favour and roll off my body?”

You complied, landing onto the other side of Mark’s single bed with a soft groan. “Right, m’sorry. How long was I there for?” Mark noted with amusement that when you were awake, you were far less clingy in bed. It seemed like you were purposely trying to maintain a distance between the two of you by lying as far away from him as possible.

“Not long, don’t be sorry.” His arms worked its way around your upper body and pulled you closer to him, returning you to your original position. “I want cuddles. Don’t run away from me, you were so eager to get closer when you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t…” You denied weakly, burying your face into his muscle tee. You inhaled a deep breath of his scent, a mixture of fabric softener and vanilla body wash. It was familiar and comforting, which lulled you back into your slumber.

Mark chuckled as he sensed your body relax in his arms and heard your breathing deepen once more. “C’mere, gimme my morning kiss before you fall asleep again.”

Grumbling at the thought of Mark smelling your horrible breath, you leaned upwards to give him a quick peck. He wasn’t satisfied though, and held your head close to his, deepening the kiss with an expert flick of his tongue against your chapped lips. Sleepy and defenceless, you let him have his way with you. It was a slow, lazy make out session, but it still managed to leave you breathless. The two of you smiled in bliss once you pulled away.

“Okay, satisfied. Go sleep some more, sleepyhead.”

[savinghypokeimenon]

Represented Objectivities

Literature students will remember ‘Chekhov’s Gun’. In a letter to playwright Aleksandr Semenovich Lazarev, Chekhov warns, “If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don’t put it there.”

Story elements, then, should always do something. This may be true of theatre, where the limits of stage design seem to place special emphasis on each and every object represented. But what about the novel? Or even the short story?

In a literary work, many objects are seemingly just there. For example, on the first page of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina we read of a ‘morocco sofa’, ‘glass tables’, ‘little carafes’, ‘heavy blinds’, ‘slippers trimmed with gold morocco’, and a ‘dressing gown’. Gene Wolfe’s short story, “The Hero as Werewolf”, opens with an even greater concentration of objects and atmosphere: “nightblooming flowers scented the park air”, “trees lining the paths glowed with self-generated blue light”, “buildings new and old were mountains lit from within”, “a passenger rocket passed just under the stars, trailing luminous banners”. I chose these two books from my shelf at random, but their pages, like those of virtually any literary work, will surely disappoint someone who took Chekhov’s quip too seriously. Represented objects of these kinds rarely become embroiled in the plot.

Then what are they doing? Gerard Genette calls them mimetic, or ‘realistic’ effects. He uses an excerpt from Homer’s Iliad as an illustration: “this shore of the loud-sounding sea, a detail functionally useless in the story, is . . . fairly typical of what Barthes calls a realistic effect. The loud-sounding shore serves no purpose other than to let us understand that the narrative mentions it only because it is there, and because the narrator, abdicating his function of choosing and directing the narrative, allows himself to be governed by “reality,” by the presence of what is there and what demands to be “shown.” A useless and contingent detail, it is the medium par excellence of referential illusion, and therefore of the mimetic effect: it is a connotator of mimesis.”

Useless and contingent details – in Genette’s analysis objects function as a sort of passive backdrop, or ‘scene’. They provide the illusion that we are dealing with a reality.

For contrast, let’s look at what Gaston Bachelard says about ‘useless’ objects in literature. He uses J.P. Jacobsen’s novel Niels Lyne as his example. The author, in describing an autumnal forest “weighted down with red berries”, completes the picture with “vigorous, thick moss that looked like pine trees, or like palms.” Bachelard speaks of being transported by this image: “from one forest to the other, from the forest in diastole to the forest in systole, there is the breathing of a cosmicity.” But his greater point is that represented objects are invitations to dream, taking us out of that world and into another – “Daydreams of this sort are invitations to verticality, pauses in the narrative . . . they are very pure, since they have no use”.

In Bachelard’s phenomenology, objects possess the reader, and, strangely enough, lead us back to a preobjective encounter with a world.

[ddaenghoney]

chapter twenty; finale.

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): none.

Word count: 5558

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

“SoundWave Disclosed” trends within an hour the article releases. Briefly mentioning Jimin cracking the company’s glass by his brash statement in front of the most popular summer festival, the reporter you spoke with made sure to leave no detail forgotten. Like a proper interview, the article is not focused on literary conjecture, but instead the words you said verbatim. Unaltered, remorseless, and eloquently you state the bigger picture of the truth.

“When I think back on it all now, I’m angry at myself. I’m angry that I didn’t give my efforts the value they deserved by giving away my name. I shouldn’t have ever allowed myself to lie, but when I wanted to tell the truth, so many other careers were held over my head to keep me quiet. Either way I went wouldn’t be painless, but at least now people can decide for themselves what they think of me with the facts out in the open.”

You look at the public’s commentary with this reveal. Wanting to face the results head on, regardless of positivity, you scroll through various feeds, peruse videos, let the words find you in the height of spreading smoke. Wandering through the volume of opinions blindly, you believe it easier to find your way about when this article is unabashedly your perspective.

The frustration and petty verbiage thrown in your way clogs your ears, but the ground you step along is smooth like each step will undoubtedly be solid beneath your feet. It’s the apologies of YouTube idol news accounts that speculated on your intentions with Yoongi, the comments giving SoundWave’s manipulative dealings proper attention, and the familiar voices ahead of you calling for you to keep walking that let you feel confident in your strides.

You wear a cap and keep the large plaid shirt lent to you close to your skin while you sit with dangling legs. A bright pink type of flavored lemonade is half full in front of your loosely crossed arms. Namjoon’s voice speaks incoherently in the background behind you as the streaming site playlists blurs the ambiance of his cafe into a state of lulling energy.

“To be honest with you,” Seokjin’s finger scrolls the web page depicted on his phone that’s flat atop the bar. “I wish you took a picture for the article. I would’ve gotten you some kind of designer jacket or something so you could really tell everyone ‘fuck you’-- I’m the best of your friends in that regard, you know?”

“I already have people following my social media because of that article, I’m sure they can just see some pictures of me on my Instagram.”

“Admit I’m the best of your friends-”

“I think the one whose dorm room she crashed in for two years straight in college deserves that title, Jin.” Namjoon grasps his glass of water when he returns to you two. You huff as Seokjin nods his head admittedly in silent agreement. A sudden scowl escapes Namjoon’s lips when his neck arches to get an upside down perspective of the words Seokjin reads on his phone. “Don’t encourage her to look at comments. Lots of idiots out there.”

“A lot of people think I wasn’t the worst of the whole situation though.” You smile at Namjoon, and take a quick sip of your drink when he narrows his eyes at you with an unsatisfied gleam in them. You swallow the beverage and glance to Seokjin who swivels in his seat to look towards the front windows. A tiny nod brings you back to Namjoon and you meekly speak, “But I shouldn’t have been staring at them all for hours yesterday. You’re right.”

“You called me saying you made the worst decision of your life-”

“In her defense, she was four glasses deep in wine when she called you to say that.”

You point a finger to Seokjin’s sentence and nod. “In my defense.”

“All I’m saying,” Namjoon lightly chuckles as he leans against the counter behind him. “Worry less about them. It’s going to be crazy for at least a couple of weeks, so try not to look up all the commentary like you’ve been doing.”

“Yeah, go on dates with your boyfriend instead. Can’t he rent you a boat to cruise around the river on or something?”

“I could rent a boat.” You roll your eyes, shrugging. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. He’s been pretty stressed between my problems and figuring out all the aspects of starting up the company with Hoseok.” You rest your jaw on your hand, staring absently at your drink with pursed lips as you consider the option of a relaxing evening spent on the river.

“Just take a fishing rod with you for him. He sucks at fishing, but he likes it a lot.” Seokjin says, glancing back at a small group of young adults that chatter amongst themselves as they go to a table. After a moment of assessment he faces back towards you and Namjoon who look at him with narrowed eyes. “I was just making sure they weren’t stalking-”

“How did you become friends with Yoongi in the first place?” You blurt out in bewilderment, while Namjoon nods in agreement with your question. “You were friends with him before I even knew him, but never mentioned how.”

“He happened to be on the same fishing boat with me like a year ago.” Seokjin shrugs, reaching for his fork to continue munching on the half finished slice of cheesecake. “I may have knocked his expensive sunglasses into the ocean.”

Namjoon bursts into laughter as you raise an eyebrow. Seokjin ignores you both to stuff a large bite into his mouth.

“And you somehow befriended him instead of making him hate you like I probably would’ve if that’s how we met?” You ask with a tilt of your head, and Seokjin takes no time to properly swallow his food before speaking to you again with one cheek stuffed,

“Clearly, I have a way with people, Y/N.” You smile and shake your head, accepting the answer as you go back to sipping your drink. While Namjoon presses for more details, you click onto the internet typing in a search for evening rental cruises. Staring at the various options available and filtering them to a short notice, you can’t help smiling softly as the idea of an exuberant date goes through your mind. Such a public endeavor as well, though there would be ample space between the two of you and spectators, you won’t have to worry about any of them seeing the two of you. The simplicity of it feels relaxing on its own.

A startling familiarity enters your ears. Like ballads sung before the ambiance is similar, but lyrics new as you recognize the voice playing from the cafe’s speakers as Jimin. You look up from your phone, looking nowhere in particular, but focus on the words-- the song he wrote on his own from you with a hopeful intent of somehow putting it onto radios somehow. You bite your lip as the bittersweet melody crosses your senses and the gentle request he sings, “I want you to be your light,” brings a tightened and tiny curl to your lips.

“I could change it.” Namjoon speaks up and takes you out of the moment. You shake your head, refraining from any laughter at their worried expressions as they gauge your reaction to the song.

“No, it’s a nice song.” You say softly, meaning your words.

Jimin’s career is entirely up in the air at this point. With the release of this very song as a rebellious act towards SoundWave and him admitting that he hadn’t written any of his other songs, he finished the festival to receive a surprisingly loud applause from the crowds, you heard. Nonetheless, the internet itself isn’t as optimistic as the evening was for Jimin. You’re hopeful despite it all, but you can’t over estimate the ability of SoundWave and Jimin’s simultaneous scandals to beat every odds against them.

Though you avoid dwelling on the worry, knowing ultimately that you’ll find out through the media, and can simply hope.

---

You sit criss crossed on your desk chair, perusing a boat rental agency leisurely and without much interest for what’s before your eyes. Your mind is further away, pondering words in your head in a medley of arrangements. Hoping some combination will strike you into an inspired mood, you simply scroll onwards on the page of various yacht sizes and at this point the action becomes more robotic than conscious.

Your head perks downs the direction of your front door beyond the wall where you sit in your studio. As you glance to the clock at the bottom of your screen, you refrain from gasping at the ten o’clock reading, having not realized how much time went away from you in the monotony of the day after leaving Namjoon’s cafe.

“Angel?” Yoongi’s voice calls out as you hop off from your chair to greet him.

“I’m in my studio!” You say out in return while shimmying your second foot into the pair of slippers and heading for the doorway. You open it fully from its ajar state and exit, but immediately scuff the floor as you halt to a stop so as not to bump into Yoongi. “Oh-”

“Careful-” Yoongi says, reaching for your arm so you don’t hit it against the framing, then chuckles softly. “Guess I interrupted something?”

“Not really,” You say sheepishly and sigh softly. “I just didn’t realize it was already this late.” You admit as you collect his hand within yours to lead him back into the studio space. “I was going to try and mess around with lyrics, but couldn’t think of anything, so I was trying to do something else while I mulled it over, but Joon keeps getting on me about looking at social media too much--” You shrug, turning to him to mumble admittedly, “Which he’s right about, I guess.”

“Guess,” Yoongi repeats with an amused smile as you ignore the teasing tone to sway your hands between you. He hums, glancing beyond your shoulder to the large monitor displayed on your desk. “Thinking about becoming a boat captain?”

“Oh!” You quickly turn from him to click an exit on the internet window, “What boat?”

Yoongi laughs, sliding into your desk chair as you click around to open up a clothing website instead. “I was looking for clothes, actually. An ad must’ve come up for yachts-” You sentence cuts off from a tiny squeal escaping your mouth as Yoongi pulls you back to sit atop his lap.

“That’s a pretty luxurious ad, babe.” When you whine in disagreement, Yoongi simply smiles a small kiss against your cheek. “Okay then. Ad then. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

“Pretend to be surprised if you ever end up on one for an evening too, please.”

“Okay.” Yoongi hugs you while you giggle from the ticklish ministrations he dances along your jaw. “Hey, guess what.”

“You’re going to let me keep this flannel?” You voice murmurs before placing a sweet, chaste kiss to Yoongi’s lips before he has time to react to the silly request. When you pull away, he glances down to the attire of yellow plaid worn on your figure and his head tilts contemplatively.

“Because it looks nice on you, I’ll let you keep it for now.” Your pouting lips used to plead do nothing to stop Yoongi’s warm smile as he kisses you again and says quietly. “Hoseok and I decided on a building.”

“Really?” The tone of your voice rises as your eyes widen with a happy surprise. Yoongi nods with an utterly bright smile adorning his face, accepting the quick peck you place against his expression and continuing on with bubbly interest, “Where at? No-- actually, what’s the name going to be anyways?”

“The building’s actually only a couple of subway stations from Namjoon’s cafe, so I guess you can visit him more often than now.”

“He’ll get sick of me.” You say, shrugging off the tiny shake of Yoongi’s head so you can press on with the subject at hand. “I can’t believe you both found a place so quickly.”

“Well, maybe that’s the easier part. Figuring out everything else will take awhile still, but a couple of investors are interested, and I think I’ve found a person that can do a better job at leading everything overall than Hoseok and I can.”

“So you’re both not going to fight for the CEO title?” You ask, fiddling with the hair on the back of his head as Yoongi just scoffs gently at the teasing inquisition. He shakes his head while his hands situate on your sides to help shift you on his lap as you turn slightly to better see him.

“That’s not something I’m interested in, no. I just want to make music.”

You smile at Yoongi fondly, unintentionally causing a little flush to peek on the tips of his cheeks. Considering the option to be in joint-leadership over the entirety of their company is so obviously available, you find it slightly jarring that Yoongi doesn’t feel any need to reach out for the position. Though you think his answer best suits him, especially when you remember that the manipulation of his image is what stopped him from being the musician that he had wanted to be for so long now.

Squeezing your waist with his hands, Yoongi kisses you softly. A hand of yours falls to his shoulder while the other remains interweaved in his hair to hold him close as the kiss lingers. Breaking away after a minute, Yoongi’s head tilts, appearing curious as he gently inquires, “What are you thinking, baby?”

“I’m just really happy for you.” Your voice trickles simply, though the sincerity causes Yoongi’s lips to tighten into a bashful smile while he just nods and lets his eyes glance downwards from the radiating endearment in your eyes. You take note of more pink decorating his skin, and just hug onto him tightly, mumbling sweetly against Yoongi’s cheek. “You’re so cute. I can’t wait to see whatever you produce next.”

“You should help me with a couple of the songs, angel.” Yoongi murmurs while smiling at your actions, rubbing his hands along your sides as you squeeze onto him. “I really liked working together.”

“We’re a good team, I think.” Yoongi hears the twinge of a bashful hesitancy in your words, making him have for force back an endeared sigh and replace it with a nod as you start to continuously press tiny kisses against his face to further yourself from the embarrassment you feel for the mushy words.

“I think so too-- what is your face so red for?” He laughs outright, not allowing you to hide away your rosy expression by catching your jaw gently with a hand. “You’re flustered for no reason.”

“It just felt like such a cliche thing to say-” You barely manage to mumble the sentence before Yoongi’s cutting your lips off with his own against them. Humming in thought as he pulls away and ignores the small pat of your hand against his chest for teasing you, Yoongi speaks with a smile,

“But it’s the truth, so it’s okay. You can be a Hallmark card all you want, and I’ll still love you-”

“Don’t tease me.” You attempt to sound firm, but nonetheless smile at the soft admission at the end of his sentence. Yoongi bites back any further jokes that you’re sure he’d enjoy to say, instead of giving you the quiet moment to wade off some of the meadow on your skin. “Can’t believe you came here at ten in the evening, by the way. When you’ll just have to leave soon to go home-”

“Who said I was going to leave soon?”

“Who said you’re allowed to stay over?”

Yoongi chuckles, reclining so that his back rests properly against the chair as you try to maintain your defiant expression. It’s utterly useless considering how there’s a playful smile etched into your face, so Yoongi just shrugs. “Tell me to leave then, baby,”

Refraining from laughter you instead bite your bottom lip, and cross your arms while Yoongi’s head tilts to wait for your reply with a coy gleam in his irises. Instead of a verbal reply for the moment, you scoot off of his lap, beginning to walk past him as he spins casually on the chair for his eyes to follow your movements. “If you’re staying, then you’ll have to sleep on the couch since I don’t have a guest bedroom.”

“You’re so,” Yoongi exhales like bits of laughter, shaking his head as he gets off the chair to catch up to you before you’re able to dip around the corner. A small squeal leaves your lips as Yoongi’s arms wrap around your waist to pull you back against his chest. Immediately he lays a buttery trail along your cheek as you laugh at his reaction and place your hands over top of his wear they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt that you wear, “If I’m staying on the couch, then I want this back, sweetie.”

---

In early February a small celebratory party causes Seokjin’s club to close its doors to the public. Though Yoongi told him over and over that the gesture was unnecessary, his worries were ignored by Seokjin who stated that he wanted to help give a nice evening to his friends and recognize the accomplishment of the official opening of Sope Ent. that would occur at the end of the month.

The employee pool was nowhere near the size of SoundWave at its peak the years earlier, but everyone working for Yoongi and Hoseok’s company were hand-picked and a feeling of camaraderie flourished throughout the months beforehand of work to become organized. The building was mostly finished, but a handful of office spaces and studios were still in the process of being completed, leading to you and some others opting to work from home while all the preparation continued on.

Because of your home studio being the location where you did practically all of your work originally, you had little care for the fact that you’d find your way to the building later than the majority of employees. The excitement of working with the artists that signed so far was a far more important focus to you, and in some instances surprising like when you noticed Jinsol’s name appearing on a list of accepted trainees (though Namjoon was more surprised as it meant he would need to find a replacement for her part-time position at his cafe).

Ultimately, you’re enshrouded in anticipation for future months and beyond of working as a recognized songwriter and producer. Yoongi’s unoften worried mentions that he’s apologetic to the fact that you’re in some regards starting from the bottom up are easily squashed by your vibrant energy assuring him that you’re nothing but happy to be able to continue working with the career you had always wanted.

Beyond that, you’re proud of Yoongi and Hoseok’s ability to get everything together in a considerably short stretch of time. Though it meant Hoseok’s plan of releasing music was pushed back so that it could be released under their company’s name, the wait ended up being worth it as it allowed media to cause an interest in what would come.

The weeks immediately following the article you released caused a dramatic shift in SoundWave’s perception in the public. With your name getting dragged early on for participation despite the manipulation, so many people decided to stop supporting the company and artists by association that they went through understandably hard times. Every group and soloist offered apologies, but the currents changed only when Yerin publicly apologized and stepped down from her position as CEO, with the board of directors promising for change.

You realize she was simply a scapegoat because the board did have a larger hand in what went on throughout SoundWave, but you manage to find satisfaction in this method, because the majority of artists came out with their careers still intact. Though trust has to be regained, at least they were able to have the chance.

The name you’re still curious to hear about in the future is Jimin. It was late in the year, only days before Yerin resigned, that news of him leaving SoundWave circulated loudly in every social media site available. More than anything, fans expressed utter sadness, demanding an answer from SoundWave to understand why he left when the majority of the public sided with him after his public apology acted as the first crack in the company’s secret crumbling. Which is why everyone, including you, were nothing but confused to hear that his leave was completely at his own discretion with the company evening expressing that they attempted negotiation to keep him.

“It just felt weird for him to be there.” Jeongguk told you during a small friendly lunch between him, Hoseok, Yoongi, and you. “With all of the history that went on.” You recall him biting back further information on that statement for the sake of the present. “Anyways, I’m sure he’ll be back to music eventually.”

As you look on from the bar stool you sit on, you smile as Yoongi finishes a speech egged on by the crowd of happy employees enjoying the evening. Hoseok cuts in with a cheery tone and his glass raised high in the air, while Yoongi remains beside him for the moment and simply sends you a glance that tells you he’s at minimum shy of all the attention currently on him. All you can offer is two thumbs up to which you watch him bite back a sarcastic smirk.

“Your speech was good.” You assure him with a grin as Yoongi returns to you after the loud cheers mark the end of the melodramatic speeches and the restart of music. He shakes his head at your words and takes the seat beside you,

“Thanks. I don’t know if I believe you, but thank you, angel.” Yoongi says with the usual gentleness of his voice making you so much more fond in that moment, especially as you take in his hand finding yours without hesitation to entwine the fingers. “You really look beautiful.”

“You said that already.” You comment though your heart beat skyrockets from the genuine tone he speaks with. Softly, he smiles and nods his head, finally finding your eyes again,

“And I’m probably going to say it again at least ten more times tonight, sweetie.” Yoongi’s teeth peek with his grin as he fondly watches you avert your gaze to the two of your glasses left on the bartop when he went to go speak. “Look at me, please.”

Inhaling quietly from all of the emotions amplified in your chest from the evening’s joyful ambiance, you eventually cast a glance back to him with enough time to see the sweet light in his eyes before he kisses you softly. Where your hands hold together, your free hand encapsulates the top of his hand to gently squeeze as Yoongi lets the kiss linger on a few seconds longer than you’d expect from him with the surroundings somewhat crowded.

“I know it’s only been a few hours, but can I take you somewhere?” Yoongi asks against your lips, so quietly that you almost miss it with the music that plays all around you. Though it takes you only a couple of seconds to respond, your mind captures a considerable amount of wonder for where exactly he intends to lead you to. Still though, you simply peck his lips once more to earn a smile from him as you nod,

“Yeah, wherever you want.”

Despite what you expected, Hoseok simply only grinned and waved the two of you off when Yoongi mentioned you would both head out. Seokjin similarly smiled as you told him a thank you and goodnight as well, and considering those two of your friends are quite close with Yoongi, you don’t stop yourself from a playful question as he settles his coat around your shoulders upon exit of the nightclub.

“I’m guessing they already know about where you want to take me to?”

“Well, it’s no fun to give any kind of hints, angel, so you’re not getting them from me.” He says, letting you hug onto his arm while using the other to hail a cab. “It’s kind of different leaving Jin’s club this time around, isn’t it?”

“A good different.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods as he opens the door to the taxi, smiling down at you before letting you enter inside. “Really good different.”

Outside of Sope Entertainment, you can’t help lifting up your head to take in the view of the small tower that you’d be working in from now on. Yoongi exits the vehicle after giving a tip to the taxi who drives off once the door slams. You turn your attention to Yoongi as he takes hold of your hand once again to lead you inside the sparsely populated building.

A security guard allows the two of you in after the flash of identification cards, and by the time you reach the elevator you’ve begin rubbing Yoongi’s arms to fuel circulation and warmth. Your actions result in a fit of chuckles from his lips as the elevator doors open wide to allow the two of you inside.

“I’m not that cold, angel.” He assures, but does nothing to stop you from hugging onto him as the elevator shuts. Shimmying the two of you a step forward he manages to finally click a floor number as your body clings onto his to give warmth.

“Please, you hate cold weather.” You retort and place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Is this where you take me up to the roof and we look dramatically off at the city?”

“No, it’s way too cold for that.” Yoongi quickly admonishes the idea, causing you both to laugh at both the severe way he spoke, but also the implication that he is more cold than he lets on. “But maybe in the summer or at least the spring that would be a fun idea.” He says, watching the floor number climb as he rubs little trails on your back and your cheek settles against his chest. “C’mon, angel; this is the floor.”

You pull away from him to look at the number and know it to be the name one his and Hoseok’s studios are on. You exit out of the elevator with him quickly pressing a switch opposite of the elevator to turn the hallway lights on.

“Oh, is this about the song you’ve been telling me about lately?” You ask with a growing smile that’s excited from the idea. Yoongi huffs and pouts as he turns his head to look down at you,

“I said it’s no fun getting hints, angel.” His high-pitched rumble makes you laugh gently as you squeeze his hand. Coming closer to his studio, you hum and reconfigure a guess of what he wants to show you despite his protests, “Is it that you decorated your studio finally-”

“Hey,” Yoongi calls out as he stops a pace behind you to bring a halt to your stroll. Turning towards him, your eyebrows knit in confusion because his studio is a few more steps down. The confusion builds more as Yoongi just smiles before flicking his head to gesture to the room you both stopped in front of.

Turning to look in the direction, you see a door just the same as all the others and you’re about to question the significance of it before your eyes catch the polished metal plaque with your name engraved on it. In your stupor, you release hold of Yoongi’s hand to turn with widening eyes towards the door. Taking a step, you feel words escape your mind as you can only think about the obvious insinuation of the plaque, and turn your head back to Yoongi as though silently asking him to verify.

With a proud, soft smile he nods his head, stepping beside you to press a series of numbers into the lock on the door. “It took a little while longer than I expected to get it set up, especially without you realizing considering you walk down this hall so many times.” He chuckles only a little before pushing the door open to hold it ajar with his hand. Yoongi returns his gaze back to you as he happily admits, “But this studio’s yours, Y/N.”

After a moment to let his words sink in, you take another step to press your palm against the richly stained wood of the door and push it wider to enter inside. Following behind you, Yoongi presses the switch to turn on the lights that illuminate the rectangular space that you walk further into. A desk is already positioned on the far wall with monitors and equipment all arranged similarly to the way they are at your home studio. Shelves around the room are empty, and the couch against one side is free of pillows or throw blankets. The space is completely fresh to personal touch, but the door alerts anyone who reads it that the room is your own creative area as an acknowledged employee.

Turning back towards Yoongi who’s quiet yet clearly eager from his position beside the closed door, you walk to him and trust him to catch you as you practically jump into a hug that his arms catch you from tightly.

“Thank you so much.” You mumble against the fabric of his shirt, clenching wrinkles into the clothing on his back as well. Yoongi smiles as he rests his chin on your head, rubbing soothingly against your back as a tiny whimper leaves your lips.

“You’re welcome, angel, but this is really something you deserved all along.”

“But,” You pull your face from his chest to look up at Yoongi despite the tears welling in your eyes from gratitude. “Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten here the same way, and I wouldn’t have been able to do everything with someone like you to be beside me through it all. Yoon, you’ve really helped me do so much and everything was so crazy to get here, but I’m glad that it happened how it did, because I really love you. I can’t believe I got to meet you and fall in love with you.”

Cupping Yoongi’s face, you pull him down into a kiss as he moves his hands to better hold you against his chest. Following the kiss, Yoongi can’t help but lean his head against your shoulder, for a moment overcome by emotion due to your admission. You smile, rubbing his back as he squeeze you a bit tighter and exhales.

“You know, angel, if I hadn’t ever met you I’d still be practically a puppet to my old management team.” He kisses your cheek briefly before straightening up to properly look down at you. “I love you so much too. Whether you realize it or not, you really inspired me to finally fight back against them too, sweetie. I really am so proud of you and everything you’ve done.”

Yoongi kisses you gently once more, finding himself completely content as your arms wrap loosely around his neck to hold the two of you in place. When he thinks about it, receiving the recognition you deserved really was the only suitable outcome for everything that you’ve been through. Everything feels correct, even if realistically there are still trials to overcome where the company itself is concerned. At least there’s undeniable optimism in the future.

You hold his hand as you break apart to walk back around the studio space and explore the room. Coming up to the computer you go ahead and turn the power on just to see it and be shown that everything is as real as it seems to you. Yoongi stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist to rest his chin against your shoulder. The computer brightly flashes with a screensaver already saved to a picture the two of you took on an evening boat date months earlier. You laugh at the sight of it and turn towards Yoongi whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion,

“This is what I get for letting Hoseok plug everything in for me.” He mumbles as you press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “You should change the passcode from what it is so he can’t come in here whenever to spam your studio with pictures or other pranks.”

“If I change the passcode, maybe I’ll keep it a secret from you too.” You ponder aloud, earning an expected poke in your side to tickle you from Yoongi. As your body jerks from the ticklish feeling, he simply hugs you tighter, pressing a kiss against your cheek in retribution. You eventually sigh as you smile and relax back against his chest, admitting softly, “But honestly, if Hoseok’s going to print out cute pictures like this one, maybe I’ll just keep the code the way it is.”

“Angel, the code is 1111. Please don’t do that.”

if you enjoyed please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i worked really hard on it! And if you’ve read thank you so much! below are some fun facts and final words about the series!

tag list: @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi @xionysus​ @baebyjoonie​ @honeyoongles​ @betysotelo18​ 

Fun facts:

Jinsol, Seulgi, and Jihyo the only non-bts named character that are supposed to be their real-life counterparts (from LOONA, Red Velvet, and Twice respectively)

To be honest??? I picked the name Yerin because it sounds so pretty to me

This series is as long as NOVEL! Deadass a fucking NOVELLLLL! like what??? I can’t believe I managed to write roughly 100k words wtf.

Seulgi was initially going to be considerably more important as an antagonist, but then it felt like it was going to be feeding too much into Hoseok’s character than help the actual story progress so I did away with her history with Yoongi (and Hoseok)

The spotify playlist for the series is actual set up into three different parts (four songs, an interlude, four songs, an interlude, four songs) and the purpose of this was to separate the songs into characters. The first four songs are about Jimin’s character growth, the second set of four songs are about Y/N’s, and the third four songs are about Yoongi’s. In some ways, if you looked at the lyrics for the song you may have been able to gauge a lot of the plot that way.

The name for the series, Veil, comes from the idea that something is covered by a cloth that is not completely opaque, but still blurs the perception of what is beneath it. 

I don’t remember exactly how I got the premise for this idea, but I knew that I wanted to make a Yoongi story. So that being said, this was always intended to be a Yoongi story, I wasn’t swayed in one way or another to pick the ending couple.

Although, my friend told me recently that after hearing about my plans for Jimin’s character in the last few chapters that she wanted him to end up with Y/N LOL; I think that’s mainly because, in this story’s universe, the song Jimin released at the festival was Promise, and in this story he wrote that song with the intention of supporting Y/N and also telling her that he wants her to be her own power source through all she’s gone through (I want you to be your light, baby, you should be your light)

Because I’m actually really fond of Jimin’s character, I was thinking about making a one-shot prequel about him and Y/N’s relationship long before Yoongi.

The Audi that Yoongi drives costs about $200,000. I needed to tell you that, just like I needed to give him that expensiveass car. Why? It’s h*t.

I couldn’t rationalize Yoongi or Hoseok becoming the CEO of the company they made together, because ultimately they still want to be performers lol. They’re more like founders, and have a lot of say in the board. 

Jeongguk, in this story, is a part of a band with Yugyeom, Mingyu, and Minghao. What a combination lol.

Taehyung is a lawyer for idols generally, but he starts to work more for Yoongi and Hoseok’s endeavors by the end.

In my mind, Jimin eventually went on to get signed at the same company Jeongguk and Seulgi work at. He would’ve been pretty successful there.

Also, I doubt that Y/N’s royalties with her songs at SoundWave would’ve been kept by the end of the series. Realistically, she would have to be credited, but she would no longer receive money for them, so she really did have to start over in a way.

Yoongi’s hair was always blonde until that scene where he went to dye it back to his natural hair color; this was a very freeing moment for his character.

In Y/N’s conversations with Yerin and Jimin, Yoongi was consistently just..,.,,,.,. chilling in the background..../., in the case of Jimin conversation he was making pancakes lmao. What a guy.

Again, if you’ve read this whole story thank you SOOOOOO MUCH! You’ve basically read an entire book in reading this fic, and that is unbelievable to me who never would’ve figured I’d have been able to make this entire thing! Thank you again so much for reading! See you in the next story! 🥰❤️

[iliketowrite1996]

picture by Vashti Harrison

@chaneajoyyy and  @shaekingitup  quarantine writing challenge!

 Cold Coffee

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- guarded heart, Avengers

:Infinity War spoilers, Avengers:Endgame spoilers , mentions of death, emotional, fihgting, years fo denial, anger, strong emotional content, regret.

The coffee maker slowly lets the last drop of dark, bitter coffee fall into your pristine, green cup before you shut off the coffee maker in the student center lounge.

   It’s well after midnight, and ideally , you should have been back in your bed and fast asleep in your bed by now.

   Yet, here you are, straining your eyes under fluorescent light to study for your final the next day.  The only fuel that you’ve ingested since at least 9:30 in the evening has been one energy bar, and countless cups of coffee as you fight your battle against your worst enemy in your college days- Final. Exams.

The jet black words on the off-white page seem to be mocking you, laughing at your attempts to remember which formulas to use for what, your pencil lead and erase slowly whittling away as you write, erase, write again.

   ‘’Okay,’’ you speak more to yourself than the empty commons area, ‘’Let’s see if you got this one correct.’’

   A glance into the answers at the back of the book let you know that… no. You did not get this correct. You miss, miscalculate, misunderstood. Something.

   ‘’I’m going to be here all night,’’ you groan, placing your head in your hands, somehow willing yourself to keep studying when you want to give up.

   ‘’Um… if you are going to be here all night, I hope you don’t mind some company.’’

   You look up from the distress-inducing objects that are your math book and notes to see a young man standing there, laptop and books tucked neatly under his arms.

   He’s someone that you recognize from your Monday and Wednesday, nine a.m. lessons. He’s standing before you dressed in a plain t-shirt, green plaid pajama pants, and… are those bunny slippers.

   ‘’Ignore the slippers. They were the cheapest things at the campus store,’’ he speaks by way of explanation, ‘’Um, anyway. Do you mind if I join you?’’

   ‘’Um… no. No, not at all,’’ you motion to the seat across from you, watching as he pulls the red, plastic chair across the floor to sit down, ‘’At least now, someone is here to wake me up if I fall asleep.’’

   ‘’Not if I fall asleep first,’’ he smirks, a crooked grin illuminated by the lights of the enar empty student center, ‘’I know that we have met in class. Well, we have seen each other in class. But we have not met before. I am T’Challa.’’

   T’Challa- his name is as beautiful, simple yet complex. He speaks with a confidence that could only be birthed from within, not willing to reconstruct it in order to make it make sense to those who don’t care to attempt the three-syllable moniker.

   ‘’T’Challa,’’ you speak, his name somehow leaving a sweet taste on your tongue as you say it, ‘’It is nice to meet you, T’Challa.’’

   ‘’It is nice to meet you, too. I would like to stop calling you, ‘That girl that knows all the answers’. May I have a name?’’

   Much like you, T’Challa lets your name roll on his tongue as he speaks it, enjoying the way it falls out of his mouth, ‘’How beautiful. Well, we have our final exam in just a few hours. I suggest we study.’’

   So the two of you sit there, pouring over your notes and discussing the formulas and how best to remember them.

   ‘’I think that I am going to make a cup of coffee, ‘’T’Challa stands, stretching golden brown arms up to the sky as he stands, the plastic chair yet again scraping against the cold tile floors, ‘’Would you like a cup?’’

   You look to where you’ve somehow finished your entire cup of coffee in the last forty-five minutes, nodding as you do.

   T’Challa obliges by taking your coffee cup, rinsing it in the sink before turning the black coffee maker back on.

   You watch him as he works, keeping an eye on what he does. He pours the cream, scoops the sugar in, and turns off the coffee maker within a matter of five minutes.

   ‘’If anyone questions why the coffee maker is broken,’’ he begins, gliding back over to you with his coffee and yours in his hands, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips, ‘’I’ll say it had to do with you.’’

   ‘’You’d throw me under the bus,’’ you raise an eyebrow taking the cup from him and thanking him, ‘’Nice.’’

   ‘’This is my first cup of coffee. From the discarded pods, I’d say that this is at least your third.’’

   ‘’Observant, aren’t we,’’ you chuckle a bit, blowing into your coffee to cool it a bit, ‘’Alright. Let’s get back to this.’’

   The two of you spend the rest of the night studying. You take practice tests, review the formulas, go back and forth until you’re on your fifth cup of coffee.  until you look up to see that the clock reads 3 in the morning.

   ‘’I’d better get back to my dorm and hope that this caffeine wears off enough for me to sleep,’’ you take your glasses off, rubbing at your tired, red eyes before replacing them to get a clear look at T’Challa.

   ‘’I agree,’’ he speaks, picking up his third cup of coffee, ‘’As I continue to drink my coffee.’’

   You laugh despite yourself, the sound filling the room, ‘’I guess we’ll just go back to our dorms and lay down. I’ll see you in class, T’Challa.’’

   ‘’I will see you then, ‘’T’Challa agrees, standing again, ‘’Perhaps… perhaps tomorrow, after three, you would like to join me for a cup of coffee.’’

   You hesitate at this. You have one final at nine in the morning, another at 12, and one more at 6. You really should use that time to study. It’s the end of your freshman year, and you're hoping that you won’t have to take any of these classes over the summer. You should stay focused, and leave the coffee date for another day, or decide against it all together…

   ‘’It is alright if you do not want to join me,’’ T’Challa quickly amends, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away, ‘’I know how stressful freshman year can be for people. It is fine. You probably are seeing someone any way.’’

   ‘’No, no. I’m single. It’s just that…’’

   You came to college with the goal of focusing on the endline- the endgame. Graduation. You, being number five of your grandmother’s six grandchildren, and the first to graduate from college. It has been drilled into your head for years- books now, boys later.

   You should say no. It is the practical thing, afterall. He’s a sophomore, you’re a freshman. You are still trying to figure things out, taking extra classes over the summer to hopefully graduate a year early and go into the job force as soon as you can.

   It’d be pointless to focus on him… because he has the power to side track you, as you’ve seen in your roommates.

   For all of these reasons and more, your answer to his proposal

   Knowing all of this… you still find yourself meeting this charming, handsome, upperclassman. Over coffee.

   ‘’So, you’re a freshman,’’ T’Challa begins the next day, sitting across from you, ‘’What are you studying?’’

   ‘’I’m a Business major,’’ you reveal, ‘’What about you?’’

   ‘’I am a Communications major,’’ T’Challa informs you as he opens up a packet of sugar, letting the small granules of snow white sugar fall into his coffee before stirring them in, ‘’Where are you from?’

   ‘’Originally, Atlanta, Georgia. My family moved here when I was ten. Where are you from,’’ you question, stirring your cream into your own beverage, nothing the way the coffee and the cream mix together to make your drink sweet.

   ‘’Wakanda,’’ T’Challa declares, ‘’Born and raised until I came here for university.’’

   ‘’Wakanda… wow. I can’t imagine being that far from my parents. I could go home if I wanted- they’re only two hours away. Even that feels like years at times. What made you decide to come here for school?’’

   ‘’A multitude of factors,’’ T’Challa leans back in his chair a bit, ‘’I Have a cousin that grew up in Compton, and I have spent some time here before. He got into NYU the year before I did, so I do have someone here. I also just… let;s just say that my family is very well known in Wakanda. I could not make a single move without anyone bringing up my family and their accomplishments. Here, I can just be… T’Challa. Not ‘ T’Challa Udaku, son of T’Chaka and Ramonda’.’’

   You can sense something leaving him when he speaks these words- whether it’s because he is revealing something that he has never told anyone before, or because he regrets doing do, or because he regrets holding it in that long.    

   ‘’What made you decide to go for Business,’’ T’Challa questions as you replace the lid on your coffee cup, taking a sip and savoring the taste as you do.

   ‘’I want to own my own business. I want to empower young girls, but especially younBlack girls,’’ you give away, running a hand over your cropped hair, ‘’I want them to have the confidence that I did not seem to have growing up.’’

   ‘’I sense that there is a story here,’’ T’Challa guesses, finally picking up his coffee and taking a sip, ‘’I would like to hear it, i you would care to share it.’’

   It’s complex in its simoletey, his response. Just like his invitation to meet him here today, T’Challa’s proposal has a light layer of something else covering it like a opaque film- you can sort of see what it is, but not easily.

   ‘’And why is that?’’

   ‘’I have been watching you,’’ he speaks confidently, ‘’In class. You are quiet, but you are confident. You do not need to shout to be heard. I would love to get to know you better. If you are open to that, of course. No pressure.’’

   There it is again- his effortlessness. He’s so sure of what he wants that he can ask without hesitation. It’s a smoothness, a suaveness that you think he must have been both born with ad had bred into him.

   ‘’What made you notice me,’’ you ask, cupping your cup with both hands, ‘’There are over a hundred people in that lecture hall.’’

   ‘’I know,’’ he begins, staring at the faux-wood countertop of the table that you are settled in, ‘’Like I said before… you are secure, yet you do not feel the need to boast about it. It is something that I like about you. I do apologize if I am coming off strong.’’

    Onyx black eyes stare into yours, something hidden beneath them that you can’t quite determine. There’s honesty mixed with a secret, vulnerability mixed with a strongness that you have not seen in anyone else.

   ‘’And you just zeroed in on me,’’ you run a finger along the edge of your coffee cup’s top, observing the man in front of you.

   You’re pretty good at reading people. You can tell what they are doing, thinking, and if they can be trusted. T’Challa is like a book- he can be read, but you can only go so far before you have to stop, unable to unlock the next chapter until he is ready.

   There is something there though… a story, much like your own. One that you want to read.

   Which is how you find yourself accepting another coffee date with T’Challa the next week, the Thursday before you’re set to go back to your respective homes.

   This is a strange predicament, because you find that you enjoy his company. And, without the threat of a final exam lingering over your head, you see how the clock spins, one hour merging into another, then another, then another.

   Pretty soon, you’ve been talking for four hours, about everything and some things and nothing all at once.

   ‘’So what made you want to cut your hair, ‘’ T’Challa questions after you alert him that the decision had been made, almost on a whim, yet somehow with much consideration, nearly two months ago.

   ‘’I have always wanted to go back to my natural hair,’’ you run a hand over your cropped curls, ‘’In a way, it felt like a new beginning. Starting over. Connecting with my roots.’’

   ‘’How so,’’ T’Challa leans back again, sipping his coffee as the sunlight enters through the window, illuminating his features and bathing him in its warmth.

   He’s beautiful.

   ‘’I just… It was nice. For once,I was not worried about what people thought about my hair, what they thought it should look like. It was invigorating, I guess you would say, to do my thing and have it be done. I have spent so many years just doing what is expected of me, so it was nice to do something for myself.’’

   T’Challa is looking out of the window now, a familiar look of knowingness mixed with an odd sort of desperation etched into his features, ‘’Believe me, I know how that is. I… My family expects a lot of me. It is my duty to carry on our duty to Wakanda. Somehow, though, I wonder if I had the choice, would I choose something else.’’

   ‘’And what would that be,’’ you question, breaking off a bit of your croissant to eat it.

   T’Challa seems to realize what he’s said, almost as if the worlds startled him by making themselves known, outloud, public for someone else to hear.

   ‘’I think that, that is a conversation for later,’’ T’Challa murmurs, looking to his watch, ‘’We should be getting back to the dorms.’’

   As mucha s you would like to press the subject a bit further, you decide against it. You fear that if you try to turn this page to read deeper into his story, the book will snap shut, and someone will get hurt. So you keep your mouth shut about his story, instead agreeing with him, taking your treat and coffees and riding the shuttle bus with him back to the dorms.

   ‘’I know that I will be going back home for the summer, as will you, However, I do want to keep in touch with you.’’

   ‘’You do,’’ you genuinely question, ‘’How come?’’

   ‘’I love your blindness, ‘’ he chuckles, handing you a slip of paper, ‘’Let me just say, we both have a story. I am interested in getting to know yours, and you seem to be interested in getting to know mine. So why not keep in touch over the summer?’’

   Again, you’re a bit taken aback by the calmness to his approach, how he knows who he is, and is willing to put himself on the line to you, someone who is secure in who they are yet is afraid of who others portray themselves to be.

   Because there is no guarantee that the pretty and fascinating cover matches the words on the pages inside.

   Still, you take his number, something deep inside of you beginning to be sparked at this moment.

   ‘’Sure, T’Challa. We will keep in touch.’’

   And keep in touch you do.

   It is strange, you feel, getting to know someone else’s story while allowing your own self to bread so deeply, so completely, so intimately.

   The summer births new notions- T'Challa is sweet, he is smart, he is kind. He mentions volunteer work as though it is his responsibility and not from the kindest of his heart. He offers to come see you when he gets back to New York in August. He shares stories of his younger sister, Shuri, who is his sunshine, his mother Ramonda, who is his comforter, his baba T’Chaka, who is his inspiration.

   You reveal more of yourself, too, slowly allowing T’Challa to take a look in between the lines, to come face to face with who you really are underneath pretty words and flowery images.

   A summer turns into the fall, and your story now has T’Challa written into it, his name so conveniently fitting on some pages of your life story.    

   His hand fits in yours just the same way as you stroll around campus, taking in the changing leaves and the cold chill of the air, cups of coffee in our hands.

   When winter fades into spring, he reveals the truth that he is a prince and that he must go back to Wakanda at the end of the next school year, and he’d understand if you did not want this with him, because it is a lot, even for him.

   His face in your hands, a kiss reassured him that, yes, you’re ready to see where this goes. Because you’re seeing how this story unfolds, and he’s a part of it now- him, his quiet confidence, and cups of coffee.

   A year later,a s he graduates, you meet his family, a milestone added as he begins to bring up marriage over a cup of coffee the next day as you catch breakfast before his flight back to Wakanda.

A cup of coffee serves as his welcoming gift to you the very next year when you step off of that plane and into his arms, ready to begin your life as queen-in-training.

Coffee motivates you for the next five years, the intense sweetness luring you out of bed and into daily lessons, work, and training to prepare you for the role that you will take as soon as King T’Chaka steps down, and T’Challa steps into the throne.

Coffee, as blacka s the light and as dark as T’Challa’s mood lately, serves as the first conversation starter after the untimely death of King T’Chaka. T’Challa, who has called himself off as of late, smiles a bit, shoulders relaxing a bit as he places the document that he’s been looking at to the side.

‘’Thank you, my love,’’ he whispers, taking a sip for the first time since he officially became the king and the Black Panther, ‘’I am tired.’’

‘’You need to rest, T’Challa,’’ you take his face in your hands, looking into his eyes, ‘’You can not go on this way.’’

‘’There is so much to do, entle. Meetings and festivals, surveillance duties… The job of  a king is never easy.’’

‘’That may be, but you’ll run yourself ragged. Then, you won’t be any good for Wakanda because you'll be too tired. Please, T’Challa. Drink your coffee, take your break. We can’t worry about the things that we can't chance… we’ll let our story be written, and we’ll smile again.’’

Those words…

Those very words are what stick inside T’Challa’s head six months later. He watches as you peer into the bottom of your coffee mug before looking up at him, mouth agape as you read the question written in the bottom of said cup, ‘’Will you marry me?’’

Your kiss, your yes, tastes both of coffee beans and happiness, salty with the tears that fall from your eyes as you scream yes.

Your wedding day is no different from any other day that you have spent with T’Challa- you're watching the day, the beginning of a new chapter, unfold before your very eyes, coffee nestled safely in your hands as your stylist does your hair for your big day.

‘See you at the altar,’’ T’Challa had written in that delightfully handwriting that delightfully spidery handwriting that you've come to associate with your soon to be husband.

Coffee, it seems, shows up in every area of your life with T'Challa. In each new story, it makes its appearance. In each chapter, its presence is made known by its significance to a situation. It’s interwoven through your everyday lives, as well as in your special events.

Two years after you're married, coffee is left on the table as the two of you discuss the arrival of the Avengers, and a place for you and Ramonda to go.

‘’I will not leave you,’’ you place a hand on his arm , ‘’Never.’’

‘’Darling,’’ T’Challa sighs, placing a hand over yours, ‘’I am afraid that is the best way. Then, you will be safe.’’

‘’You do not have to do this, T’Challa. Steve and the others can fight somewhere else, can they not?’’

‘’They need our help. And I am going to help them.’’

For everything that he is, T’Challa keeps his promises. He is a man of his word, and he knows who he is. It is the thing that you both simultaneously love and detest about him, because it means that there is no arguing ith him in his situation,

But he compromises- you can stay in the palace, just please, stay there.

‘’You can have a cup of coffee waiting for me,’’ T’Challa presses a kiss to your forehead and then to your lips before leaving his forehead against yours, staring in your eyes, ‘’I will be back before you know it.’’

And you know that he is being optimistic- T’Challa’s eyes shine with hope and he wants it to believe it as much as he wants you to believe it. So he says it with such earnestness that you can not help to do what he says as soon as he leaves you, to fight a battle that someone became both of yours.

So you make the coffee. You make it and you sit at the kitchen table, willing yourself to ignore the way your stomach is twisting, turning, and tossing.

You sit there for a while, and the coffee goes untouched. But T’Challa will be back. He has to be back.

He’s coming back.

A day. Two. Three.

And the coffee goes untouched, left cold, because you can’t quite bring yourself to move it, somehow still believing that T’Challa will come back, will keep his promise, will let your story finish writing itself

It’s sad, funny in a horrific way. Years of building a story were put to an end from one snap, and T’Challa is…

He’s…

He never came back, he never got that cup of coffee like he said.

And you’re screaming at Steve Rogers, five years later, wbcause how dare he and his band of so-called heroes come your way, telling you they need your help? HOw dare they walk into the life you've been trying to build, putting your business degree to use opening a center for those affected by Thano’s snap.

How dare they come and try to interrupt your new story when all they did was burn the other one to crisp, leaving nothing but a simple pile of literal ashes of your love. All that is left are your memories, your wedding ring, the fragments of a cup broken against the wall, that once held coffee that was never drunk five years ago, but now holds years of tears, frustration, anger, hurt, each emotion  shining off of each shattered piece, glistening beneath the light of the room.

‘’On behalf of the queen, I will have to ask you to leave,’’ Ayo speaks, standing in front of you.

‘’We understand,’’ the one you recognise as Natasha speaks, pain behind her eyes mirroring your own, ‘’We are so sorry. And we will make this right.’’

You want to scoff, roll your eyes, and ask her how dare she.

But… but there’s something else there. Something you haven’t seen since you last looked at T'Challa's eyes: hope.

Hope is what made you give T’Challa a chance, what made you accept a coffee date, what led to years of bliss with that man, what led him to fight to keep you and others safe.

   It is the same thing that has you walking into the Avengers’ meeting, all eyes on you.

   ‘’I want to help. I saw something in you that i have not seen in others in a long time: Hope. I’d like to experience that again.’’

   They are all sharing looks with each other, and Natahas is the first one that speaks up, ‘’We are going to bi=ring them back. We’re going to get T’Challa back.’’

For the first time in years, you find yourself believing. There’s a hope there. You’re going to get your husband back, the love of your life returning to your life.

‘’You’re not alone. I am here to help,’’ you respond, a small smile forming, ‘’And I am going to help.’’

‘’If you don’t mind my asking,’’ Tony Stark begins, eyes on you, ‘’What changed your mind?’’

‘’Thanos may have written my story. But if he can do that, I can, too. I’m getting T’Challa back. And the others, too.’’

So this is where you find yourself now- suiting up with one of T’Challa’s old suits, ready to defend and avenge him.

‘’What are you going to do when you see him again,’’ Natasha questions, eyes on you as she suits up herself.

‘’I am going to have coffee with the love of my life.’’

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 186

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 38 - “Precure 5′s Cinderella Story” Date watched: 15 May 2020 Original air date: 28 October 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/Sc5B6vA Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

Glass slippers: not even once

This episode introduces an idea that will get explored a fair few times in series down the road: the fairy tale episode. Cinderella is a particularly popular one, because it’s a simple story that little girls can imagine themselves in and there’s a lot of room to play with the narrative. It’s hardly a revolutionary idea for fiction, but it’s still fun to see how Precure plays with it, and the spin in this episode is particularly unusual for manifesting in two different ways. Let’s explore!

The Plot

Milk decides to try copying down the story of Cinderella for writing practice, as she plans to write her own novel a la Komachi, and copying a book is apparently a good way to study story structure. However, she gets bored copying it verbatim, so she decides to put her own spin on the narrative, portraying the cures as the characters. Nozomi is Cinderella, Komachi is the evil mother, Rin and Karen are the evil sisters, and Urara is the witch (no fairy godmother here). Coco fills the role of the prince at the ball and Nuts is another nobleman. All of the characters are strangely self-aware, except for Nozomi. They know the story of Cinderella, they know they’re characters in it, they’re basically going through the motions as the story dictates. When Urara shows up to give Nozomi her magical makeover, she winds up transforming her into other fictional characters first before she gets it right.

this dress should look familiar

Once she’s at the ball, Nozomi trips and falls, getting the attention of Prince Coco, who in turn dances with her. Nuts also approaches Komachi and asks her to dance, commenting that it’s just the kind of story they’re in. Karen and Rin have an exchange where they ask who Coco is dancing with despite both of them knowing exactly who it is. Urara shows up in a gown, and everyone knows she was supposed to be the witch. Did I mention it was weird? And to reiterate, Milk is writing this, these aren’t the real Nozomi and co. transported into the story. Milk has written them to be self-aware. What a strange book. Anyway, she has Nozomi trip and fall and they all end up in a pile on the ground and that’s where her story leaves off when she’s interrupted by the real girls knocking on her door. She hides her writing from them and tries to find somewhere more private to write, but as soon as she steps outside, Bunbee confronts her and decides to suck everyone into the world of her story.

Darkness imprisoning me, all that I see - wait have I used that joke before?

The next thing they know, they’re inside Milk’s Cinderella! But they don’t bother acting out the story, they see Bunbee holding Milk hostage and he turns the chandelier into a Kowaina, so they transform as well.

The Kowaina is able to use reflected light as laser beams to attack the girls so the team scatters. Dream and Rouge focus on fighting Bunbee to try to rescue Milk, but the kowaina keeps getting in their way, so Lemonade, Mint, and Aqua manage to hold it off while the other two get the jump on Bunbee. They free Milk, and then get upset at collateral damage to the castle being caused by their fight. Bunbee taunts that he’ll destroy this world like he destroyed the Palmier Kingdom, but all the girls respond by kicking his ass and the kowaina’s ass and then Dream performs Crystal Shoot to defeat it, and Bunbee flees.

After they detransform, the clock strikes midnight and they realize they’re still in the story, so they all run to get “home”. On the way down the stairs, Nozomi trips and one of her glass slippers flies off, opening a portal back to Natts House.

Somehow the glass slipper came back with them, and they remember that whoever it fits is supposed to marry the prince. Nozomi and Coco share a glance but before she can put it on, Milk LEAPS into the air and lands inside the shoe, claiming it as a perfect fit. Nozomi starts to chase her, demanding her shoe back, while Karen, Komachi, and Rin pick up the scattered pages of Milk’s manuscript. They take umbrage with her portrayal of them in the story, and the episode closes on Nozomi, Karen, and Rin all chasing her up the stairs.

The Analysis

It’s certainly a fun episode, a nice uptick from the last few. The spins on Cinderella are clever and funny, and this cast really makes it work. I do find it weird just how self-aware they seem to be in Milk’s story. One time in high school (probably around the time this show aired actually) I did a creative writing assignment which completely shattered the fourth wall, but my jokes were more absurdist than this. The characters act as though they’re the real Nozomi, Rin, etc who have been transported into the story and know they have to act it out, rather than like they’re characters within the narrative watching as the events unfold. I don’t really understand why it was composed this way, it doesn’t make sense from Milk’s perspective to have them be self-aware and make comments on their knowledge of the story, that sort of gag is much more suited for the characters being sucked into the story, which they did in the second half of the episode anyway. Structurally it may have been better to have them absorbed into the story early in the episode, play out the tale of Cinderella until the mid-point, and then Bunbee reveals himself or something and the rest goes as normal.

Regardless of whether the gags make sense in context, though, they are hilarious. The wicked stepmother being played by the nicest girl of the bunch is peak irony, and Rin and Karen the frequent head-butters as the stepsisters makes me laugh, although they didn’t really play up their little rivalry. None of them take their roles very seriously, which adds to the comedy. The highlight for me has to be when Urara shows up and transforms Nozomi. She cycles through a couple different outfits before she gets it right:

The most notable ones are Momotaro and Princess Kaguya, who are the subjects of famous Japanese fairy tales.

She also gets turned into a bear, a clown, and even a monster! I enjoy the self-awareness as well. Urara showing up at the ball despite and being called out by the others as the witch, the frequent comments about this all being “how the story goes” or what have you. My favorite exchange is when Karen asks who’s dancing with the Prince and Rin tells her it’s Cinderella, the title character, and Karen responds that she knows but she has to stick to the script. I don’t know why but this is peak comedy to me, and my greatest wish is that it be the actual characters who are saying this and not just Milk writing.

The payoff to this, however, is the revelation at the end when Karen, Komachi, and Rin look at Milk’s manuscript and realize exactly how she’s cast them. Even if Karen and Milk have a good relationship, she doesn’t like being exploited in this way, and when Milk remarks that an angry Karen is scarier than an evil sister, she and Rin lose their minds and start to chase her. Komachi, in typical fashion, is upset but not angry. I have said it before but I love the character interactions in this show. They always manage to play off each other wonderfully, and they seamlessly and believably transition between comedy and seriousness.

Curiously, Milk doesn’t insert herself into the story for whatever reason. You would expect her to place herself in the role of Cinderella so she could get the handsome prince, but she seems more content to play god with her friends, and especially to make Nozomi suffer.... although the worst thing she actually does is have her trip and break things a lot. Considering she says she wants to be with Coco romantically, she doesn’t show it much. She fantasizes about it a little bit when she’s in his presence but on some level she seems to realize he’s a better match for Nozomi. I think it’s telling that she automatically pairs up Coco with Nozomi and Komachi with Nuts even in her fantasy.

The villain plot of this episode is rather lackluster. Sucking the girls into the world of Cinderella and then destroying it isn’t as effective as sucking them into Komachi’s novel, which was an actual dangerous setting that Arachnea enhanced in that instance. It doesn’t benefit Bunbee in any way to have them in this setting, and that’s disappointing. I wish they could have better justified it. It does allow for a pretty good fight, but it’s not any better than battles they’ve fought in the real world. My favorite part is when Cure Rouge mule kicks Bunbee, and then a sequence where everyone gets single or pair attacks in on him where their animation is really warped because it’s going fast.

It’s not bad, you can only see this if you freeze-frame, but boy is it weird. And there’s some other animation oddities in this episode. I’m not sure if I’ve brought up before their habit of drawing a shot from far away that has low detail, and either zooming in on it or starting up close and zooming out, but the point is, when they do this, it really enhances how low-quality the drawing is. And there’s a shot of Bunbee that’s drawn this way for some reason. It’s zoomed in on him as a person, he transforms, and THEN the camera zooms out. I can only assume they originally blocked this shot out as being zoomed out always, because otherwise there’s no reason that his human model should be as low-res as it is.

Here’s a fun little bit of continuity I picked up on that relates to Bunbee as well. If you remember way back in episode 14, he used a missile attack that broke Mint Reflection, and they had to team up to deflect it. Well he uses it again here, but this time, Komachi has Mint Shield at her disposal, which we know is stronger, and it’s able to block the missile completely without anyone else’s assistance.

Additionally, one little oddity I picked up on is, of all things, a reused piece of background music! During the scene where Urara-as-the-witch appears to Nozomi-Cinderella, they cue her in with the track “Strange Occurrence” from the FWPC soundtrack. I haven’t noticed any other instances of them using backing tracks from outside this season’s OST, so this sticks out to me.

I want to say a quick piece about these ball gowns that they’re all wearing and then I’ll wrap this up.

If you have a keen eye and a good memory, you might remember Nozomi’s dress and Coco’s suit as being first seen in her brief fantasy in episode 34:

The others are new.... sort of. Chronologically speaking this is their first appearance, but they also show up in the movie which premiered a week after this episode’s broadcast, and I’m reasonably certain, because of how long movies take to produce, they were designed for that first and then incorporated back into the show. Reusing costume designs isn’t a new phenomenon, I pointed out way back in FWPC that they reused the Romeo and Juliet costumes in the dream episode, I just wanted to point it out.

This was a fun episode with some great gags in it, but while they tried to put an original spin on the concept of placing your characters in another established fictional work, the execution fell short of its potential and keeps the episode from being as good as it could have been.

My next review will be the Yes! Precure 5 movie! I always allow myself to indulge on movies, and this one will be no exception, so in order to make it the best review possible, it’s going to take several days of work to get done. I hope to have it out within a week, and I’ll make progress announcements about it on PCD Status, so please be patient and look forward to that!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 kettei!

[chickennoodlesoupfortae]

Angles deserve to die

A/N- ahahhahaha its gone for a month author rats. I missed my page so im back and with an update on that piece i said i was going to post last august.

Summary- People would like to think of the higher beings as ethical and moral in all their actions but sometimes even they get bored. Yoongi is assigned a task by the overlord to see how far love could push a mortal. Jimin is tasked the same by the “good” side to see if love can save the souls of those vulnerable. What happens when you’re caught in the crossfires of a cosmic bet.

Word count- 2.8k 

Warnings- Since it is based on a higher being religion is under defamation and question.

Namjoon sat babysitting a drink next to the lord of the underworld. “I don’t get what you’re getting at Jungkook. Why should we care about the mortals and their thoughts. Our job is to get them to believe what they have and then let them wander around till they disappear.” 

“That’s so boring though.” the god groaned chugging the rest of his drink. “All I’m saying is that we’ve been doing this for them for the past hundred thousand years and I’m bored out of my mind.”  

“You’re bored out of your mind. You get the interesting souls. I have to talk to the “good” people. Do you know how many different types of gods I have to pose as so they don’t freak out.” he swirled the liquid inside the cup.

“You choose to do them. When we were choosing what we’d do your words were,” Jungkook began to laugh. The small room was dark and gloomy only filled by the two of them and a maiden who came and occasionally refilled their glasses. It was warm and dry inside making it uncomfortable but the two had gotten use to it as the year melted together.

“Don’t say it” the god warned

“ ‘I believe that these savages can be good and therefore I want to lead their souls into a better place’” he imitated his partner in the afterlife scam “Well look how that turned out. You still get shitty people but they pretend to be better than the ones you send “down under”.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes “What’s with that right? I mean who thought of one, the word hell and two, that it would be down. You literally work ten miles away from me.”

“Stupid humans I guess.” his hand shoot up beckoning for the maiden who appeared next to him within seconds. “Yes dear can I get another one of these please with an extra shot of vodka” his head turned away from the servant  “So back to what I was saying oh heavenly one. As I was “punishing” my run of the mill serial killers, as one does. I thought. ‘Now why do these humans love to hurt each other?’ Me being a god and all, determined quickly that it was emotion.” 

“And?” he rolled his eyes listening to the devil himself.

“What if we sent one of your angels and one of my demons to try and see what would happen.” 

“How would that work the human would have two people pressuring it and we wouldn’t be able to see the results clearly.”

“What if we sent them in disguise as one of them and see who the human chooses emotionally and how far it would go.”

Namjoon finished his drink thinking the proposal through. It had been years since he visited the mortal world and seeing clones of the same personality pass through his office was getting boring. “We need to set goals and a prize.” The devil's eyes lit up with excitement Joon had only seen when he realised his first plague.

“My goal is for the human to kill itself.” he responded

Namjoon choked on air as he heard Jungkook’s suggestion. “That seems awfully cruel.”

“I am satan no?” he joked “It doesn’t matter if your sides gonna win right?” 

Again “the savior” of humanity looked for the answers in the room eyes blanking on a wall. “Fine but my goal is the same. The human must end it’s own life in a selfless way.”

“Oh that’s interesting Namjoon.” his head raised at the use of his real name.

“Yes Jungkook it is, but this is an interesting game we’re playing.” he replied with the use of his  real name. There names were used mostly by their own angels and demons but rarely between the two “If I win we get to switch positions for the next millenia.”

“And if I win you have to do both jobs for the next century and I live a life amongst the people showing them what bad really is.” he extended his hand. Namjoon grabbed it feeling a slight burn on impact. 

“Deal.”

Yoongi’s eyes opened and he groaned. “So we’re doing this again.” he asked himself at the realization he was still alive or better phrased not alive but still working. He stood up in the overly large dimly lit room walking over to the closet to start his daily routine. Everyday he followed the same actions. Closet, clothes, brushing his teeth, and going to the court to hear whatever sob stories his clients had. One would assume that a demon in charge of the highest cases in the land of the heartless would have an exciting life but after  tens of thousands of years it became a bit tedious. He put on a white tee shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans. To call it business casual he threw on a plane black blazer. Looking in the mirror he checked his figure giving himself a smile. He walked closer to the mirror examining his black hair patting down a couple fly aways. His eyes were cold and dead. Perfect for his profession. He stepped back looking at himself one last time before opening the door and saying goodbye to his penthouse apartment in the nicest district of the bad side. 

The elevator as always remained pack for all seventy levels stopping at every other floor. It was quite fitting to what was called hell in the mortal world. Finally at the lobby he walked out of the building into the cloudy atmosphere. His car was parked in a no parking zone and ten tickets stuck out of his window wipers that he had never bothered to take out. He smiled at the sight of a boot on his black luxury vehicle. His favorite hobby was seeing how angry the meter maid would get watching him zap off the boot and burn the tickets. He was waiting for there to be fifteen tickets so he could beat his record. He stepped into the small sleek car and like every morning rode in silence to the office.

Jimin’s eyes fluttered open a small smile already present on his soft face. He stood up slightly yawning slipping his feet into the slippers that found a home beside his king size bed. He walked through his large bedroom to the closet. The room was bright due to thee light coming in from the open window. Everyday Jimin did the same thing enjoying the routine it gave him. “Hey baby can you get me a cup of coffee?” he asked his “girlfriend” grabbing a button up white shirt out of the full closet. 

“Sure thing.” she responded from another part of the house. He walked into the bathroom examining his face. For an angel he fit the description, a clear skin smile reflecting back. His hair was a platinum blonde almost gray shade which matched his outfit. Although loving the style of white he wore a dark metal watch on his wrist and a black necklace. He checked his figure smiling and leaving his all white bathroom. 

“Here’s your coffee dear.” A tall woman stood in front of him handing him a to go cup. In the “next world” as the highest liked to call it,  there was no such thing as love. “Girlfriend” was a term coined by the demons which slowly traveled to the good side for a companion. Although there were no genders in the next world the beings could choose what they presented as and most of the time it was a mortal form some resembling women and other men and some just balls of light. A “girlfriend” here just meant a companion to give support. 

“Thank you.” he gave her a small peck and left the townhouse he owned in the best district of the good side. What Jimin did was different than most angels. Most were tasked to help the souls fade and give them hope while his was to defend the good side from the souls trying to get in. It was a stressful job but it kept him busy. He walked to his white car. The vehicle shined brightly in the sun parked neatly in front of his house. He drove to the office with the windows open letting the air flow through.

“Min Yoongi?” his office telephone paged. He groaned looking at the old fashioned piece of technology, now only used in his profession. His hand slowly raised pressing the intercom button. 

“Yes?” he asked annoyed.

“Sir, the CEO seeks your presence upstairs.” he threw his head back at the static sound that now filled his office.

“Tell him I’ll be up.” 

It wasn’t a bad day but he hated meeting with his boss. His position was the highest next to the CEO meaning he didn’t interact with anyone except his clients, secretary, and occasionally his doorman and he loved it that way. He let out a loud groan walking outside his office and to the elevator. He got inside the cabin pressing level one hundred. As he passed each floor he pressed the numbers making it so by the time he got to his floor the elevator would stop at every level. 

The doors opened to the dry and hot office of the CEO. He strolled out of the elevator clearly unamused by being called here.

“Yoongi what a pleasure to see you again.” Jungkook smiled sitting behind his desk in the almost dark office. All the blinds were down and the room was empty except for the servant he always had on hand for drinks. 

“What do you want?” he asked tired already of the interaction. 

“Do want anything to drink?” the god asked

“No.” he responded 

“I don’t know why I love my alcohol so much. To us highers it has no effect but I guess I’ve always loved the burn.” he let out a dry laugh. 

“So why did you call me up here satan.” he stated blandly

“I hate that name. Where do they come up with these names?” he took a long sip from his glass before placing it down and changing his demeanor. “I have a job for you.”

Jimin smiled at his client giving her a box of tissues. “Yes, I know this must be a lot for you honey. You made it! You’re on the goodside. Why don’t you go with Jan and she’ll explain this all to you.” 

The soul nodded her head and walked out with the assistant selected for her case. Jimin let out a sigh of relief as his first case of the day walked out. 

“Park Jimin?” he heard is telecom go off. He pressed the button to speak.

“Yes?” he responded

“The CEO needs you.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” he stood up and walked to the elevator pressing the up button. He looked over at his secretary.

“Did he mention what he needs me for?” he asked her kindly

“No sir. He just said he needed to see you.” she smiled at him.

“Oh that’s unfortunate. The weathers been quite nice lately hasn’t it.” he politely conversed with her. 

“Yes, the light has been shining lately. I heard it’s cloudy on the other side though.” she added

“What a shame. I hope it gets brighter.” the elevator opened “Well I’ll be back soon hopefully.” he waved while pressing the hundredth floor.

The doors opened into the bright room surrounded by windows and chairs. The god stood looking out of one of the farther one. The windows gave a perfect view onto the bustling city of the good side. Cars drove through the streets and angels walked on the sidewalks. The god wasn’t looking at the city though. He looked beyond it to the fields of grasing souls waiting to fade away. 

“Hi Namjoon what can I do for you?” he asked walking to stand beside him 

“I have a job for you.” he sighed still looking forward.

 “I’m sorry what do you want me to do JK?” he asked now more interested than he had been before. Jungkook slide the file across his desk to the side of the chair yoongi was sitting in. 

“Here’s her case buddy. (y/n) she was especially chosen by me and mr. sunshine.” 

Yoongi sat up to grab the manilla folder. He looked at the picture of the mortal girl and began to read her file. “What about her though? She seems pretty average to me.” he continued to scan the transcript.

“You see I knew you were the man for the job. Ms. (y/l/n) is a perfect example of a decent human being, she isn't good but she isn’t bad. She would get into the other side but she wouldn’t become an angel. She’s the perfect example of a vulnerable soul.” 

“I still don’t get why you want me to seduce her into being bad.” he asked closing the file and sliding it back.

“I don’t want you to make her bad. I just want you to make her lose herself. Drive her insane make her you know?” he elaborated overcome with joy.

“No Jungkook I don’t know.” the demon responded the red in his eyes flaring up for the first time in months.

“To end it all. I want you to make an example of her. If you can get her to go insane then I’ll win my bet.” he stated smiling and leaning back into his chair.

“You’re doing this as a bet. That seems especially cruel even for you.” Yoongi cracked a smile starting to get convinced.

“I mean I’m sure it’ll be fun for you too. You’ll get a break from routine and free reign on a mortal. All I need you to do is to take her life and what she knows and flip it upside down, make her emotions overcome her and lead her to dumb descisions. If you think seducing her will do it than go ahead.” 

“Fine. I’ll do it.” he sighed standing up.

“This seems like a bad idea.” Jimin pleaded to his superior.

“I know but if I don’t win then they will and that’s worse.” 

“Why would you make a wager like this.” the angel pleaded feeling defeated knowing he would have to go through with it. He was looking through the file. “She’s so average. She doesn’t deserve this. She would be a normal soul on this side. What if I can’t convince her and the other side wins?” he was rambling but surprisingly at a loose for words in his mind 

“I don’t know Jimin but I trust that you’ll be able to sway her in the right direction.”

“I still don’t understand what I need to do.” he ruffled through the papers in the file.

“You need to find this girl and get her to change and,” he paused disappointed in his part of the deal. “ give the ultimate sacrifice for another.”

Jimin’s head shot up “The what?” he was in denial “You want me to get her to kill herself for someone else how is that...I don’t.” he couldn’t bring the words in his mind to come out.

“I know but in a selfless way. Like a mother dying for her child or a firefighter saving a person from a fire.” the god walked away from the windows and sat down at his desk.

“I can’t do this.” Jimin threw the file up in the air, letting the papers fall around him.

“You have too.” Namjoon stated giving him the watch. Every angel knew of the watch but very few ever saw it. The small timepiece allowed for highers such as angels, demons, and gods to visit the mortal world. He took the time piece and left the office.

Yoongi stood in his empty apartment packing a suitcase filling it with his most casual clothes. He looked back into the home and twisted the watch's dial transporting him to the mortal world. 

Jimin went home and packed a bag filled with his clothes. He forgot about his “girlfriend” until she stopped him at the door. At almost all times angels were expected to be kind beings above drama and emotions but this was a rare occasion. “Get out of my home. I won’t be back for awhile and I thought the new trend of companionship would be for me but it wasn’t so I expect you to be gone.” he moved her aside and left his home. On his porch he turned the dial on the watch transporting him to the mortal realm.

[flutistbyday-1]

Maybe Chapter Two

Marital Law

We see how Liam came to his decision and Riley has an unexpected ally.

Rating: M for cussing and sexual material

Word count: 1300 ish

September the Fifteenth

Liam didn’t even know how to respond. Neville, the sniveling ass hat he was, had just barged into Liam‘s office, throwing down a law book onto his desk.

The title of this particular book was Marital Laws of Cordonian Nobility. The fact that this book existed was one thing, but the fact that it was almost four hundred pages was another.

Neville slammed the book down, already having the book open to the page he was showing Liam.

“There,” Neville declared triumphantly. “This states that Dukes and Duchesses must be married within two years of claiming their title—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Neville,” Liam warned.

Neville took a step back, threatened by the Kong’s tone.

“Your Majesty, I just think—”

“That will be enough, Neville.”

Liam stood, his tall, muscular frame overshadowing Neville’s. His face was stern causing Neville sunk back even further. What a weak man, Liam sneered to himself.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Neville stated as he bowed deeply. “I do, however, think you should read this chapter carefully. Your title is at steak, too.” Neville bowed again, taking his leave.

Liam sat down to read and reread the chapter. It was airtight— Riley must become a bride and Liam must choose a bride, and soon.

He thought he had secured making an heir, at least, but Riley had flipped shit on him. He thought Riley would blindly obey him, like most women he encountered. Riley was different, though. She was an enigma to him.

He loved Riley deeply and wished she would just love him as much.

Liam sighed deeply, pushing the book away from him. The air seemed thick and heavy now, the weight of his conscience seeming to ebb into the environment. His head hurt now, making his heartbeat echo in his skull. He picked up the book and threw it against the wall opposite of his desk. The book crashed into a vase which exploded spectacularly, into several pieces. The sound of the glass shattering pulled Liam out of his trance.

“I can’t believe I have to do this,” Liam whispered to himself. He slammed his fist into the desk, finding satisfaction when the impact made the desk splinter.

Liam didn’t have a choice, however.

September the twenty sixth

Hana woke before Riley, Duke Ramsford at her side of the bed, whining impatiently. Hana stretched before getting out of bed. Her head hurt from the tears she had shed, her eyes were heavy, and her heart ached. Hana knew, deep down inside, that Riley may choose anyone else.

Hana yawned as she lifted herself out of the bed and donned a robe. She stole Riley’s slippers as she slipped out of the bedroom.

Duke followed her impatiently, dancing around her feet. “Yes, yes. I see you,” she said to the dog. “Mara?” She called out, peering down the stairs. She didn’t hear a response so she set down the stairs herself.

The air was cold, not unlike last night. Hana pulled her robe tighter around herself, shivering slightly. There were no other sounds in the house, so the sound of Duke’s nails clattering against the floor and her footsteps echoed loudly.

Hana decided not to brave the weather, hoping Duke would stay close, and just opened the door to let the dog out.

Riley and Hana ate lunch in an awkward silence.

Riley didn’t know what to say; Hana didn’t have anything to say.

Riley was embarrassed that her hormones got the best of her the night before— she’d never slept with anyone, let alone a woman.

She had made out with Liam once or twice, and there was heavy petting then, but they never took off clothing. She had kissed Drake once, and Maxwell had never kissed her besides on her forehead.

“Riley, are you okay?” Hana asked.

Riley set down her fork. She had been pushing the food around her plate, not actually eating. Her stomach was upset from her emotions running rampant.

“I’m just tired, Hana.” Riley sighed deeply and placed her napkin on her plate. “I’ve been dealing with a lot, between Liam and my Dutchy—”

Hana leaned over the table and kissed Riley chastely, taking her hand simultaneously. “It’s okay, Riley. We’ll figure this out together.”

Riley looked up at Hana, who was so calm and reassuring. It made her tear up— good tears this time.

September the twenty seventh

“I’m just saying Hana—”

“And I’m just saying, it’s not your choice!”

Hana and Riley were arguing for about the fifth time that day.

No matter how they went about the conversation, it always spiked Riley’s temper.

Hana was seething.

The two women stood a good five feet away from each other, gauging reactions.

Riley was apologizing for the position she had put Hana in, while Hana claimed Riley had done nothing of the sort.

“I’m a big girl, Riley! I can make my own decisions!” Hana marched toward Riley. “God damnit, just let me—”

Riley smashed her lips to Hana’s. The passion in Hana's eyes turned her on. She had only seen Hana this mad once before, and she was turned on then, too.

Riley snaked her hands through Hana’s hair and pulled her head back roughly.

Hana moaned quietly. She was confused by the sudden change in Riley’s demeanor, but she didn’t care. She loved how Riley made her feel incredibly sexy. Nobody else had ever made her feel like this.

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered passionately as she kissed Hana’s neck with fervor. “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I don’t respect your decisions.” Riley bit Hana’s neck gently.

Hana melted into Riley’s arms, moaning lightly.

September the thirty first

Riley lay in bed, the events from the past week unfolding in her mind. She and Hana fought the second to last day of her visit and Riley honestly felt guilty. Honestly, the fight that started the twenty seventh just spilled into the following two days.

Riley insisted Hana didn’t have to put herself out there, Hana insisted that Riley didn’t have to look out for her.

Riley felt guilty for pitting her four closest friends together for her heart. It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. The guilt Riley felt ate her alive. It made her anxious, jumpy, and nauseous.

She hadn’t had a real meal since the seventeenth. Riley had lost about ten pounds, her already frail form even smaller.

Charlotte doted on her Duchess, worried sick. Riley waved Charlotte away every time she expressed worry, saying, “I could stand to lose a few pounds anyhow.” Still, the maid fussed over her, eventually calling Olivia, of all people.

Olivia called late in the evening, demanding an answer from Riley. “What the hell does Charlotte mean, you aren’t eating?” Her voice was angry but concerned.

“I may have lost ten pounds,” Riley admitted. There was no point in lying to Olivia.

“And, pray tell, why aren’t you eating?”

Tears pricked Riley’s eyes. “Oh, Liv,” she said as she choked back a sob. “It’s not a simple answer.”

“I have time,” Olivia quipped, dryly.

Riley explained the whole situation, from the day she and Liam played chess to the minute Hana left her Duchy.

Olivia said nothing the entire time, save for a few noises to let Riley know she was still there. When Riley finished, Olivia was quiet.

“Olivia?” Riley asked.

“I’m here,” Olivia answered quietly. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her usual biting tone was back. “I’ll kill him myself, Riley. It’s unfair of him and he knows it.”

Riley could feel the anger Olivia emitted through the phone. “I know, Liv,” she mewed.

Olivia was silent once more. “I’ll speak with him,” she said with determination.

Riley didn’t have the energy to fight. “Okay,” she whispered.

“And, Riley?”

“Yes, Liv?”

“Eat some food, for Christ’s sake.”

[sashatrr]

Breathe with me. Chapter 18

I know it`s been a long time and i apologize for a long pause between chapters. Special thanks to my reader who motivated me to finish this chapter. Appereantly i really needed it.

I was struggling with this chapter because i realize that my English is far from perfect and no matter how hard i try, i just  hate how bad it comes out. 

I tried my best to edit it but well... that`s what came out.

Let me know, please, if you would like to be removed from a taglist ( or added)

I will try to post chapters more regulary now.

Chapter 17 here

-Every girl dreams to  grow up and turn from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan.  To lose a glass slipper and not fall asleep on a pea, and most importantly, to meet that prince on a white horse, on Mercedes or a yacht. To fall in love at first sight, to live her happily ever after. And then… he buys her a penthouse and makes her his mistress. 

Lina already regretted her decision to invite Nicci today. Her sarcasm wasn't helping, especially today, the day when Liam left and Lina had no idea when and if he will return. But she didn't want to turn into whiney creature whose life is rotating around a man. Her life was here, in New York, thousands of kilometers away from him and she had to get it back on tracks. 

-So what are you going to do now? - Nicci asked. - Enjoy doing nothing? 

Lina shook her head and pointed at laptop she was using before Nicci came. 

-I was just checking vacancies. I will start sending resumes tomorrow morning. 

-Why tomorrow? Do it now and tomorrow you can join me for a day in spa. You need to relax before to break into business world. Who knows what might happen. Oh my gosh! What if your boss will be a hottie and what's more important, single? You know, opposite of what you have now?Like a guy who is actually worth spending your time on. You know, like Thom whom you dumped for that married sleaze?

-Nicci!-Lina frowned visibly annoyed with her speech. - Liam is not a sleaze! He is just… - Lina was struggling to find words and to defend her relationships. Anything she would say will sound as a poor excuse for an ugly reality. 

-Yeah, I know. He is a great guy who just happened to get married one day and to fuck you a very next day. I bet he has a girl like you in every country, damn, maybe even in every city he ever visited. To bad he can't have harem, it would solve all his problems. - Nicci giggled. 

-Enough! - Lina raised her voice but was interrupted by a buzz of her phone. She glanced on the screen and answered with with a cheery voice. 

-Aunty! I am so glad you called. Sorry I was absent for awhile but I missed you. 

After exchanging pleasantries she flew out of her seat with somewhat panicked expression. 

-Uhm, no I am not at home but I will be there in thirty minutes. Off course I'll be happy to see you. OK, see you then. 

Nicci shook her head disapprovingly. 

-Now what? Are you going to lie to a woman who raised you? 

Lina blushed, she knew that she was in the wrong here but how could she explain everything that happened to her aunt? Seeing a married man, living in the place he got for them, quitting her job? No, that wasn't an option.   

-Not like I have a choice - she snapped at Nicci. - Could you, please, be more supportive? 

-I am being supportive, just not in the way you want me to be. - Nicci replied without any sarcasm which was really a rare exception. - I am trying to support you by not letting you to drown in the ocean of lies that you are forming now. Remember that truth always comes out. The more you will lie now the worse consequences you will face when it happens, Lina. Your aunt will know everything sooner or later so you might as well tell her everything now and to avoid breaking her heart in the future. 

After Nicci left, Lina was thinking about what she said and before to leave for meeting her aunt, she decided that Nicci was right. She didn't want to turn her life into web of lies, it was already complicated as it is. She wasn't going to hide what's happening to her from her closest ones. 

***

A week flew by very fast for Liam, filled with work and meetings. He was calling Lina almost every day and every time after finishing a call he felt that she is being distant. He didn't want to think that she is reconsidering their  relationships so he brushed that feeling off every time. He had enough on his plate and his insecurities won't do him any good he thought. 

Must be my tiredness. Off course it is. Talking on the phone is different than actually talking to each other, I am imagining things. 

He didn't see Madeleine much, only over a dinner. 

It was a night before they had to leave for Switzerland. After a dinner him, Regina and Madeleine were slowly sipping their drinks in blue salon. Regina broke the silence. 

-We have two matters to discuss, Liam. 

Liam nodded waiting for her to continue. 

-First is, now once you are back from your honeymoon, it's time for me to move into the small palace as tradition requires. Secondly, when are you planning Madeleine's coronation? 

Regina's voice was dry with a shadow of sadness in it. After many happy years in the palace it was her time to leave the memories behind and pass her role to the new Queen. Even tho Madeleine was her niece, it still was difficult for Regina. This would mean that the happiest chapter of her life was really over and it's a time to turn over a page. Regina wouldn't miss being a Queen, she had her time to enjoy the power and greatness, but she will miss living in the place where every corner was reminding her of Constantine. 

-Take your time, Regina. You don't have to rush it. I will make sure that the other palace is ready. 

Liam was avoiding any talks about Madeleine's coronation but it had to be done sooner or later. 

Madeleine kept quiet while Liam and Regina were discussing Regina's plans about moving. She had only one shot at this and after how honeymoon ended, she didn't intend to annoy Liam. She would rather to pretend that she took his warning, rather violent and rude one. 

I need to find his weakness, I have to find a leverage to make him give me what's rightfully mine now. I won't press a matter of coronation right now, he will have to arrange it sooner or later  but he must do it because of Regina and all country are expecting it, not because I pressed it. I should pick my fights from now on, better not to annoy him until I have a weapon. 

Noticing how quite Madeleine was during a dinner and that she didn't participate in conversation at all, Regina tried to involve Madeleine into conversation about coronation and Liam left two women to it, pleased with Madeleine's behavior so far. It looked to him like she heard his warning and won't give him any troubles. 

I could live with this Madeleine. It's like she is not even here and she better keeps it this way. Now if she gives me a heir  or two soon enough, we won't have to see each other at all. 

Liam didn't even notice how fast his thoughts changed. If once he was dreaming about having his own family and kids, now he didn't call a child anything else but a heir even in his mind. 

Next morning, upon landing in EuroAirport Basel Mulhouse Freiburg, Liam and Madeleine quickly arrived to the clinic that was closed for weekend but was bursting with activity inside as a few staff members, who knew about royal couple appointment, greeted them and followed a royal couple into doctors room. 

Due to patients importance, beside the leading specialist of the clinic, a chief was also present in the room. After exchanging greetings and a few smiles, Dr. Zimmermann got to the point of appointment and looked at Madeleine expectantly . He thought that it will be a regular health check before conceiving a baby but he couldn't imagine why they had to come all the way to Switzerland for it. Surely the royal family had their own doctors for it. 

Not waiting for Madeleine to say anything, Liam took a matter into his own hands to a great surprise of both, doctor and a chief. 

-Dr. Zimmermann, first of all I want to thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such a short notice and during a weekend. - Liam gave doctor a grateful nod that doctor accepted with a smile. - I am counting on you and your wonderful staff to keep this appointment and future ones in secret. - Liam addressed those words to chief. 

-I am assuring you that there won't be any leaks on our side-chief replied. - Beside me and doctor Zimmermann there are only two nurses here right now and both can be trusted. I promise you that everything will stay within those walls. 

-Due to the reasons I would like to remain unsaid, me and her Majesty picked your clinic for In vitro fertilization.-Liam finished. 

Doctor did not expect that but quickly brushed off a thousand question on his mind as why would newlyweds  require such procedure. 

-Off course, Sir. We can make all necessary tests this weekend and if everything is fine with both of you, we can perform a procedure next Saturday. 

*

Monday afternoon Lina just went through her first job interview in a long time. It went well, or at least Lina hoped so. The entire experience felt different from her previous failures. In the past, the more rejections she went through, the more desperate she became. Maybe that's why she gave up and stuck with waitress gig. This time she had a safety net and she felt much more confident. She wasn't the only candidate for this position and she really wanted to get this job but during the interview she was calm and collected. 

Liam hasn't called her for a few days and it worried her a bit but she didn't want to call or text him. What if his wife would be near him and see her name on display? Or anyone else. No, she didn't want to land him in troubles. It was just top of the iceberg, one of many minuses of being with married man, so she thought. She needed this job for her future and even more importantly, it would maybe revive her self respect that suffered significant damage. 

From the corner of her eye Lina noticed Mara, who always was not far, and winced. She still couldn't understand why did she have to put up with this woman's presence in her life. 

This needs to change, I can't have her following me if I am going to keep living my life. She can't follow me to my workplace, if i'll ever get this job. No, Lina, think positively. Not if but when. 

She waved Mara to come closer and smiled friendly. Whatever she liked Mara's presence in her life or not, it wasn't Maria's fault so Lina decided to remain friendly and polite with her. 

-Mara, you can go home or… well, do whatever you like. I… - Lina stopped herself before she would start  explaining herself to Mara. 

No, not going to happen. Nope. Na-ah. I am not reporting to her where I am going or who am I spending my time with. If Liam needs to spy on someone, he has a wife for it. He can spy on her for all I care, Mara's talents are wasted on me. 

-But madam… - Mara began but Lina didn't let her finish. 

-No buts, Mara. I've never been to Cordonia and I have no idea how does it work there but here, in America, if the person tells you that she doesn't want to be followed, you leave them alone. Stalking is illegal in this country.- Lina was feeling like rebellious child for some reason but the longer she spent without Liam, the more she realized that everything was over the top and he will have to compromise. It was an absurd situation. She might have agreed to it after spending such a long period of time with Liam, influenced by atmosphere of wealth and luxury that followed him everywhere but now it seemed ridiculous. 

Mara didn't really have a good reply to it and after a short goodbye disappeared from the view. 

Pleased with herself, Lina made a phone call that she was postponing for a long time. She dialed a number and almost right away he picked up the phone. 

-Hello, Thomas… 

***

Monday night Liam was finishing getting dressed for a Masquerade, first event of social season. He still had a time before he would have to head to the ballroom. Guests were still arriving and Royal couple had to enter once all the guests would gather. 

He picked up his phone intending to call Lina. He couldn't stop thinking about her for entire weekend that him and Madeleine spent in Switzerland, but he didn't call her then. What if she asked where he was or what was he doing? He wouldn't know how to explain her WHAT exactly he was doing in Switzerland. Liam knew that he shouldn't think like that, he shouldn't think that he owes her anything, any explanation or report about his real life, but it felt wrong. He had no idea how she will accept the news about Madeleine's future pregnancy but Lina had to know that their relationships are separated from his "real" life, as he called his life outside of their relationships. 

Before he could dial the number, he heard knock on the door and put the phone away. He walked to the living room and called to come in to whoever was behind the damn door. 

Drake and Maxwell entered his living room. 

He greeted both his friends and three of them sat comfortably in the chairs. 

-Just came for drinks before this damned ball. - Drake rubbed his neck clearly feeling irritated with something. - You are always hiding the best whiskey here. 

Liam filled three glasses and handed drinks to Maxwell and Drake. 

-I didn't think that you would be here tonight. - Liam addressed Drake. - Is your heart warming up to the court? 

Drake rolled his eyes and took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the taste before to reply. 

-Not in this life, Liam, maybe in next one tho. I am here because I hoped that we could talk. I haven't seen you at all after  honeymoon . So confess, on the scale from one to ten, how awful was it? 

- I would say a… - Liam paused dramatically, looking from Drake to Maxwell and back. - ten. - he finished and took a sip of his own drink. 

-I said from one to ten, Liam, not to thousand.-  Drake smirked ironically. 

- I heard you but I stand by my words. - Liam smirked back. 

-Impossible, unless you spent a month in alcoholic coma. I can't imagine any other way to tolerate your dear wife for so long… one to one… isolated on the island. - Drake's body jerked exaggeratedly, demonstrating the deepness of his "love" to Madeleine. 

- You are right, Drake - Liam smiled happily. - I didn't feel like sacrisfating my health for it. Surely so much alcohol would make my life significantly shorter than I expect to live. That's why I wasn't on that island. 

Silence hang in the room as two pairs of shocked eyes stared at Liam. 

-Well, are you going to tell  us? - Maxwell broke the silence. - You are the master of dramatic pauses, Liam, i swear. You must teach me your ways sometime. I never look so mysterious like you do right now. 

-Well there might be New York, Europe and Maldives being involved. - Liam replied looking at Drake and Maxwell expectantly. He was wondering if they will figure it out now. 

-A New York you say… - Drake said with suspicion in his voice. He put his glass away and laughed loudly. - Don't tell me that you ditched blonde iceberg and spent your honeymoon with Lina because I won't believe you. - Drake said once he was able to stop laughing. - That's to good to be true. 

When Liam didn't answer and only smiled happily again, Drake busted into laughter. 

-Wait, what? Were you with Lina all this time? - Maxwell asked and his mouth opened in shock. - Like with my Linny? 

-I believe that she is my Linny now. - Liam smiled softly. 

Their conversation was interrupted with knock on the door. After Liam called for them to come in, the door opened and Madeleine entered a room. All three men stood up from the chairs. Despite how each of them felt about Madeleine, nobody canceled an etiquette and protocol and external decency were honored. 

-Good evening, Madeleine.-Liam greeted her while both Drake and Maxwell bowed slightly to the Queen . 

-Your Majesty - both man said in unison. 

-Good evening - Madeleine acknowledged Drake and Maxwell's presence with a slight nod. - It's time, Liam. All guests have arrived. 

-With your permission- Maxwell headed to the door but Drake couldn't help himself and smirked at Madeleine on his way to the door. 

A few hours later, when the ball was in a full swing, Liam finally managed to extract himself from conversation and, before he would have to dance with Madeleine again, pretending to enjoy her company as expected of him, headed to the terrace. 

-Make sure that nobody follows me. - he said to one of his guards who shut the terrace door behind Liam and stood outside making sure that Liam will have his privacy. 

Finally Liam dialed Lina's number but was directed straight to voicemail. He tried again with the same result. He frowned and dialed Mara's number this time. 

-Mara. - he said shortly after she answered the call. - I can't reach Lina for some reason. Could you go to her and ask to turn her phone on please? 

-No, Sire. - he heard reply. - She is… we aren't in the same building, Sire. 

-And where is she? Why aren't you with her? - Liam in disapproval pressed his lips together. 

-I can't tell that, Sire. 

-Pardon me? - Liam wasn't sure if he heard her right. 

-You gave me an order not to spy on her, Sire, and not to report to you about Miss whereabouts. - Mara replied embarrassed .

-Right. - Liam said angrily.- Thanks and have a good night… day I mean. 

Liam slammed his hand on marble railing and returned to the ballroom. 

Suddenly the evening lost its charm for Liam. Yes, yes, yes, he never was a possessive type, he knew that he shouldn't get jealous or pissed whenever Lina left her New York penthouse, that she had her life and all that but he didn't give a damn for one second about what he wasn't supposed to feel right now. He was irrational but he didn't care. 

Way to go. I am becoming a caveman. I can't lock her in that place, can I? Too damn bad we aren't living in medieval times. I bet that Louis Fourteen didn't have to deal with such nonsense. Wait, he didn't live in Medieval. 

But before Liam could master a plan of how to revive traditions of blessed Louis Era and ensure that women will have to obey men once again, at least one particular woman, he was approached by Drake, Maxwell and Rashad with yet another stunning woman hanging on his arm who was introduced to Liam as Yvette. 

A company of friends spent a few minutes in a pleasant conversation until Maxwell invited Yvette for a round of waltz. 

-Did you find a factory that produces beauties, Rashad? - Drake asked suspiciously. 

-Almost. - Rashad snorted violating an etiquette. - I am receiving a monthly copy of a Pink Book.- he exclaimed like it was explaining everything but his words were met with confused looks of both, Drake and Liam. - Don't tell me that you two don't receive it. 

-Where do I subscribe? - Drake asked. - Don't tell me that you are fishing for women in the library. 

Even Liam looked intrigued. 

-God, no. Some model agencies, not the famous ones off course, have Pink Books. A book of their models who would gladly spend a night with a man that has access to this service. Off course not everyone receive a copy. It's a closely guarded secret that everyone know about. - Rashad explained with a smirk. 

-Does that mean that she… - Drake nodded in direction of the dance floor but was interrupted. 

-No, it doesn't. I don't pay women for that, Drake. It's just a business deal that benefits both sides. I have a fabulous escort that won't demand me to take any obligations and they receive good money and a chance to raise their fame attending exclusive events like this one. But yes, would you want it, I believe that certain arrangement can be reached. - Rashad finished with a smirk. 

Liam didn't show much interest in the topic. For him it was just a curious information. He was back to his thoughts again and was nodding automatically to Rashad without paying attention at what's being said anymore. 

-I could include you to the list of patrons if you wish, Liam. 

A nod.

-Off course I will be delivering a book directly to you so don't worry about anonymity. 

Rashad's words were met with another nod and to everyone's pleasure men parted ways. 

Hana was standing behind the column listening closely to their conversation. 

So he wants that book. I knew it. Madeleine doesn't satisfy him, he is already looking elsewhere. Hmmm, I can use it. I don't know how yet but I am feeling that this is my chance. To foggy but I'll figure something out.

Next chapter

@indiacater​ @drakesensworld​ @annekebbphotography​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @jared2612​ @dcbbw​

[madokasoratsugu]

to good fortune and luck

[rod/lucette; post-canon (good end)]

summary: five blessings Lucette receives from the people dearest to her.(and the one blessing she'll never beg for.)

a/n: i really like them /chinhands/. i also really like lucette metaphorically giving the middle finger. as usual pls read on ao3 bc tumblr probs didnt catch all my italics and stuff lmao

read on ao3

1.

“Lucette, you’re with Rod, are you not?”

Lucette’s hand comes to a perfect standstill. Gently setting the teacup back down on its saucer, she forces herself to meet Ophelia’s eyes.

There is no judgement in her patient gaze, but no doubt either.

Lucette doesn’t allow herself a second breath, a second thought of denial to run through her mind.

“Yes.”

The spring breeze flips pages of a book Emelaigne left open on the picnic blanket. The owner is nowhere to be seen, having dragged her brother off to procure more baked goods.

“I see.”

Ophelia quietly smiles. It’s tinged with pain, and the expression cuts deeper into Lucette than she likes.

“Then I suppose i’ll have to dig out my wedding veil. It’ll need some work, but I hope you won’t mind. It’s always been a tradition in my family to pass down the veil as an heirloom.”

Lucette blinks. Her hand is shaking too badly to lift her teacup to her dry mouth.

“Of course not.” Lucette manages. She blinks harder, and tries to suck in a discrete breath. “Your lacework has always been lovely.”

Ophelia’s smile grows. It’s still dampened at the edges, but in Ophelia’s sudden embrace, it’s clear as day to Lucette that the grief isn’t directed at her.

Rather, it exists for her.

Not for the first time, Lucette mumbles thanks to her mother, who loved Lucette so deeply she suffered tenfold at the thought of Lucette ever, ever being hurt.

Who would support her, even if the world wouldn’t.

2.

“When you get married to Rod - .” Emelaigne stops to sigh dreamily, and Lucette secretly loves it; the way Emelaigne uses her words, the way she says ‘when’ and not ‘if’, ‘married’ and not anything less.

“When the both of you get married, I want to arrange your bouquet.” Emelaigne flops backwards onto her bed, spreading her arms out above her.

A wide grin stretches on her face. “It’s the only thing i’m better than you at, so you can’t say no!”

Lucette laughs, pressing her hands into her lap. “Why would I?”

Emelaigne pulls herself up as abruptly as she laid down. “Maybe because you already have someone else you want to do it, or someone more qualified, or - .”

“Em.”

Emelaigne pouts. “Okay, okay. That means no one, right? Then i’ve called dibs!”

She pauses, eyes dipping to one side that hints at something else.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Lucette asks gently, prodding Emelaigne’s side.

“Well….” Emelaigne flushes.

She reaches to her nightstand, opening the drawer to reveal a matte silver box.

Handing it to Lucette, she motions for the auburn to open it.

White stargazer lilies bloom outwards, surrounded by artistic sprigs of lily-of-the-valley and baby’s breath.

Lucette slowly lifts the beautifully decorated golden barrette, wide eyed.

“I know I’m jumping the gun here, but.” Emelaigne clasps her hands before her middle, smiling hopefully. “It’s an engagement gift. I noticed your old one was fraying at it’s petals.”

“It’s lovely, Em.” Lucette breathes.

Every petal was angled with dedication, faux beads of water giving life to the mini bouquet.

“It’d look nicer if Rod would just propose already, so you could wear it.”

Lucette bursts into giggles, red faced.

She’s welling with embarrassment and childish glee unbefitting a princess, but with Emelaigne laughing by her side, Lucette cannot imagine herself as anything else.

3.

“Take this.”

Fritz shoves a practice sword against Rod’s chest. He stands towering before Lucette’s door, shielding Rod from any passerby’s sight.

“Go back using the South staircase behind the kitchen. There shouldn’t be anyone using it at this time, but if there is, tell them you were having a private training session with me. If they try badgering you for any more information, just mention the name Varg.”

Rod nods once, before walking briskly away, immaculately dressed like Lucette is not.

She shuffles backwards in her nightgown, uncertain. It wouldn’t do to have her knight see her like this.

It wouldn’t do to have her knight see her secret lover sneaking out of her room either, but there’s that.

Still, all Fritz does is send her a reassuring smile. “We still have half an hour, princess. Plenty of time to get ready for breakfast.”

When Lucette next exits her room, everything is encased in silk, pressed out of sight with powder.

It takes everything in her to look at Fritz directly.

“With five minutes to spare. Let’s hurry, though.”

At the sight of Fritz’s warm grin, the coldness in her middle melts. Yet a chunk of ice remains as she stands before the dining hall doors.

A sick feeling grows in her. She doubts it’s the overpowering scent of syrup, this time.

Still, the sticky feeling of the silenced topic that hangs in the air tastes just like it, if only not as sweet.

“Princess, want to know a magic trick?”

Bewildered, Lucette turns to see Fritz drawing two strokes diagonally away from each other on his palm three times before he mimes eating it.

“I heard its a spell for confidence.”

The half-witch feels her face twitch with a smile.

“I can tell you that is not true.”

“But I can tell you that the fact that i’ll support you no matter what is.” Fritz says, knowing, understanding. “I hope at least that inspires confidence.”

Lucette stares at Fritz, at the streak of black that curls around one side of his face, the bright curve of his lips and remembers the way her silver knight had tamed his wolf just to serve by her side.

“It does.”

And Lucette pushes the doors open herself.

4.

“Are you adjusting well to the Tenebrarum?” Waltz asks, grinning wildly.

“As well as you are to your role as magical advisor to the kingdom.” Lucette immediately replies, cracking a smile at their silly inside joke.

Waltz chuckles, patting the space beside him on the wide fountain rim.

“You look tired, little star.”

“Secrets are hard things to keep.” Lucette says, shaking her head as she sits.

“You’re doing quite well, for one of this magnitude.” Waltz says, stroking her hair, and Lucette allows herself to indulge in his pampering.

“Although I do have something that might help.”

Waltz pulls out a tiny drawstring bag, and tips out from it a pair of earrings.

Attached to delicate white gold clasps, the clear blue crystals capture shooting stars within streaks of white.

Lucette cannot hold back her startled gasp.

“They’re blue kyanite. It helps with balance, communication, and fresh beginnings.” Waltz explains. “Perfect for you and Rod.”

Putting them on, Lucette delights in the way they gently reflect the starry expanse above. “Thank you.”

Still, the thought of what Waltz’s encouragement entails makes her happiness falter.

“I just wish - .” Lucette says, words trailing off, full of unfinished thoughts and endless desires.

“So do I.” Waltz hums. “We all do.”

Lucette laughs at the philosophy, and Waltz doesn’t hold back his smile.

“But you’ll do more than that, won’t you little star?”

Lucette yelps as he picks her up, spinning her around once before settling her on his arm.

“You’ll grant your wishes, because that’s what stars do, with a little help. You’ll be happy, and you’ll shine like all stars deserve to.”

Waltz looks at her with such pride and fondness that Lucette laughs aloud again, a little breathless, a little choked.

Within the arms of her closest friend who never stopped believing in her, Lucette thinks that it’s time she repaid that with some belief in herself, too.

5.

“You let your hair down.” Rod murmurs, twirling a loose lock with his forefinger.

“I am supposed to be in bed right now.” Lucette says, glancing at the high moon.

Rod smiles ruefully, in a way that implies she stay, in a manner that asks to be kissed.

So Lucette does, carefully, gently, and relishes in his returning tilt of his head.

Moving apart, Rod hesitates. His fixed stare on Lucette inspires a slight smile, a rising blush.

At that tender expression, he turns to take a plain box behind him on the window seat, resting it on his lap.

“I couldn’t get a ring.” Rod starts slowly, with eyes averted. “Not as myself. And I didn’t want anyone else to do it for me. So I….”

He opens the shoebox, and Lucette claps her hands over her mouth.

Intricate silver filigree vines twine up the heels and partway down the side of her glass slippers, with miniature stargazer lily blossoms by the counter, supported by well placed leaves.

“A silver sixpence in her shoe, right?” Rod says softly, smiling.

Trapped between a sob and a laugh, all Lucette can do is watch as Rod gets down on one knee before her, as his bandaged fingers cradle the glass heels, her hand.

The grip of their interlaced fingers hurt.

“Lucette Riella Britton, will you marry me?”

“I will.”

The words tumble out easier than she thought it would have.

Salty tears roll down her face, and she finds Rod tastes the same when he leans forward to seal the promise.

“I will.” Lucette breathes, again, pressed against the glass window as pleasantly cold as the heels on her feet.

“I took some liberties with the rhyme.” Rod confesses, running a hand through her long hair. “But I still wish I could have given you more.”

“This is plenty.” Lucette says, tilting her head up to look in Rod’s eyes. “This is more than I dreamed of. You’re more than I dreamed of.”

Rod kisses her on the jaw, just below her ear, and Lucette sighs helplessly.

“Don’t go back tonight.” Rod says aloud, this time.

Lucette thinks there isn’t any need to tell her that, not when her solace is already embracing her tight.

“I never intended to.”

And when Rod laughs, brilliant and jubilant and filled with infinite hope, Lucette feels on the verge of tears, on the verge of everything all at once.

But with his every kiss, every touch, Lucette finds herself coming back down, coming back to her tingling senses, coming back home to Rod.

Some secrets are worth keeping.

But in his embrace, Lucette thinks this is not a secret she wants to keep.

Not anymore.

0.

The throne room falls eerily silent.

Genaro stares at Lucette and Rod, and their connected hands.

Lucette’s announcement has swallowed the atmosphere whole, echoing in the whispers of the maids, in the minds of all occupants present.

“An engagement.” Genaro finally speaks, laboured and confused. “With Rod?”

Lucette doesn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“Why?”

“Why not?” Lucette says, less of a challenge and more of a statement.

In the conflict of denying his blood daughter the only thing she’s ever asked of him, Genaro turns helplessly to Ophelia standing beside.

“Listen to them.” Ophelia encourages, and Genaro’s eyes grow wide at the realisation of being the only one left in the dark.

Genaro turns towards the pair again, expression somber.

“Lucette.” He tries again, brows furrowing.

Genaro sinks deeper into his throne, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I apologise. This is all...quite a lot to take in.”

Lucette does not tell him to take his time.

At the side of the room, Emelaigne shifts from one foot to another anxiously, while Fritz keeps a steady hand on his sword’s hilt. Waltz doesn’t tell him to let up, not when the sparks of a protective barrier dance upon the fingertips of his hand behind his back.

Genaro sucks in a breath.

“I cannot approve of this union.” He says heavily. “Not for the sake of Angielle.”

“You abandoned me for it, too.”

Genaro’s eyes fly open, taken aback by Lucette’s words.

“You misunderstand me, father. I have never asked you for anything. I would not start now.”

Weathered lacework chuffs at her wrists as she raises a hand to press against her chest, hair pinned back with nearly-alive sprigs of lilies and baby’s breath fastened by gold.

Her palm burns with borrowed courage carved with nails; white stars caught in blue crystals glinting as she holds her head high.

Glass and silver making a clean, crisp sound as she takes a single step forward.

Blessings don’t just belong in magic folktales, in old wives' tales; they come in words and gifts, and love.

“This isn’t me seeking your acceptance, father.”

Rod’s grip anchors her, reminds her who it is she goes home to, who it is that taught her what it meant to be loved.

Who it was that held her during her darkest hours, who became the light of her future.

“This is a declaration.”

[xswestallen]

CinderIris: chapter 8

WestAllen Cinderella AU

Summary: With his mother death looming, King Henry holds a ball and invites all the eligible maidens in the kingdom, hoping his son, Prince Barry, will finally find a bride. Iris West is a bar maiden, who would love to attend, but, she is very poor and can’t afford a nice dress or a ride to the castle.

Chapter 1

Archive of Our Own version

The second time a maiden whom the slipper fit came to the Palace, the Prince was just as-if not more-excited than the first time. There was no doubt in his mind that the girl he fell in love with at the ball would be standing behind the door, waiting to make his heart flutter just as it had the moment he first laid eyes on her.

But, the Prince was disappointed yet again. It was not her.

The third time a maiden whom the slipper fit came to the Palace, the Prince was skeptical. He didn’t get his hopes up, because the sunken feeling he’d be left with after the previous failures was horrible. His skepticism was wise, because it was not her. Barry cursed the commonality of the size seven foot.

The fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth times were no different. The ninth time, the Prince, Captain, and Royal guard made the grotesque realization that the only reason the maiden fit the slipper was because she’d sawed off the back of her heel. She was taken to the Royal hospital and initially considered crazy, until she sparked a trend. The thirteenth maiden who fit the slipper had cut off several toes to squeeze her foot into it.

“This is getting a little ridiculous.” Earl H.R. said one evening.

“GETTING? A LITTLE?” Grand Duke Wells scoffed. “We are far past that.”

Prince Barry, who’d just finished martial arts training with Jesse, wiped the sweat off his brow and tried not to listen.

“How far past ridiculous? Are we in ludicrous territory?” H.R. asked.

Duke Wells turned to H.R. and looked at him with contempt. “Shut up.”

“Oh, so we’re in shut up this is not a time for jokes territory. Got it.” Mumbled H.R.

“Your Highness, you must put a stop to this madness at once.” The Duke insisted.

Prince Barry threw down his towel in frustration. “I haven’t found her yet!”

“How many more girls are going to mutilate themselves until you do?”

“Next, some lass will chop off her whole foot and build a robot one to perfectly fit.” Jesse joked.

Duke Wells held up his hand in attempt to silence her. It only made Jesse roll her eyes.

“I’m just saying, that would be kind of cool. She may not be the girl you met at the ball, but at least we’d know she’s resourceful.”

H.R. was the only one who laughed.

“I never wanted anyone to hurt themselves, never asked them to make the slipper fit by any means necessary. It was their choice to do it.” Barry said in his defense.

“Even so,” Duke Wells retorted. “This goose chase is causing hysteria. It makes the Monarchy look like bad.”

“Since when do you care about PR, Duke?”

“This isn’t about PR! Have you forgotten about the trade embargo Midway is threatening to place on our imports? Or the delicate situation in the far East where North and South Keystone are on the brink of peace for the first time in a century? But oh no, let’s focus our efforts on locating a girl who’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be found! That’s more important….. NOT!”

“Dad,” Jesse groaned. “Stop trying to make ‘not’ happen. It’s not going to happen.”

“But you just said it!” H.R. pointed out.

Barry couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and marched towards the door as he explained, “I’m aware of the current events. I know how crucial it is for my focus to be on such matters. That is why I’m determined to find the girl. Until I do, my mind can’t concentrate on anything else. I need to know who she is, to be with her again. She had this way of calming, centering, focusing me. Like an anchor to keep me from floating away when I’m overwhelmed. Somehow she brought out the best in me, I’ll need that if I am to serve this Kingdom.”

“Like a lightning rod?” H.R. said. “A lightning rod to bring out your lightning.”

“Yes.” Barry said, satisfied by the anecdote. “Like that.”

Duke Wells opened his mouth to rebuttal. Before he could, Jesse chimed in.

“You agreed to thirty days of searching. There is still one more week left, in which His Highness could very well find the girl. Dad, one week won’t hurt anything. Let the guard finish the search. If they do not, the Prince will never be able to get over her. You don’t want him to be haunted by the one that got away….. literally.”

“Thank you, Jesse.” Prince Barry said. He was slightly taken aback by her sudden romanticism.

Jesse pointed her finger at him. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m becoming a romantic, I just want the search to finish so you’ll get your head out of the clouds and go back to being decent competition in training.”

Barry smirked.

Duke Wells rubbed his temples. “Fine. Finish the search. I’ll go speak with the Captain of the Guard.” He nodded to excuse himself and left.

Prince Barry didn’t like knowing that his time was running out, but he felt confident that there would still be enough time for his love to be found. He figured the Guard must be nearly finished with the search by now.

As soon as the Grand Duke stepped out of the room, he was face to face with Captain Singh.

“Grand Duke, just the man I was looking for.” Singh greeted. “We need to talk about the search for the girl from the ball.”

“I was looking for you as well, Captain. May we talk as we walk to the kitchen? I’m famished.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

Captain Singh and Duke Wells set off. When they were several feet away from the door and Wells was confident they were out of the Prince’s earshot, he spoke.

“How is the searching going?”

Captain Singh shook his head. “Awful.”

“Seen more amputations than you bargained for?” Duke Wells joked.

“More than my stomach could handle.” Singh admitted. “There is no way we’ll be able to finish the search in the thirty day time limit. We’ve been at it for three weeks and we’ve barely finished with the Northern Isles. That leaves a good two third of Kingdom to search. It will be Christmas by the time we’ve made it to every maiden in the Kingdom.”

“To have half the Royal Guard preoccupied with a shoe fitting for so long is-”

“A dire waste of resources.” Singh finished.

“My thoughts exactly.” Duke Wells said. “Thankfully, the Prince understands and is not wholly uncooperative. He will listen to some reason. That is why he’s agreed to keep the thirty day time limit. If the mystery girl is not found within the week, he says he’ll move on.”

Captain Singh looked surprised, but relieved. “Well, that’s a comfort to know. I know my men will share in my relief.”

“Tell them not to worry about this. It was never that important.”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“If it isn’t the best barmaid South of the Jay Garrick monument.”

That smooth voice could only mean one thing. Iris turned around to see Scott Evans sitting down at the bar.

“Hello, Scott.” She said with a smile.

Scott was a traveling journalist. He wrote for one of the only, and the most respected, paper in town, South Side Print News. Scott made a name for himself all across the Kingdom for his talent when he exposed a crooked Parliament candidate a few years ago. His tall, dark, and handsome good looks didn’t hurt his popularity either.

Iris always admired him for his work and relentless pursuit of the truth. When he first came in Drunkards, she was a little star struck. She was excited to have the chance to talk to Scott about her love of writing and hope to be a reporter one day as well. However, her idol soon proved himself to be a pessimist, putting her off. Scott said it was impossible to do the work he does and be an optimist. Iris told him that nothing is impossible.

Scott kept coming back to Drunkards ever since. He’d say it was for the Brandy, but he’d always wink at Iris.

She poured Scott a glass of Brandy and slid it across the bar.

“You look tired.” Iris noticed. “Or, should I say, more tired than usual.”

Scott smiled. “I’ve just gotten back from a trip to Royal Landing.”

“What were you doing all the way out there?”

“Captain Singh of the Royal Guard made an announcement regarding the search for the girl from the ball. You know, the one the Prince is in love with?”

Iris smirked. “I’ve heard about her.”

“I don’t think a soul in the Kingdom hasn’t. She was the top story all month. Any mention of her would make the front page, no question. But, that’s over now. Soon she’ll be remembered as an old folktale of some kind.”

Iris didn’t understand what he meant by that. “Huh?”

“The search is over.” Scott informed her.

“Over?” Iris repeated.

Scott nodded in confirmation. “Over.”

Iris was dumbfounded. She believed that what she and Prince Barry shared was special enough to leave a lifelong impression. The determination with which he chased her that night and pursued her to come forward since made Iris feel like he would never give up on her.

“What? Wait- it’s- it’s over?” Iris tried to keep her voice even, sound casual. “How? Why? They didn’t find her, did they?”

“No, and it looks like they never will.”

“But they’ve only searched one small part of the Kingdom!” Iris protested. “Wasn’t it the Prince’s order that the Royal Guard have every eligible maiden in the Kingdom try on the slipper?”

“Apparently, a time constraint was agreed to. It must have been thirty days, because here we are on day thirty one, and the Palace is no longer interested in the mystery girl from the ball.”

Scott took a sip of his Brandy.

“The search may be over, but surely the Palace is still interested, right? I mean, if the girl were to turn up, they wouldn’t send her away, would they?” Iris asked, hoping Scott would have something reassuring to say.

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“The Prince, he must still be interested. After all, they said he loved m- her. Love isn’t something you can just forget about.”

“Why do you suddenly care?” Scott asked with raised brows. “I thought you hated talking about the ball and the Prince. You've change the subject every other time it’s been brought up.”

“I suppose this news is a little surprising to me, that’s all. I really thought the Prince would keep searching till he found her.”

Scott took a swig of Brandy before saying, “I suppose finding her isn’t as important to the government as it is to the Prince.”

“What do you mean?”

Scott smirked. He leaned over the bar, getting close to Iris. He whispered, “You didn’t hear this from me, but the speculation is that Grand Druke Wells and other members of the Royal House have been pressuring His Highness to call off the search.”

“But why?”

“It’s too expensive and uses too much man power. Parliament feels the Palace’s resources could be better spent elsewhere.”

Iris looked down at the floor. She mumbled, talking more to herself than Scott. “The Prince is quite selfless, dedicated to the wellbeing of the Kingdom. If he thought the search was harmful, he’d likely call it off even if he didn’t want to.”

“That’s the popular opinion.” Scott told her. “He wouldn’t want any more ladies severing their toes to fit the slipper.”

Iris scrunched up her face in disgust. “Eww! Someone did that?”

“Several someones.” Scott said.

Iris shivered. “And they say the South Side is weird.”

Scott laughed. He pulled a few coins out of his wallet and placed them on the bar.

“Thanks, Iris. It’s always nice talking to you, but I better be off.”

“No problem. Thanks for filling me in.” Iris said.

“I have to keep the Kingdom’s best amateur reporter up to date.”

Iris smiled, a little embarrassed.

“Anything else an amateur reporter might need to know?” She asked.

“It’s going to rain this weekend.” Scott joked. “Oh, and word is, the Prince is still desperately in love with the girl. Staring out windows, head in the clouds. She’s what he’s always thinking about.”

“Really?” Iris gasped.

Scott put on his coat. “She must have been some girl.”

Iris watched Scott absentmindedly as he left the tavern. She was thinking about Barry and wondering if Scott was right, that he was still thinking about her. The plan was to wait until the Royal Guard came to her and requested she try on the slipper. But, now that was never going to happen. The fantasy of her being whisked away to the Palace and running into Barry’s arms, rejoicing in their reunion with a kiss, that Iris had played over and over in her mind now made her feel foolish. Of course, that was never going to happen.

Iris thought it might be best if she pretended the night of the ball never happened, just as she was going to do before finding out Barry was looking for her. But, the thought of not seeing Barry again made her feel physically ill. She wanted to be with him again, even just once, even just for a minute. If he wasn’t interested in her anymore, she’d accept that. But, Iris was very much still interested in him and she had to try. Cecile had advised her to find her happily ever after, and that was advice Iris was going to take.

[bittlebarnes]

The Path of Least Resistance 3/?

Read on Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary: Is it so much to ask for your husband to love you? – After his expulsion from Hogwarts, Newt tries to regain his family’s favor by entering an arranged marriage. 

“We're so glad you're alright,” Percival’s mother says. She clutches at his hand from her place across the dinner table. “I shudder to think what that man would’ve done to you had he gotten his way. If he’d had you any longer.” She shakes her head as she gestures for Wendi to refill her glass. “Will Newton be home soon? Your father and I want to thank him. Exposing one of the darkest wizards of our age? It’s all over the papers. He looks quite dashing in the photographs.”

Percival fights the urge to roll his eyes. His mother could really do the work of MACUSA’s entire public relations department if she put her mind to it. He makes a point to never let her meet Seraphina. “He's working late at the University. Something about dragons, I believe. Someone brought them an egg so he’s been preoccupied with that.” He responds instead. To avoid this dinner, he thinks to himself. Newt avoids Percival’s parents like the plague. They’d never really gotten on in all the time he and Percival had been married. Every time he and Percival’s mother were in the same room, she’d cluck her tongue and poke at his belly before lamenting their lack of children. As if Percival wasn’t equally responsible on that front.

“Ah. He’s with the creatures still?” His father asks, pulling Percival from his train of thought.

“Yes,” Percival pauses to chew, “he took quite a bit of time off so he could be at home with me but I think he’s happy to be able to go back to work. I’m getting around much better on my own these days.”

“Hm,” Percival tried to ignore the subtle downturn of his father’s lips, “we always thought he'd grow out of that. Become a proper Omega for you.”

“It's what he loves,” Percival’s tone was unintentionally sharp.  “He'd probably be traveling the world looking for beasts if he didn't have to stay here with me.”

His father looks at him peculiarly.

“How are things between you two? Just a year ago you were considering ending things and moving onto someone who could provide you an heir. I would hate for this whole mess to cloud your judgment.” Claudius Graves is a stern man. He always had been. It’s what made him such a great Auror, Percival had always thought.

“It hasn't,” Percival says carefully,  “Newt and I are just beginning to understand each other. I think I’m starting to realize that I haven't been the easiest person to live with. Newt’s always tried. I suppose I could try too.”

“He tell you that?”

“He wouldn't.” Percival sighs as he sets his silverware aside. He feels his father’s studious gaze but ignores it, “I’d rather not get divorced.”

“Of course not,” his mother sniffs, “but children-”

“Will come when Newt and I are ready.” If they ever decide to share a bed. Percival keeps that part to himself. “We have time.”

Claudius is shaking his head, disappointment radiating off of him in unavoidable waves. Percival keeps his eyes on his plate and hopes he’s right. He and Newt have reached an impasse. It will take time to undo the damage to their relationship but Percival’s never really tried before. If they want to have a family of their own, he’s gonna have to start.

--

“My cufflinks. I can't find them.” Percival tried to calm his frustrated nerves but the sudden disappearance of various items around his home was disconcerting, to say the least. He didn’t consider himself overly neat but certain objects had certain places in his home.

His interview was today. It was the final round of interviews to determine who would serve as the new Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Newt knew how much this meant to him.

“I know I left them in the same drawer I always leave them. This can’t be happening. Not today. Newt!” He barked. The boy, and yes he was still a boy, noticeably flinched. They hadn’t been married yet a year and some days, Percival wondered if he had made the right choice bringing Newt into his life. It seemed as if they were from two completely different worlds and he wondered if they could ever truly blend.

“I’m sure they’re around, Percival” Newt had said nervously and Percival’s eyes instantly snapped to him. Even though they hadn’t been married long, he’d already learned what guilt sounded like in Newt’s voice.

“And you wouldn’t, pray tell, know where they are would you, Newt?” He said, his voice icy.

“Well, no-ahem- but I might know how to find them?”

Newt wandered around the house, pulling open drawers and checking cabinets before he finally produced a wriggling bundle of brown fur.

“Is that a niffler?”

“Yes. He's from the university,” Newt laughed as he tickled the little menace. Percival’s cufflinks (a gift from his father from when he first became an Auror) clattered to the counter from the beast’s pouch. Newt gathered them up and pressed them into Percival’s outstretched palm. “There now. That wasn’t so bad.”

Percival was, for a lack of better words, shocked.

“If he's from the University, why is he here?” He demanded.

“He must have stowed away in my suitcase, silly fella.” He watched Newt scratch the thing under the chin like it’s some sort of pet.

“Is this going to be a recurring thing? Pests in my house?” Percival groaned. He wouldn’t have it. He can’t.

Newt’s face did something strange. There was a moment, a quick flicker, where Percival was sure Newt was going to cry before his expression went markedly blank.

“Of course not. It won't happen again, Percival. I know how important your home is to you. I’ll make sure to treat it with respect.” His voice was decidedly cold. He bundled the niffler into his arms and stood tall. “I’ll take him back to the University now. He won’t be here to bother you when you get back.”

Percival can't help thinking he's failed some sort of test.

There are no more creatures after that. Newt stays late at the university sometimes but never brings his work home. Never even talks about it.

Percival gets the promotion. A year into their marriage, he gets what he’s wanted all along. He’s the Director of Magical Law Enforcement.

Newt’s congratulatory smile is so fake, Percival’s surprised it doesn’t crack right off of his face.

--

“Dinner with your parents was nice?” Newt asks as he hangs his coat in the foyer.

“It was. You were missed.”

“Oh, I'm sure.” Newt openly scoffs. His hair is a birds nest, even more so than usual and his wand is tucked behind his ear and Percival resists the urge to lecture on safety precautions. He doesn’t think Newt would appreciate it.

“I'm sure the house isn't nearly as clean as your mother likes me to keep it. And I’m sure she’s sick of the tea. And the lack of pitter-pattering little feet.” Newt continues. Percival watches as he toes off his shoes and slides his feet into a pair of slippers like he knows Percival prefers. “I hope you didn’t wait up for me, Percival. I told you I was going to be late.”

“Yes, you always do,” Percival replies quietly. He leans against the wall opposite Newt and groans, “If I’m being completely honest, it’s mostly to avoid going to sleep.”

“You’re having nightmares still?” Newt’s green eyes spark with worry,  “we can go back to the healer-”

“I don’t need a damn potion, Newt,” Percival says in a rush, his voice harsh. Newt shuts his mouth immediately, his cheeks flushing a violent red at the chastisement.

“Yes, of course. How silly of me,” he says flatly and Percival wants to shake himself. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stop by the kitchen to make a pot of tea. I have papers to grade before bed.” He pushes past Percival and is gone.

Percival wants to slam his head into the wall. How did he fuck that up? Percival waits for a few beats, takes a deep breath, and heads to the kitchen.

Newt’s sitting at the kitchen table, pages moving freely in front of him while a spelled quill corrects any spelling or grammatical errors. He knows Newt re-reads the to check for content. Percival is hesitant to disturb him.

From what he’s heard, Newt is excellent in his field. He’d risen quickly at the University from intern to TA to Professor in his own right within three years. Percival hadn’t paid that much attention.

“Wasn’t it your mother who said it was impolite to lurk in doorways, Percival?” Newt doesn’t look up from his papers, just crosses out a sentence before moving down the page.

“She does say that.” Percival agrees and fully enters the kitchen.

“Is there something you need?”

“No. Well, maybe to apologize. Newt...I’m sorry for snapping at you. These past few weeks have been...difficult. Exceptionally so.” Percival feels his hands begin to shake and squeezes his fists tighter until his nails bite into his palm.

“It’s alright. I can’t pretend to know what you need. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Percival has almost always ignored Newt’s moments of frost. They’ve become more and more infrequent, probably due to their lack of nearness, but Percival hasn't had the chance to properly shove his foot in his mouth in a while.

He's making up for lost time apparently.

“I appreciate you taking time off from work to care for me. You didn't have to.”

Newts pen stops scratching away at that. He finally looks up at Percival and sighs.

“You are my husband, Percival. You went through an ordeal.” He pours himself another cup of tea. “You shouldn’t have to suffer needlessly."

Percival crosses his arms and hopes Newt won't see the evidence of his weakness. “Well,” he pivots, “regardless. I shouldn't have disrespected you.”

Newt actually looks surprised. “Oh. Well.” The quill goes back to scratching. “Thank you for saying that. I’m gonna finish up here and then head to bed.”

“I'll leave you to your work, then. Good night, Newt.”

“Good night, Percival.”

--

He hears Newt climb the stairs almost an hour later, hears the sink start to run as Newt readies himself for bed. They’ve never shared a bed, he and Newt. The closest they’ve gotten is sharing a bathroom whilst on their ‘honeymoon’. He’s seen Newt in his nightclothes before but never long enough to really take in the image.

For the first time in awhile, Percival finds himself pondering it.

It’s even more difficult to fall asleep after that.

--

Percival’s first day back at work is nothing but chaos. MACUSA is in absolute disarray. For someone who spent such little time there, Grindelwald managed to throw everyone off so kilter. There's a mountain of paperwork on Percival's desk that taunts him whenever he looks at it. He enlists Tina’s help. She’s one of his most competent Aurors and frankly, he could really use the assistance.

“It’s good to have you back where you belong sir,” Tina tells him. She’s sitting on one of the couches in his office looking as exhausted as he feels.  “I'm sure your husband is glad to have you back as well.”

“He’s happy to be back at work, I think,” Percival deflects.

“He’s a professor, right?”

“Yes. He teaches Magizoology.”

“That must be interesting.” Percival’s eyebrow quirks at Tina’s tone. There’s something there but he can’t put his finger on it.

“I’m told it is. He enjoys it at least. That’s what matters.” He says trying to keep his tone neutral.

“If you don’t mind me speaking candidly, sir?”

“I welcome it.”

“A lot of us are...uh...surprised. You? Letting your Omega work?” That’s...not what Percival expected.

“Newt’s his own man. He wouldn’t appreciate being stifled. I promised him when we married that he’d be able to work.” Tina looks shocked at that. What kind of asshole does she think Percival is?

“Oh. That’s really  nice of you.” Tina says earnestly.

Percival ignores the queasy feeling in his stomach.

--

Percival has to stretch legs. He’s been behind his desk for hours and his vision is starting to swim. He leaves his office with a goal of doing a lap around the building when a crop of red hair and blue coat scurrying past catch his eye.

“Newt?”

“Percival. I thought you’d be in the office all day!” Newt looks flustered at having been caught. “They said we wouldn’t pass your department.”

“You didn’t say you were coming.” Percival tried not to feel hurt.

“I'm here with students. One of our faculty suggested we visit MACUSA’s creature department so...here we are.” He looks nervous, keeps his eyes downcast. “And I know you’re busy. Your job is important. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Percival honestly didn't even know MACUSA had a creature department. Or maybe he did. He’s exhausted.  It’s a surprising relief to see Newt. Percival’s not ready to see him leave.

“Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair.” Newt gives him an awkward wave and turns to leave.

“Actually, I was just about to break for lunch.” Percival blurts. He hears Tina begin to protest but silences her with a look. “If you have a moment or two.”

Newt looks just as surprised as Tina.

“My students are actually headed to the cafeteria. If you’d like to eat there.”

“Boss never eats in the cafeteria.” Tina laughs. “He wouldn’t be caught dead there.”

“Perhaps it’s time I see it, Goldstein. If you’ll excuse us.” Percival doesn’t extend his hand. He’s not sure Newt would take it but he does nod his head in the general direction of the cafeteria.

Newt offers him the smallest of smiles and Percival feels his chest clench.

When he sits across from Newt at one of the tiny tables in the cafeteria eating some of the shittiest food he’s ever tasted he’s surprised that for the first time in a while, his hands are still.

[laisvega]

Dreams 1 - 24/3/18

This is an extremely random post, I know. But I’ve come to a decision to write out all those dreams that are extremely vivid. Those that can be recalled as if they happened in real life.

They make scarcely to no sense at all. Also the narrative is messy, as I try my best to be very specific.

You may read it and let me know what you think. Or not.

The dream starts in the middle, or close to the end.

I can see myself with a group of five more people. Sometimes from my own eyes, but also as a separate entity. Sort of depersonalised.

The person that's supposed to be me is standing by a wall at what seems to be a hotel lobby, and we're checking out. The clothes she wears are fit for cool summer. A white shirt, black sweat-pants and a comfortable knitted jumper. She's reading the newspaper and laughs at something she read in the front page.

The point of view now shifts and I'm looking at the paper with my own eyes. The aura around is still relaxing, nothing feels out of place.

A maroon carpet is beneath my feet. The walls are of burgundy wood, and there are many frames hanging about. Paintings are about boats.

The headline reads: 'Movie stars, cheap even if they have it all.' The main picture showed Jennifer Lawrence with a nice, simple orange dress, slippers, and she's carrying a lot of bags. The bags are around the tones of orange, beige, and light brown. Reading further at the note, it said that she had removed all unchargable things from her room.

My mother and I had seen her earlier at the hotel's restaurant. We pointed at her, excited that we'd seen her. She's a fantastic actress.

What she had removed from her room were those little things that the hotel gifts, like shampoo, creams, soap, etc. But she took more, apparently.

So I tell my mom, "Look, she did it like Ross."

"A what?" said my mom.

"Ross Geller, from Friends. He removed everything possible from every hotel he stood in. Do you remember that episode with Chandler in Vermont? Ross took the batteries off the remote, toilet paper, lightbulbs of each lamp, even the salt!"

My mother remembers it and laughs. We had done closely the same just hours ago.

The point of view changes again, as well as the scene around. I'm looking from the outside, my mother is gone, I see myself standing at the same spot, with the same clothes, but everything is different.

She is scared, as if she's running from something.

Now the group of people comes into the dream. I've never seen their faces before, in real life. But they don't match any actors, actresses, singers, either. They're just entirely new faces.

There's a dark-skinned girl, a little bit shorter than me with sort of chestnut-coloured dreadlocks. She wears clothes that are for heavy winter: grey sweatpants, boots, a white scarf and caramel-coloured jacket—those with fur on the inside and for rain on the outside.

Another girl is standing by her side; she's light-skinned, blonde with hair shoulder-length. She's also heavily dressed with a faded-pink coat, a grey hoodie popping at the back.

At the other side of the girl that's supposed to be me, stands another boy. Short and nerdy-looking, with think rimmed glasses over his black eyes. His coat is checkered with red, green and blue. There's a cheeky feeling coming from the person that is me: she's thought the coat of that boy is very similar to a Scottish kilt. His hair is shaved close to the head. He is scared, too.

Right in front of my physical body there is a boy much taller than all. His hair is dark brown, some flecks over his face, and his eyes are grey. The colour of a storm. His skin is fair and I make the remark that he is quite handsome with that navy blue jacket.

The point of view changes and I'm staring at them with my own eyes, feeling lost. Not quite grasping what is happening. The only thing I can understand is that we're running, hiding, and trying to escape.

Where the wooden walls of the hotel stood before, behind me it had turned to moss-green. As if the place had been abandoned for decades. Across the hall, the wall was gone. There was . . . a beach instead. I can notice it is dark outside, must be very late at night.

The girl with the caramel coat says to me, "You're going to freeze with those clothes, don't you have anything else to wear?"

And it's just then that I notice the howling wind. And fuck it is cold. My body trembles and I hug my charcoal jumper closer. My sweatpants don't cover my ankles and the shoes either.

They all catcall and run towards the beach. It's then that I notice there was another person with us. Short, chubby, blond hair curly, but shaved.

"C'mon lads!" he shouts at the very lead.

I think he sort of reminded me of Peter Pettigrew. But there's no distrust.

I want to follow them. And depersonalised again I see myself walking through the corridor looking for winter clothes.

Around the corner there are some things hanging by the wall. Back in first person I count three jackets, Ugg-like boots, and a cocoa-brown scarf that had seen better days.

I grab the army-green jacket, button up my jumper and when I'm trying to put it on I sense someone talking to me.

For an impossibly fleeting second I glimpse at some lad sitting on the bench looking at me. He's just said something that I didn't hear. When I try to ask him what he's just said, he is gone. All I can remember is that his hair was wavy and black. There was an air of Tom Riddle there somewhere—not the darkness.

The group calls me to hurry up, and I'm desperate to catch up.

But the second I took a step with the boots I'd just put on, we're at a different place. It's the same hotel, but the scenery just feels strange. Now we're even more scared. Terrified.

It's then that I realise that what we're running from is the IT clown, that Pennywise or whatever the name is. I've never watched the films, not the old version, or the new one. All I know from the new film is that Mike from Stranger Things is there, and the youngest Skarsgard—brother to Floki of Vikings. Nothing else.

When I catch up to my group—like in dreams you just know things—I know there are plenty other people trapped inside the same place. I never got to see them though.

My group is talking to a couple of men. One of them looks like Jack Nicholson, the other one. . . I didn't get to see his face.

I'm looking at myself, the group, and the men from on top. As if I was a drone. These men are explaining them how to escape that place, or how to defeat IT. She can't listen to what they're saying.

I watch myself turn around and look at the place. Back through my eyes I see we're at the hotel's entrance hall. The place is massive, at my right two grand staircases rise on each side of the hall. A grand balcony at the top, some closed doors can be seen, but they are not bedrooms. I know that at any moment, something can come out from those doors or from the hallways that lead to the rooms.

At my left, up a couple of steps, three large double doors are shut, locked from wall to wall. That could have been an escape route. It was too obvious.

We are all so fucking scared.

The place has been abandoned for ages, walls are mossy, and the floor is black with dirt. Everything is rotten.

It seems that we've gotten to the last phase of whatever we were doing inside this place. It suddenly feels like a game, but it's the real life—inside the dream.

Nerdy-Boy tells us that some other group has trapped IT within the hotel, so that is our chance to find a way to get out.

At my right, two men pass by with frustrating calm. We're all scared shitless and they just stroll by.

One is sitting on a wheelchair, and the other one is pushing. Apparently these were the men my people were just talking to.

The men remove their wigs and beards and the blonde girl says, "You were the ones that defeated Pennywise in the very first film!"

They nod, extremely proud, and then say, "This one is not the same as before. He's new."

And I say, "Yes, he's that Skarsgard lad. I don't know his name. Phillip? Louis?"

Why was that helpful, I have no idea.

But the men just continue their way without another word.

I feel like there's been a jump of about two hours, where chaos had already ensued. My group is scrambled; the boy that looked like Peter Pettigrew is missing. We're all at our nerve's end. Frightened, because we know that IT is closing in on us.

We've gone somewhere else in those two hours I know have passed but cannot remember what happened. But we're back at the entrance hall.

We're sweating ice cold, shaking with fear. Knowing somehow that we only have minutes left. And it's just me, the handsome boy, and likely the blonde girl. Nerdy-Boy and the girl with dreadlocks are a few feet away, but already too far.

Handsome Boy and the blonde are arguing over something. Meanwhile I'm looking at the massive double doors. Its wood black, uncared, decayed.

I look beneath the doors; there is a small space between them and the floor. Outside I first see a small road where chauffeurs leave their passengers. Then green lawn, bases of trees.

And so many people.

As if whatever we were doing inside the mansion-like hotel was something worth watching. Like the way parents wait for their kids outside school.

I stand back up. The place I'm inside so much different to the world outside. My friends are still bickering. Time is short.

I kneel down again and look outside. I see adults cheering, smaller kids laughing. There are balloons, people with costumes on.

There is one that calls my attention particularly. It's Woody, from Toy Story. He's waving his arms, the massive head the person underneath is wearing has a big creepy smile.

I stand back up. Then kneel down. The action is repeated four more times, and each time I peek outside, Woody's face turns more sinister.

That's when I know there is no more time left.

I stand back up and exclaim to whoever is close to me, "Help me, these doors have to mean something! There must be a way of unlocking them!" My voice is desperate. I'm terrified.

The first set of doors is locked. The second one is not. I turn the handle . . . and it opens.

The clarity of outside hurts my eyes at first. But we run.

The people outside run towards us; stampede actually. But they're not friends. I know that if they catch us, they're going to put us back inside the house. I'm naturally fast and in my dream I have the athletic body I once had during high school. So I slip away easily from those that try to catch me. I feel heavy though, and that heaviness slows me down to the point I dread the others will catch me.

I know two more had managed to come out with me before the door closed again.

While running for our lives I see across the lawn several parked vehicles.

I shout, "Silver pickup truck!" and make my way to a Mazda truck. Quite new.

The truck's owner is closing in on me, I just know. Not once I looked back at the house.

I get in on the driver's seat, my friends at the back and I know that more people had also jumped in the car. People that weren't trapped inside the house with us.

Stepping on the gas we drive away. I hate automatic cars so I curse at it's delay in reaction. But we're free.

It's then that I notice the person that sits besides me is my volleyball teacher, and he's leading us somewhere else.

I trust him, don't know why. So I obey and follow his directions.

The road ahead is straight and it seems we drive through a dessert like scenery. There is nothing on either side of the road. Somehow that does not worry us.

It's night again when we get to wherever we were going. We all get out of the car and the strangers that were in the car with us turned out to be allies. They are around my age and I learn there that these people had also been trapped in that terrifying mansion. They don't actually say it, but then again I just know.

My teacher stays outside, so as to guard the place. We're at a sort of abandoned Napa Valley-style house—or Tuscany-like—with vines growing on the walls, crystal doors. Like the house of that film The Parent Trap.

There are a lot more people in the house. All around the same age. As we walk inside I look at their faces. Still I don't recognise a single one from my real world. They all seem friendly and accepting of us, but I shut down. I feel odd, uncomfortable. Maybe it's the adrenaline and fear that are keeping me on edge. Not sure.

It walls are cream coloured, the only light comes from the telly set these youngsters are watching. Few vines creep the inside of the house. But they somewhat fit with the frames that hang. Across the hall there are three doors that lead to bedrooms. Behind us, a makeshift kitchen.

A girl that seems to be a younger version of Dr. Bailey from Grey's Anatomy but with blue eyes urges us to sit on the floor. They are all cuddled around in front of the television eating popcorn.

The only two that managed to get out of the house were the handsome boy and a girl that I realised used to be an old schoolmate. She wasn't part of my group inside the house, but she was in there with us.

Handsome Boy sits behind me. He puts his arms on my shoulders and his knees on each side of mine. I realised there that I really like him. My heart's slamming in my chest and swallowing gets hard. His hand suddenly travels down my belly, slowly, caressing, and fuck I was so ready.

"We're in public." I hissed.

I feel his chest rumble. So I plan on getting up and walking to one of the rooms at some point.

We're changing channels, searching for something light and funny. To help us calm down.

My schoolmate has sat a few feet away and already made friends. I on the other hand glare at these people and exchange the remote for popcorn.

There is another jump in time again, two hours I believe. Someone rings the bell.

Dread is what I see on the faces of everyone around.

A girl taller than me gets up and walks to the door. It's ocean blue like her shirt. Her hair is chocolate, straight and long, reaching her waist.

"Stop!" I say, walking behind her, "See who it is, first."

She nods and looks through the peep hole. I walk to the kitchen and stare from the large window.

A girl stands outside. Scared shitless. She wasn't part of my group, but I know who she is. Her hair is dark brown, shoulder length, damp from sweat. Her light skin shivering. By the road, stood my teacher looking away.

I suspect her immediately. Maybe because she is Handsome Boy's girlfriend—which would leave me with zero chance.

The girl that looked like Dr. Bailey says that the reason they are there, mingling with the public outside the mansion, and in this house, is to guard all those that manage to escape that horrific place.

Something just does not sit right. Where are the people that are part of this safe heaven, meant to guide those that escape? How did she escape? How did she get here? Why isn't the teacher with her?

They open the door nonetheless, and the girl barges right in. She shouts her boyfriend's name and hugs him around the waist. He stands there gobsmacked, then hugs her equally fiercely. There is a pang in my chest.

Everyone coddles her and sit her by the telly. I am left behind, still suspicious.

As I close in on the group, someone vociferates my doubt. But another reasons, "Pennywise cannot escape that house, not physically. It’s trapped inside."

The girl's grey eyes shimmer and Handsome Boy pulls her closer. Just a breath away.

'Not physically' I repeat in my head. The thought that next comes to mind is what if IT somehow managed to get into the girl's body?

The girl looks up at her boyfriend; she raises and goes in to kiss him. He is lowering to meet her halfway—

"Hold on!" I snap and grab her arm.

Then I wake up.

[braingaryshortstuff]

Richie’s Revolution

Richie kicked the door to his office open with a slippered foot. His arms were full with a very high-stakes balancing-act, between the plastic grocery bags full of money, the Mossberg shotgun nestled in the crooks of his elbows, and a half-pound of reefer smashed against his chest in an Armani shirt that had been tied into a bindle to better hold the sticky nuggets. A 12-pack of Pabst dangled from the fingertips of one hand.

The twenty-eight-year-old portfolio manager had had one hell of a night; Starting innocently enough with some colleagues enjoying some cocaine, cocktails and crappy chinese food had ended with Richard being dragged through a sort of cosmic hellscape within his own mind, where over the course of a few hours, he had died again and again and again. He couldn’t be sure what had happened, although he suspected (correctly) that one of the smug, liberal hipsters from the bar had slipped something in his fourth or fifth martini, likely while he was showing them all pictures of his yacht on his phone, a visual aid used to support a long-winded, unsolicited lecture on the merits of hard-work and faith in the economy. 

The experience began for Richie about 15 minutes later when, without warning, he began to projectile vomit mid-sentence. The stream of pink shrimp cocktail, grey Lo Mein and several stiff drinks and their respective olives blasted some poor young lady right in the face, as if she had been hit by a hose full of pies.

Richie didn’t remember much after that, but when he came around hours later, shirtless, dripping wet and staring at the bottom of the Hennepin Avenue bridge, he laughed and laughed at the punchline of  The Great Cosmic Joke™.

It was now five in the morning. He sat at his desk in his empty office downtown with all the lights out in his robe, rolling one of the biggest joints the midwest had ever seen on a stack of printed spreadsheets and working on the first of six tall cans of beer, still smirking and giggling.

In a few hours, his colleagues would begin to arrive, and soon after that, they’d be in on the joke. He’d have a fat, sticky joint for every goddamn person on that floor, and once they were all sufficiently imbibed and on the same mental and spiritual page, Richie planned on sharing the punchline with them, in an effort to emancipate them from the day-to-day slog that they called their careers. He would tell them about the nature of reality, about the miracle that was the sustainability of all life on this planet, and the delicate, constant balancing act of circumstances it required. He would tell them that every dandelion was every bit as meaningful and important as any given human, cosmically speaking, and how they were all existence manifested; Mooshy sacks of protein and water and electricity arranged in a manner that allows it to experience the universe around itself, the universe that they were very much a part of, like cosmic nerve-endings in the body of existence. He would tell them of Heat Death and the nature of time. They would discuss the nuances of exploding stars and the roles they play in creation as we know it at great length. He supposed after that, his colleagues would probably need a few hours to meditate and discuss and digest this new information. He also thought to himself that they’d likely need more grass.

The shotgun was for the revolution, obviously. He didn’t  have ammunition for it, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on firing it once, but rather using it as a symbol of The Resistance. Unlike any before it, Richie’s revolution would be one that took place without a single shot being fired. He thought it funny, the notion of bringing an old, unloaded shotgun as the main tool of the coming revolt, as if to smile smugly and say “Well, they said we’d need to be armed, so we brought this”. 

In the latter-stages, he envisioned drones dropping bales of Maui Wowie through the sky-lights of condos and onto the porches of suburban homes. He saw neighbors who had never actually spoken tossing footballs and grilling in their yards together. He saw children running and laughing and playing while teenage youths, no longer saddled with the angst and pressure from a daunting miserable existence, painting in the grass, practicing writing poetry, and teaching each other how to kiss. After a few weeks of this, abandoned cash bills of all denominations would be seen dancing in the breeze, collectively forgotten by a people working toward repairing generations of degraded empathy and selfish pursuit. Where they went from there was unclear to Richie, and he didn’t care. He was excited to be the catalyst for global change, and in a few short hours when the rest of the office got there, he would take the first steps toward bearing witness to the next step in the story of mankind’s evolution.

 He put his dirty, slippered feet up on the desk next to the pile of aromatic, dried flower buds and took a long pull of his award-winning beverage, washing it down with a long drag and an even longer smile. 

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

“Good morning, and thanks for tuning in, I’m Kurt Bootlap. Our top story this morning is one that unfolded only hours ago downtown at the offices of a corporate hedge-fund management company. We now go live to our reporter on the scene, Trisha Mosquitos. What’s the situation like there now, Trisha?”

A young reporter stands frozen in-place holding a large coffee. She’s washed in LED light, and slathered in HD make-up, but not quite enough to hide her tiredness. A production assistant reaches into frame and takes the coffee out of her hand and replaces it with a microphone. Trisha has a huge, fake smile for some reason.

“Thanks Kurt, I’m here on the scene of what local authorities are calling ‘the strangest and most short-lived stand-off in history’, and here with me live is one of the witnesses, a woman who works in the office where this all took place. Ma’am, what can you tell us about what happened here this morning?”

A woman in her fifties wearing thick glasses and a pile of grey hair steps into the shot wearing one of those drab blankets that firefighters give to people to wear after being pulled from burning buildings.

“Well, I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped off the elevator, because I could smell that someone had been smoking that awful jazz cabbage-.”

“ ‘Jazz cabbage’, Ma’am?”

“You know…’Laser-Lettuce’...’The Oregano of Confusion’...”

“Marijuana, Ma’am?”

“Probably that too. Anyway, I start turning lights on and I turn around and I just about jumped out of my skin when I saw one of the managers standing in the doorway of his office with his robe hanging open. He had a beer in one hand and a shotgun in the other, babbling about the “dancing spheres” and the “hidden language of three’s” and a whole bunch of other nonsense.”

“And what did you do?”

“I told him he should go home and that I was going to call the police. That was when he tried to grab me.”

“So there was a struggle? He assaulted you?”

“No, it was more like persistent, aggressive hugging...It was completely unwanted, but not exactly life-threatening. Nonetheless, I phoned the sheriff as soon as I got a hand free.”

“Thank you, Ma’am, for your harrowing story, and we wish you a speedy recovery. Also joining me this morning is county Sheriff Harry Diabetis, who responded to the scene with at least three dozen of his fellow officers. Sheriff what do you make of this morning’s events?”

A portly man in his fifties shoulder-nudges the blanketed woman out of the way, stepping into frame. He’s bulging out of a crisp, sharply-pressed uniform, and sweating heavily despite the early hour. There was no chance the man could pick a brussel sprout out of a line-up, and he hadn’t had a glass of water since he got the flu eight years ago. He grinned from ear-to-ear.

“Well, as you can see, my men quickly responded, and everyone can feel safe and carry on with their day.”

“You don’t think this was an unusual event, sir?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean it was weirder than a rattlesnake’s arm-pit, but again, it was quickly brought under control by the swift actions of the deputies of my department, so, y’know…’Back to our previously scheduled Monday’ I guess.”

“What can you tell us about the alleged perpetrator?”

“Well, there’s not much to tell, he was a young fella who broke into his workplace in his britches and decided to get all goofed up, and presumably shoot up the place with this assault weapon.”

The sheriff raised Richie’s old, weathered shotgun, an evidence sticker dangling from a tag on the trigger. One of its’ two rusty barrels fell away, clanging against the street at the sheriff’s feet. 

“Well thanks to the great work of your force, thankfully that wasn’t used to harm anyone.”

“Er...Right. Anyway, the suspect approached the officers tasked with penetrating the perimeter, despite their warnings to stop and put down the weapon and all that. He was babbling on about throwing away their guns and badges and burning their wallets, saying it was keeping them from loving each other and asking if they’d ever really been hugged...Basically a bunch of hippy horse-crap. He was all messed up on god-knows-what, so it was pretty easy to take him down.”

“So the suspect is in your custody?”

“Oh my, no, we shot that poor boy to pieces. No we don’t have the room in our detention facilities for that kind of a thing, what with it being the Monday after St. Paddy’s Day and all.”

“Naturally. Well, thank you for taking the time to talk with us this morning Sheriff, and of course, thank you for all your hard work keeping this community safe.”

“It’s my pleasure, Ma’am.”

“Another tragic end to what could have been pandemonium in the streets this morning, prevented by a capable police force, and leaving another work-week unhindered for the people of our great city...Back to you, Kurt.”

“Thanks, Trisha. Coming up next, could the president’s history of gum-disease make him appear weak at the upcoming middle-east peace talks? And later, a local man gets a lesson in defensive driving from some very unlikely teachers; a pack of pregnant squirrels. Stay tuned, we’ll be right back after this.”