#yasmine is two sentences maybe away from completion

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Wiki pet project is nearly done btw. I've ended up doing more than I ever intended to do here whoops

[hyukmoon]

Class trip.

Synopsis | you're a teacher going along on a trip for a week with your class and a colleague you despised for a good amount of time now. Things turn around and you don't know what to think about him anymore.

Teacher!Xiaojun x Teacher!gn!Reader

warnings | kissing is the most rated things happening in this, all over awkwardness from you, terrible humor, pretty much just fluff and a there's only one bed situation

word count | 2.2k

things to note | this is the first thing I wrote here, so I'm open to constructive criticism, also [P/A] means prefered form of address bc you're a teacher and all that (not proofread yet)

Let’s preface this. You never really wanted to go onto this trip. You genuinely loved the children in your class, but to go onto this trip for an entire week seemed to be a compromise in the least. Neither were the other teachers your preferred ones nor was it your say where the class trip was going to take place. To be honest, you even found the colleague you were going with a bit annoying.

“It can’t be this bad, you might even enjoy it there. Our fellow colleague is pretty to look at and the worst that could be happening on that trip is that one of the children puts their finger into a pencil sharpener again.”, your friend Yasmin and also, teacher said. Your tired face was working, she shut up. Of course, your fellow colleague was incredibly handsome.

You would and could never argue against that, yet every time you heard their kind and expressive voice you felt like you were blinded by the sun. He just seemed to exude everything you lacked. It is not that you weren’t a good teacher, every time you were out of breath or already done with everything only half through the day, he almost smiled compassionately at you sometimes even winked for that matter.

Xiao dejun, who also went by Xiaojun was the topic of your discussion, a man that handsome you wouldn’t be able to make up in your dream and smart enough to make up for every “inconvenience” you faced with him.

Well, he was that smart to bring you coffee every morning into teachers lounge, share his chewing gum with you and sometimes write you notes if you seem stressed. “Jeez, what’s your problem in the first place? I’m kinda sure he is into you. Every time he looks at you, he literally has heart eyes and bringing you coffee every morning? Please.”, she rolled her eyes at you.

“I don’t think so, I just subbed some of his classes a few times. You know how nice he is.”, nervously you now shy away from looking into Yasmin’s eyes.

Xiaojun didn’t like you, you would feel terrible if he did. Tweaks of shame overcame you; this trip was not going to work out.

Fully packed and all over suspiciously you started counting again the fourth graders on the bus while also having a very good view of the chocolate brown hair of the teacher going along on the field trip. This time his hair didn’t fully cover his forehead, his glasses eyeing you as well. Suddenly his hands tapped on the seat next to him. Heat rose up to your cheeks gradually making it harder to move forward to sit next to Xiaojun. “Mila’s parents called me, she’s sick so don’t worry about her. Just sit down [Y/N], I brought some tea.”, he smiled while pointing at his thermos can. “Uh, sure. I have some cookies with me if you want.”, the last sentence closely sounding like a question as you quietly took the seat next to him.

Not only were you now stunned about the fact that there was a possibility for him to view you in a light like this in spite of you being so passive towards him in the past. Yet there is still the lingering feeling far, far up in your head that you were only imagining things and Xiaojun read everything wrong. “Are you feeling well? We can also sit farther in the front if you feel better there- “, he worriedly stroked your shoulder. “No, it’s completely fine. Just fine.”, you interrupted his ramble and put up your mouth into a cramped smile. His eyes returned that favor, crinkling up into a smile as well.

The bus drive didn’t take as long as you might have thought, your counterpart on the excursion was more than enough to keep you on your toes. Casual glances along a few accidental brushes over your hand kept you in your seat. Now counting again all the children in the lobby of the youth hostel you anxiously eyed Xiaojun again. The amount of children matched up, so your job was done for now, you were most likely only seeing them for dinner. The only thing to do for you now was to go up to your room and contemplate how to not have a physical reaction every time your favorite colleague called your name. Very obvious, you had of course no crush on him or anything like that. He was just blessed with beautifully shaped eyebrows and a voice that could make the worst words you knew sound like a ballade. You moved up from the hotel lobby with some of the grade schoolers to the elevator.

"[P/A] [L/N], do you think when I make Lasagna with my mum it’s the same as cake?”, Xia, a girl from Xiaojun’s music class asked while her classmates giggle about her question. A few loud no’s were to be heard with the occasional high pitched laughs from her friends. “That is a very good question I have never thought about before”, you stopped for a second, what exactly does it mean to be a cake? It is still baked in an oven with layers and contains the tomato sauce as frosting? “I am pretty sure it is. Even though I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow though, I am not a baking expert. I promise I’ll look it up for you, yes?”, you were pretty content with your answer. “Hmmm. Okay. They wanted me to ask.” Xia answered while pointing at the three boys in the back of the elevator which earned her some distraught faces from her classmates. The familiar sound of the elevator bell ringed. “Anyways, if you have as burning questions as these please come to me or …, we’re happy to help. Also, if you feel homesick or sick, I’m always in my room, just knock.” As soon as the last syllable was said stormed the children to their respective rooms and left you there looking at their body shaped dust cloud remembering the cartoons you watched at their age.

You walked down the long corridor towards the light brown lacquered door which showed in golden numerals written the 420. Your shoulders visibly sank down, finally you were able to take a nap. The door opened and closed maybe a millisecond later. Seeing a wide back heaving some shirts on to the rooms ear chair made you catch your breath. His glasses missing and his usually kempt hair was now chaotically drifting across his forehead into separate directions. More importantly though, he was most likely about to put on a fresh shirt, and you stood across the dark brown carpet in the door with a perplexed face.

“Sorry!”, you yelled and closed the door to just sink down with it in your back. Xiaojun packing out his suitcase along his pullover wasn’t what you were expecting to after talking about lasagna and wanting to fall asleep for at least good 30 minutes to then decide if it’s worth it to start to watch a movie. Yet you were barely discussing the fact that he was in your room. Neither did it make sense nor were you able to really comprehend the situation right now.

The door opened and you jumped up onto your feet. “[Y/N]? Why were you in my room?”, Xiaojun quiet voice slid through the gap of the door. “I swear there’s an explanation to this. I think they might have given me the wrong keys or something like that, I didn’t look at you or anything-”, he interrupted your nervous chatter to push the door open and face your confused state. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out together.”, the usual quirky smile you normally saw when he was trying to cheer up one of his students appeared on his face. Your breath stopped at the together while a comfortable warm feeling churned in your stomach.

“Then let’s go downstairs and work it out with the staff!”, he gifted you another wink which not only gave you the final confidence to grab onto his arm before heading again into the elevator but to for the first time give him a wink back.

“The school only booked one room for the teacher. I can’t really do that much about it, most rooms are already full and other guests will arrive tomorrow, so I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”, the hotel worker returned to the computer in front of them. “What are we supposed to do now?”, you sighed and gazed at the visibly pondering man. “Honestly, no idea. There isn’t much we can do, so I guess we could talk about it in my room?”

The walk to his room had to be filled with an uncomfortable silence, neither you nor he were able to say something that made the current situation less painfully horrendous. Almost as if the newly gained confidence left your body, you didn’t even dare to make more than an unfunny joke about your nonexistent room or more like transferred room for another alone soul. His room was already coddled with the scent of freshly washed clothes along his close to quiet cologne. “So here we are.You take the bed and I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“This is so inappropriate, dear god.”, you started to sigh again caressing your temples. “Also, no, please take the bed, the school probably forgot to book another room because I said yes to this trip so late.” Even though Xiaojuns throat seemed to struggle a bit with his next proposition, it was still loud and clear what he said. “We can also share the bed... We’re two grown adults.” He laughed awkwardly; you were pretty much speechless.

“Yeah, of course. Two adults. Nothing to worry or think about.”, you tried to brush off any thought you could possibly have about your opposition. No thoughts about his warm breath in your neck while holding you loosely in his sleepy state to waking up to his beautifully messy bed hair in the morning.

“I’ll take a shower if you don’t mind, some of the children were kinda fussy today and I just need a few minutes.” You nodded and unpacked your suitcase, followed by changing into some comfortable shorts and large shirt.

The second you were done; you sank into the still cold sheets of the large bed. He didn’t make you wait for him very long, barely noticeable however his eyes rested on you when he entered the small apartment again.

Neither did it take too long to sit along with you on the bed. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with us doing this?”, his soft voice hit you unexpectedly. “I can also sleep on the floor, or we switch everyday to do it.” You shook your head simply and crawled up the bed to make yourself comfortable under the duvet. “I’m so tired, just don’t steal the blanket, okay?”, barely able to keep your eyes open you sank even more into the mattress.

You really thought it would be easy to sleep next to him, yet the thought of holding his face in your hands didn’t leave your mind. Even asleep he had a stunning presence around him. “[Y/N]? Do you like me?”, Xiaojun turned around to see your surprised expression. “Of course, I do. I just thought that because you were so good at everything, you did all of these things just to spite me.”, you quietly confessed. “[Y/N], I wanted you to like me. You’re a wonderful teacher and I really admire you. You’re so funny with the other colleagues and generally so, so gorgeous.” Xiaojuns eyes lingered on your lips. They stayed there.

“Can I kiss you?” You nodded. His lips brushed softly across your bottom one. You took the opportunity to gain closeness to his warm side before shifting your hands onto his back. Slowly you began to pepper small kisses along his jawline resulting in a small whine from his side. His hands started to wander across your waist to rest on your lower back and pull you in even closer.

Not a lot longer after he started to skim your neck with his teeth. You rested your head now in his freshly scented neck. Again, his lips on yours moving over to just behind your earlobe, nipping on it and breathing into your ear: “Do you want me to continue?” Still resting his soft lips on your ear goosebumps rose up your spine. Waiting for another hint of pressed lips against your skin your arms lethargically crawled up and grazed his cheeks.

“Ah right, the children.”, your voice hitched he was still so close to you. “We could discuss this maybe on a date?”, he looked almost hopeful when his dark and strangely staring eyes met yours in the dim lit room.

“Us kissing and almost doing the deed? Sure. I’m much better at physical presentations though.” You pressed a delicate kiss against his lips. “Since when so provocative?”

“You bring it out in me.” “I’m glad it’s me and no one else then.”, he smiled into the kiss he gave you now. Not long from this you actually found the peace and quiet to fall asleep in his embrace.

[dameronology]

the one with his new girl {steve rogers x reader}

‘summary: pretending to be over steve rogers is hard. all it takes is a few glasses of expensive wine and a conversation with his gorgeous new girlfriend before the walls begin to come down.

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, jealousy.  

on account for the spam of star wars imagines (not that i’m complaining), here is some steeb content to tide you over till i write some more avengers stuff. love u all

- jazz

No matter how many times you tried to laugh off your break-up and insist that you were so totally over Steve Rogers, you couldn’t completely convince yourself of it. It had only been four months - could you even say only? That had been more than enough time in the past for you to move on from your other exes.

But, your other exes hadn’t been Steve. He was one of a kind - the sort of guy that only came along once in a lifetime. And, he’d come and gone from yours already. It felt like you could only go downwards from here, even though you were arguably at rock bottom. The super soldier had ruined men for you. 

You weren’t going to make him aware of that, though. Tonight was the first time in months that you were going to be in the same room, and you were going to be damned if you didn’t look good for the occasion. Having spent the better part of the afternoon rotating between outfits and straightening, curling, re-straightening and then re-curling your hair, you were finally content. You were going to turn heads tonight; you were certain of it.

‘Well hello there.’ Tony Stark’s sharp voice greeted you as you stepped out the elevator. The sound of your heels against the polished marble floors had called his attention to you, mouth forming an O-shape when he saw your flowing red dress and bouncy hair. ‘Damn, girl.’

‘Hey, Tony.’ You flashed a grin at him, tossing your bag onto the counter as you passed. 

The room was already filled with a lot of guests. The air was filled with the smell of expensive chardonnay and the sound of crystal glasses clinking together. It was a party to celebrate...something. Tony was always finding an excuse to have people over and serve drinks. On this occasion, the theme had been formal - the crowd was dressed in expensive suits and long dresses. 

‘Natasha!’ You called your friend’s name, having seen her across the room with your blonde super soldier. She was wearing a tight-fitted green dress - show stopping, as always. 

‘Hey!’ Nat beamed at you, pulling you into a tight hug. ‘You look...wow.’ 

‘Thank you.’ You winked at her, grabbing a glass of wine from a trey as a server walked past. ‘Oh hi, Steve. I didn’t see you there.’

Obviously, he was the first person you had noticed when you’d walked in. He looked as good as ever in a tight-fitted black blazer and a white button up. His hair was a bit longer than when you’d last seen him, pushed back off his face and curling around his ears. He looked good - really good. Almost as breath taking as you. 

‘Hi.’ You faltered slightly as his forced smile. 

There was a girl stood beside him; she was tall and slim, her figure decorated with a gold and lace dress. You recognised her from somewhere - you followed her on Instagram. She was a model, naturally. 

‘This is Jasmine.’ Steve’s hand was resting on the small of her back.

‘Nice to meet you, Yasmine.’ You flashed a smile at her. 

‘No.’ She shook her head at you. ‘It’s Jas-’

‘- is that Thor?’ You spun around. ‘Oh, hi!’

You grabbed Nat’s arm, and she let out a small yelp as you dragged her away from your ex-boyfriend and his model-of-a-new-girlfriend. That had been out of character for you - you weren’t usually petty. But how else were you supposed to react? It was a self-defence mechanism (or maybe it was the glass of wine you’d just downed whole). 

The feeling of Thor’s arms around you was a welcome distraction. He let out a hearty laugh as he enveloped both you and Natasha in a hug, complimenting you both on your appearances. Your two friends quickly fell into a conversation about their latest mission, but you were thousands of miles away. 

You could hear Steve and Jasmine laughing from the other side of the room, chuckles melting together into what felt like a hand around your throat. That was how he used to laugh with you, even if your joke wasn’t funny. 

It was going to be a long night.

--

Two hours and six glasses of wine later, you were still with Natasha and Thor. You were lounging against the back of your chair, legs crossed over as you glanced at the ceiling, lulling in your hazy, tipsy state. You weren’t drunk drunk, but you certainly had forfeited control of any sober rationality. 

‘Anyways, I was in Paris and I saw a guy who looked exactly like that giant space bear from Star Trek-’

‘- Wars.’ You flopped your head forward to meet eyes with Jasmine. She’d been nattering away for the last half an hour about...actually, you hadn’t been listening.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She thinned her eyes at you.

‘The dumb space bears are called Wookiees are they’re from Star Wars.’ You replied. 

Steve’s blue eyes trailed from his drink to look at you, almost begging you to stop. He could already sense the tension between the group - Thor and Natasha hadn’t exactly taken to Jasmine either - and you were only making it worse. Your ability to poke at bad situations and spin them out of control had been something you used to fight over. 

‘It’s an easy mistake to make.’ He flashed his signature smile, and you felt that aching feeling return. 

You missed him with every fibre of your being. You missed waking up next to him and cuddling in bed for hours. You missed the way he’d wrap his large arms around you when you were sad and tell you awful jokes till you smiled again. You missed how he cared so much about every little detail of every little thing he did for you. He’d made you feel so loved, so safe. 

‘So,’ Jasmine took a sip of her drink, green eyes falling on you. ‘Steve told me that you used to work together?’

‘Oh, we worked together alright,’ You grinned, ‘on a three year long project. Did he not tell you?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ She replied. ‘What did you guys specialise in?’

‘Biology.’

Steve thinned his eyes at you - a moment later, he abruptly stood up. You let out a small squeak of surprise when you felt his large hand wrap around your wrist. He almost dragged you from your seat, and you stumbled slightly as he pulled you away from the table and towards the balcony. 

Given that it was the middle of winter, nobody else was out there. They were all inside, basking in the warmth of the tower. You, meanwhile, were now in the midst of the biting January air, the harsh polar breeze hitting your bare arms almost immediately. It only increased your awareness of Steve’s body heat something that arguably did not help the situation.

‘The hell are you playing at?’ He let go of your arm. 

‘What do you mean what am I playing at?’ You shot back. ‘You told your new girlfriend I was a colleague!’ 

‘It’s not a total lie. We did work together-’

‘- that’s not the point, Steve.’ You muttered. ‘It’s just...’

‘It’s just what?’ Steve’s voice softened slightly. 

‘Some stupid part of me was still holding out hope that we could be us again.’ Your voice was barely a whisper.

Letting out a groan, you fell back against the wall, hands rubbing your arms in an attempt to warm up. Steve took a step closer as you did, a look of concern etched across his features. For the first time since you’d met him, you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

‘I didn’t mean to come across as cold.’ You continued. ‘Imagine if you were still in love with me, and I turned up with a guy who looked like he’d made been made in a lab.’

Steve pulled a face at you for a minute, and then you realised your mistake. He was the guy who’d been made in a lab. You were physically incapable of imagining somebody more perfect than him. It kind of ruined your metaphor.

‘I don’t have to imagine.’ He said.

‘Yeah, I know, you’re the one who was made in a lab-’

‘- That’s not what I meant.’ Steve shook his head. ‘I don’t have to imagine still being in love with you.’

If it were physically possible for your soul to leave your body and enter into the earth’s orbit, those words would have been the fuel. You’d imagined a scenario in which Steve re-declared his love for you, but they’d simply been midday meanderings, the kind of thing you’d thought about when you were bored in a meeting. 

‘But..’ You’d forgotten how to form a sentence. ‘Jasmine.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve been on one date, and I only brought her tonight because I was terrified of you turning up with someone.’

‘Well, I didn’t.’ You gestured to the empty space around you. ‘On account of the whole being in love with you thing.’ 

Steve smiled at you again. ‘So...’

Finally closing the gap between you, his large hands took you by the waist and pulled you towards him. You crashed your lips onto his, arms clinging onto his shoulders as he lifted you off the ground, falling back against the wall. It felt like your first kiss all over again - but at the same time, it felt like coming home after months away.

You’d planned for tonight to be showing Steve Rogers what he’d been missing - that was the point of the dress and the heels and the makeup. If you’d known that he was already very much aware, you would have skipped the whole charade. He wasn’t complaining, though. You did look good. 

‘Come home with me?’ Steve murmured against your lips.

‘Of course.’ You smiled against him. ‘I just gotta quickly explain to Jasmine the difference between Star Wars and-’

He dropped his head into your shoulder, letting out a small groan. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘No,’ you chuckled. ‘I’m not.’ 

‘But you’re going to do it anyways, aren’t you?’

‘Obviously.’ 

[enchantednightingales]

RJC’s review of: A Number

I’d like to start by apologising for the continued use of the almost-pun “A Number” but in my defence... Caryl Churchill started it.

There are A Number of things one can look forward to in Polly Findlay’s production of “A Number” at The Bridge theatre and just three of them are Colin Morgan. Fangirls can delight that Colin’s stealth stage door exit skills have FINALLY been put to their stunning first use on stage. Colin plays three different characters with about six to eight costume changes in the space of an hour. He disappears and reappears completely anew and it is magnificently seamless.

When I first read the play I had A Number of concerns. Maybe I’m an old fashioned kind of gal but I prefer sentences to begin AND end. I’m greedy like that. I found the play far too difficult a read and I was somewhat apprehensive about the production. Fortunately, I see the text benefits from performance as Roger Allam and Colin Morgan breathe something reminiscent of natural into those lines. I tip my imaginary hat to them as well, remembering that stuff must be tricky, the majority of these lines don’t follow a natural structure and tripping on the lines would weaken the effect. 

I am not completely sold on this effect to be honest. It cries device to me and distances this tale from pertinence.  “She was one of those people, when they say there has been a person under a train” is a good example. WHO EVER says that? Ever? Nobody. I’m a great lover of words but apparently I don’t like them in this particular order. I never was one for the abstract. Be prepared for a little abstract.

Colin’s nasal and fumbling B2 makes a lot more sense in person than I could have ever anticipated when reading. A Number is obviously not quite my cup of tea shall we say but it is becoming an increasingly tolerable piece thanks to the efforts of this production. It’s an intriguing story. A failed father seeks a fresh start, sends his son into care but not before cloning him, as “tribute”. Written just as cloning became a legitimate thing it’s pushing at big relevant buttons but for my money it’s a paper thin approach. It’s definitely a conversation piece though, a trigger of questions, forcing you to think and figure the thing out. If you can be bothered to meet it half way and you kinda have to.

A Number is another “sins of the fathers” type narrative in which Salter, the father, cannot break the cycle of his own ineptitude and selfishness. A price his sons inevitably will have to pay. I won’t give that price away but it makes for a sad little story. Some emphasis on little. When it could have been bigger (that’s what she said). 

A Number hits a number of notes in its short duration. It’s kinda funny, it’s even kinda cute (maybe that’s just Colin), it’s kinda sad, kinda creepy, kinda cruel and ultimately super dark.

Roger Allam and Colin Morgan pull out of the bag a rather lovely and truly unforgettable chemistry as father and sons. I’m not quite used to seeing Allam as the “little man”. His appearance is entirely ordinary and as a character he’s far from powerful or noble. For a man usually possessed of scene stealing charisma, Allam fearlessly relished in the grim and pitiful. He’s squirming from the beginning to the end. Trying to contain the anger of his first son, trying to contain the disappointment of his second son and in the final act, trying to salvage some scrap of meaning or importance from one beautifully blasé last (of 19) hopes. Allam’s physicality when B1 is on stage is intriguing to watch as he screams fear and seeks distance. His tone when B2 is on stage almost convinces you of wholesomeness and genuine love. Salter is quite an understated journey but enjoy as Allam hits every single note of it in true masterclass fashion.

One could marvel for A Number of hours about how amazing the stage is for this production. The first night, when the room completely changed angle, my eyes widened like a kid in a Colin Morgan-themed Candy store! WOW. It messed with my mind so much that I was second guessing everything. What they can do nowadays is awesome. I still don’t quite get how it all works and where exactly Colin escapes to in-between but... that’s the magic of theatre for you. 

I’m also a big fan of the 90s kinda feel. The stack tables, the CD tower, the TV stand, the landline phone! It’s soooooo 90s I keep expecting to hear Hanson’s MMM Bop playing upstairs or something. I feel like I’m a teenager again, at my friends’ house and it’s all kicking off between her hot older brother and his step-dad again. Flashbacks.... 

My only criticism with the whole set change thing is the decision to blast some crazy sounds at you for their duration. It’s like watching a crappy horror movie with jump scares that don’t lead anywhere. It’s not particularly satisfying and ones patience for it tends to wear thin. Especially when everyone around you likes to gasp and yelp every time it happens. Personally, not sure why nobody just took my advice of playing Bjork’s “Army of Me” in-between the set changes. I’ve only got an entire playlist of suggestions but whatever. You know better. I suppose it might wake the odd theatre sleeper.

Can I talk about Colin Morgan now? 

I feel like A Number is a bit of a showcase of everything Colin can do (and do better than anyone else). He’s got the skills for comedy, for brutality, for tears and not to mention his signature LIMITLESS energy. As his self-elected number one fangirl I will quite happily sit there and bask in the pride as he totally nails this whole thing.

Colin’s three characters are all quite different. One might easier refer to them as Benjamin, Leo and... well... Michael. B2 is adorable in his almost whiney tone and sounds possibly too much like Yasmin in “Worldship Humility” accent (for my liking). I keep expecting him to start calling people goat fucking somethings but so far he’s not done it. His twitchy, stiff awkwardness is reminiscent of Benjamin but that’s about it.

B1 isn’t exactly Leo-like, he’s far too efficient for that, he just STRANGELY ENOUGH looks A LOT like him. The hoodie and denim don’t help. He’s got that similar breaking point type edge to him. B1 sounds as serious as he is and for the first time ever, Colin is somewhat unsettling, I don’t blame Roger for keeping his distance. He’s a tad nasty and Colin goes there. Customarily though Colin helps us to “see it human” with a tear or two. As poor B1 just sits there stewing in his own anger, hatred and confusion, lost to a father and lost to himself. It’s a sad tale and Colin sure won’t let you miss the point.

B1 is part of my favourite exchange which involves Salter demonstrating his worst colours when he justifies his actions by claiming B1 was something to be crushed. Representative of the lacking thought and care that can go into the creation of life that is ultimately one of mankind’s most devastating flaws. B2 speaks of being cloned from a speck and says “you threw the rest of me away”. Colin slays me with that line. I am dead now. He killed me. Here I must afford A Number with the compliment that it is effectively unsettling and unpleasant, which is, what I think it was going for. I hope.

Can I talk about Michael now? 

He’s so adorable. Can I just point out SPOILER that Michael is Irish! Even Irish clones are better! Unlike in All My Sons, Colin catches a break and can conclude this show on a happier note, he’s a happy man attune to and accepting of similarities to the likes of apes and lettuces. He’s a purple shirt of sex wearing Maths teacher twenty years away from Netflix and Chill with his pointy eared wife (possibly called Rebecca in my head) and he’s at ease with life, fatherhood and clone-being. I love Michael. When he’s on stage “you can’t help feeling wonderful”.

Dean (Gloria) has a cheerful contender for my heart. Who saw that coming?

After that ridiculous wait we all had to endure while Colin was being all lazy and stuff we finally get some Colin vs Bad Dad on stage again!

PS. Did I mention that Michael is lovely? 

[skonkania]

— remember when

story: keeper of the sun and moon

pairing: kol foster x mc ( yasmine khalil )

word count: 1.2k

notes: i replayed the kotdan demo and im sad as fuck, so i made this

summary: do you remember when we felt like the only two alive?

Crumpled pages litter her bed, blue ink somehow staining her browned skin as it reminds her of past mistakes. Sunlight filtering in the dorm from a window where Astrid never shuts the curtains. Says the sun feels good against skin and that she will turn ghastly if she does not visit the outdoors more than just visits to lecture rooms.

La Vita Nuova sits on her chest, the torn novel rising and falling with every deep gust of air that invades her lungs. It is not an assignment which she is glad for but her brows furrow at the creased and crumpled pages of ballatas and canzones which are furiously scribbled with notes verging on nonsense and anguish. Dante’s love for Beatrice knows no bounds but how could a single word express how she felt for a boy who was worlds away.

Does a sonnet truly ever capture how ravishing someone is while the sunset dazzles against their skin?

Will extra offhandedly marginalized notes ever make clarity of any work they write that claims to express such profound thought?

A ballata and a canzone cannot make a man happy, right?

And her mind rushes into an unexpected place, Yasmine forgets what love really is. What tenderness is expressed with lingering stares and fingers awkwardly connect while knuckles fill the crevices between. She cannot deny that thoughts of him, vivacious and brimmed with laughter of unintended chaos, bring happiness.

She remembers feeling what love is for the first time. In the dorms, giggling and peeking through covers to see if Astrid hadn’t been woken up by their childlike behavior. Simpler times where Kol Foster smelled like cinnamon instead of chemicals and she could see his jaded eyes still so full of warmth.

He would’ve liked Dante then.

She would do anything to have him listen to her read again, wearing each other’s sweaters. Yasmine knows that the hand that binds fate is cruel and she is left with only senseless scribbles, La Vita Nuova in tune with her breathing.

Kol steals The Grapes of Wrath from her shelf once. Returns it at one point when she is studying sigils during her probation, she never was a stickler for rules even ones placed for her safety. He flushed at her presence and once handing the book, she internally commends him for such a quaint choice.

The last time she read Steinbeck was in high school. By far, not her favorite author, but something about his pick of this novel sets her at ease. Swiping something she barely noticed would be a terrible way to garner someone’s attention.

“Sorry about not asking you to borrow it.” his words splutter out and she isn’t exactly sure if he means the apology. Yet, Kol is as always genuine and there’s no reason to doubt him. “Just never—uhum—never saw you around.”

Until now.

“We live together, Kol.” her sentence is flourished off with a halfhearted chuckle which only seems to add humor to the whole petty situation. He’s always been a bit awkward around her, only seemingly content with himself when they’re alone.

She knows she’s charming, nothing narcissistic about being assured in your own qualities. Still, he seems to treat her like an enigma, something he’s still trying to figure out even with how open she is about everything.

He huffs through his nose and his right hand moves up to his chest. “Yeah, sorry about that, again. But I brought you an orange.”

Actually, it’s a tangerine but she does not bother to correct him on a small fluke.

It’s already peeled within his hand, the slices falling evenly in tranquil fashion. A close-lipped smile already gracing her features as she moves from the floor. Charcoal sigils left unattended and she grabs her book that been tapping against his thigh. Their fingers brush against one another, but she doesn’t flush or lightly shiver unlike him.

“I’m sorry, old sport, but I cannot allow such thievery.” she has stolen things as well, such as the nickname a man gives another for platonic affection under romantic subtext. Although, Kol never seems to read between the lines and she is grateful for that.

Lightly plucking a tangerine slice from his palm and relishing the sweet citrus bring pulped right among her molars. She likes tangy flavors dancing across her tongue but she’s never revealed that to him or anyone in their dorm if she thinks about it. He seems to be picking up on her habits and Yasmine doesn’t mind as much as long as it’s him.

He places half of the fruit into her hand, beaming in a way that leaves her breathless if only for a short moment. He always seemed to know how to do that. “Well, what do you want me to do to earn your forgiveness? Beg? Grovel?”

“Simpler than that,” her fingers lightly tremble as she tucks them under his chin, there is slight confusion on his face. Maybe this is a terrible mistake, ruin any chance she has of keeping such an easy-going facade. A stillness surrounding them as she finally looks Kol in the eyes, the same scared expression reflected.

But she still leans in, her lips barely grazing his and it still means holds all the feelings she’s pent up for so long. She doesn’t know if kissing Kol makes her anxious or the thought of inviting someone else into her own private world seems like such a big step for a boy she barely knows anything about. He is everything, nothing, something in between the lines of love and fear which is all she has ever known.

Maybe she’s scared of loving someone, completely and utterly having yourself at the mercy of someone who has your heart right in their pocket. Yasmine has only known petty arguments that lead to violence and passive-aggressive comments tossed throughout the day. The thought makes her sick, she refuses to live her life like that; he won’t break her heart like so many others before.

So she trusts him, shoulders a bit relaxed and mouth parted as she pulls away from him. Her brown eyes searching his face for any reaction, still a bit surprised and maybe a little regretful or that’s something she just added from the small amount of paranoia that remains.

His worried grimace transforms into a simper and her chest bursts with warmth as she returns her expression. “I think nearly making me go into cardiac arrest counts as something past simple.”

She laughs, resting her forehead against his before savoring another quick kiss. “Don’t push my generosity.”

“Promise,” he sighs and it didn’t mean anything at the moment. “just don’t make this harder on me.”

Yes, she remembers the moment she first fell in love. It was consuming every part of her soul, thoughts only being clouded with images of him in pure glee and growing unsure of her teasing. Love makes her insecure, love makes her unsure of what to do with her hands as she walks next to him, love makes her hold onto something that just seems so hopeless.

She won’t give up, she promised herself that before coming back to Magi. Yasmine wants to feel what love is like again.

[harryandmolly]

A Sunday in February

summary: a little pre-Grammys snacc for you, my friends. Shawn and Emma return. and because it’s me, it doesn’t come easy.

warnings: language, Georgie Being Georgie (TM)

WC: 1845

On a Sunday in February, Emma wakes up with a start. She awakes out of a dream, the kind you don’t remember as soon as your eyes open but you want to chase after it, pick it apart, separate it into little piles to analyze. It was an important dream.

She sits up slowly, careful of her aching muscles. She went a little too hard at Pilaticardio yesterday the same way she’s been doing everything at 150% lately, like putting even more effort into her daily life will somehow secure her the Grammys she’s nominated for.

Best Country Song. Best Country Album. Album of the Year.

She hasn’t even let herself think those phrases since she first heard them associated with her name. She’s not even superstitious. Or… she wasn’t.

There’s a creaking sound. Emma squints at the door. She beams.

+

“... and sometimes the rain has gotta fall.”

Emma felt that one. She doesn’t even look up at her producer Erin, just grips the music stand and leans back, taking a deep breath away from the mic.

“Perfect, Em. That was perfect,” says the voice in her headphones. She nods shakily. She knows.

Running her tongue along her lower lip, she slides her enormous phone out of her too-small pocket. No texts. With a cool bobbing of her head, she slides her phone back in her pocket.

“Should I go again?” she asks.

+

Georgie steps inside with a breakfast tray. She wastes no time clambering up onto Emma’s bed. The plate she bears is dotted with silver dollar pancakes surrounding a misshapen blob in the center. Emma lifts her eyebrows and before she can begin to speak, Georgie rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Ok, listen, so I bought this pancake form online, right? I ordered it from Etsy from this chick who can make, like, whatever your heart desires. So, obviously, I ordered the Grammys trophy, ya know, the little gold record player thingy? But when you try to make a pancake of that it comes out all… fucking weird.”

By the end of her sentence, Emma is cackling. She’s forgotten all about her dream. She slings an arm around her sister’s shoulders and picks the pancake up with her fingers, biting into what should be the base of the record player, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You’re the most beautiful moron I’ve ever seen,” Emma assures her through a bite of an otherwise very well made pancake. Georgie burrows into Emma’s side with a blushing chuckle.

“At least I have that going for me.”

+

Shawn’s hand slips off the cool metallic window frame. The heel of his hand butts into the window and he steps forward to right himself with a gasp. His already heaving chest feels like it’s cracking in half, so, Shawn supposes, this might as well happen.

He doubles over, planting his hands on his knees as he pants. He hangs his head, slams his eyes shut and tries to imagine her and what she’s doing right now.

It’s 4am in Los Angeles. Emma is sleeping for at least another two hours. She’s in that big bed all alone, probably curled up on her side like she does in the summer when she keeps her bedroom too cold. In the winter, she cranks up the heat, splays out like a starfish, sweating into the sheets. And she never learns.

Thinking of her calms him through this, this… whatever it is. Calling her, hearing her voice would end it completely.

But he can’t.

+

Emma sits up so the woman putting makeup on her neck can sweep down into her decolletage. The stereo is blasting “Kerosene” by Miranda Lambert so loud the makeup artists have given up on trying to yell over it -- they’ve developed their own sign language. Emma’s distracted, chewing on the inside of her lip while her butter blonde hair is blown out into big, fat curls -- less Dolly Parton, more Victoria’s Secret Angel. Her instructions this time, not Sandra’s.

Georgie and Angelique stand behind her, both on their phones, both bobbing their heads to the music at exactly the same time. Neither of them has noticed yet. Emma watches in her vanity mirror with a shimmering grin.

+

Emma heaves a sigh before the voicemail beeps. “Hi. I guess you’re asleep. That’s ok. I mean, it’s fine. I should really be asleep too. Just… wanted to hear your voice. You know how I get. I’m fine, though. Don’t freak out and feel like you have to call the second you wake up. Because I know how you can get too.

“It’s just… a lot. The Grammy thing. You’ve lived through this. And it’s fine, clearly you recovered. I’m sure I’m overthinking it. That’s what we do, though, right? We’re musicians. We… feel things. God, I’m not even making sense. Ok. Listen. I love you. You’re the best. Hopefully I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

“Bye, Taylor.”

+

As they wait for the limo to arrive, Emma’s focusing on remembering not to chew on her bottom lip because it’s painted with red lacquer more carefully than Michelangelo painted the Sistine fuckin’ Chapel. Her phone buzzes.

Hey little girl! Got your voicemail. So sorry I can’t call. I know where you are. I’ve been where you are. You think you’re on top of a mountain. After all, how could you not be at the top? Three Grammy noms on your first studio album as a solo country artist. How much higher can you climb? I got news for you, kid. You’re not on top of the mountain. You just found the first place with a kickass view. So what do you do? Stop and look around for a minute. The rest of the mountain isn’t going anywhere, it never has. It’s waiting for you. So take a look. It’s beautiful up there.

P.S. check the surrounding rocks for the initials T.A.S. carved in. We all gotta leave our mark somehow.

Love you back.

+

Shawn’s head buzzes against the window with the vibration of the moving car. Anna elbows him, reminds him he’s wearing foundation on his forehead because he’s been breaking out. Nerves, and all.

He nods and pulls his head back but continues staring out the window. His knee has been bouncing for at least a half hour as they wait in the line of cars crawling toward the red carpet.

He’s been on who knows how many red carpets by now. He’s never been more anxious than he is right now.

And he knows exactly why.

+

Georgie hums in Emma’s ear about holding her phone in her bag. Emma hands it off, nodding. All she’d be doing is scrolling through early red carpet arrivals, anyway. She’s not expecting to hear from anyone else.

She’s in a custom blood red Christian Siriano. It looks like someone poured liquid satin down her body and let it drop into a train of shimmering fabric with a slit up to her thigh. Sandra would’ve said it’s too old for her. Margaret would’ve said red’s not her color.

Emma pats a curl back into place and smirks down at her strappy red sandals and red clutch.

Emma chooses what is and isn’t her color now. Tonight, red’s her color.

Maybe gold too.

+

Shawn lifts a hand out of his pocket and draws his fingers up into a peace sign. His smirk lifts into a full smile, but it’s a little dull, half-hearted. He feels like he can’t walk two steps down the red carpet without glancing back down toward the arrivals area.

His heart beats a pounding rhythm in his ears, so loud it mercifully drowns out the crew of paps screaming “SHAWN! SHAWN!” for just a bite of his attention. He keeps one fidgeting hand in the pocket of his midnight black slacks and turns on the heel of his patent leather shoes.

If Emma saw them, she’d say they “shiiiiiiine like the top of the Chrysler building.” She quoted “Annie” whenever she could.

There’s a flurry of energy at arrivals. Shawn glances back.

+

Yasmin takes one more puff of powder to Emma’s face and another swipe of gloss across her lips. Georgie is talking Emma’s ear off, but she can barely hear it over the roar of camera snaps, fan cheers and event organizers barking at each other.

Angelique is talking, too. Emma just stares at her with her “I’m listening” face.

But she’s not. She’s not listening to Georgie, not listening to the pinging of her phone in her clutch, not listening to Yasmin as she reminds her what angles to hit and what jewelry she’s wearing.

The door to the limo opens. The sound gets louder. It doesn’t matter.

Everyone is looking inside. That, Emma’s used to. She’s even used to the noise. But she’s not used to this feeling, the one that’s got her hair standing on end and her shoulders tensed like she’s the slut in a horror movie and she’s first on the kill list.

She scoots to the end of the seat closest to the door and ignores that maybe it’s her Sandra-enforced training that’s getting her out of the limo and not instead ralphing into a plastic bag a block away outside an In-n-Out.

She puts a leg out first, then extends her hand to the greeter as she ducks her head to save her flossy curls.

Somehow, like rom-com queen Nora Ephron herself designed it this way, she knows it’s him as soon as she feels his hand take hers. She freezes and turns her head, eyes wide, lips parted.

Shawn, looking wild eyed and sweaty with a grin plastered on his beautiful, miraculous face, helps her out of the car amidst crazed, unrelenting fan shrieks, shutter snapping and paparazzi calls.

“SHAWN! SHAWN! EMMA! LOOK THIS WAY!”

Emma can’t feel her legs, but she’s standing on them with her hand in his, dumbfounded for all the world to see.

“How…?” she gasps, ribs shuddering with her aching lungs.

Shawn smirks in that warm, mischievous way he does. “C’mon, Em, you didn’t really think I’d miss this.”

Emma swallows a sob. She lifts her shaking free hand to her face as her lips quiver. Georgie smiles from inside the limo, swiping through the silenced notifications on her sister’s phone --

Shawn Mendes makes surprise appearance at 2020 Grammys! -- The Hollywood Reporter

*Le GASP!* Shawn Mendes Shocks the Grammy Red Carpet! -- Perez Hilton

Sometimes the rain’s gotta fall down, but not today! Shawn Mendes makes a surprise appearance on the red carpet to support his ladylove, 3x Grammy nominated country singer Emma Kingston! -- E! News

With a devious shake of her head (and a wink out the door at Shawn, her co-conspirator), Georgie slips out the other door and offers Angelique a sly high five.

Shawn cups his big hands around Emma’s face and doesn’t even bother to look her up and down before he says, “You look incredible.”

Emma sinks her fingers into Shawn’s forearms and whimpers into his lips before she can even finish getting out the words, “I love you.”

The cameras flash. The girls shriek. The heads turn.

The whole world watches, but they can’t see inside. That’s just for them.

Support me unending habit of writing one shots for series I’ve already finished and buy me a Ko-fi (link on my home page)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @stillinskislydia @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @accioarmenian @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint

[veroticker]

Hike hike, baby - Xavier Neal

You can buy the book on Amazon.

Summary (from Amazon)

Yasmine

Pause, take a breath, and glisten...

That's the better way to phrase Yasmine Brown sweating to death on her first hike, which is, obviously her punishment for being too cheap or too stubborn to buy the outdoor-loving woman she calls her best friend a stupid gift.

Most people are willing to accept her famous baked desserts as the perfect present. After all, she is an internationally renowned pastry chef.

Unfortunately, that trick doesn't work when your best friend is also your employee.

One little trek to make the birthday brat happy won't kill her, right?

Sutton

Halt, take a sip, oh no, she's slippin'...

One minute Sutton Thisleton is having a drink, and the next he's helping the most gorgeous woman he's ever crossed paths with out of the small hole she fell into.

Most people wouldn't see this as the right opportunity to grab a date. They also wouldn't wander from city to city because the wind seemed to shift them another direction one random afternoon.

Good thing he's never been most people.

One assisted hop back to the vixen's vehicle won't completely change his life, right?

What will happen when these two opposite worlds continuously collide?

Will they find a way to create a sweet, long lasting treat together, or will it end with one of them being told to take a permanent hike?

Blurb

“I’m melting.

I’m literally fucking melting.

I’m literally fucking melting like an ice cream cake some dumbass left unattended on the picnic table on the hottest day of the year, in the hottest place on this whole goddamn planet.

With the puddle my dark chocolate skin seems to be creating at the tips of my red tennis shoes, I can easily say: that wicked witch bitch has nothing on me.

Another sweat droplet cascades down the side of my face causing me to sneer.

This shit is unacceptable outside of the kitchen, except for, I guess, sex, but I haven’t had the latter in far too long to recall if sweating is an accolade to your impressive stamina or negative assessment to your out of shape nature.

My head hangs forward as I try to appease my burning lungs with air.

Okay, so I’m not the most fit person on the planet, obviously, but I wouldn’t call myself out of shape. Hustling around a commercial kitchen is hard work, especially when you own and operate the business. No, it’s not like jogging a stupid marathon or going cross country for charity, but it’s still vigorous. I’m still on my feet every day sweating my tits off. I still do more than the ten thousand steps or whatever it is the smart watch I got as a gift from my youngest sister tells me I should be doing for my size. And I damn sure am moving twice, if not three, times as much as the skinny Minnie birthday girl who talked me into doing this bullshit to celebrate her “special day”.

Why couldn’t we have gone out for a nice steak dinner and glass of wine?

Or a cheap steak dinner and shots?

Maybe even a tacky nightclub and wine coolers?

Where’s the alcohol that should always accompany birthday accommodations?

“You comin’?” Eddie Shaw, Sienna’s husband, asks from the bottom of the path I hadn’t realized they had already made it down.

I force my face his direction.

That fe-fi-foxy giant of a man is just as at home as she is in this wilderness. 6’5 and built like the lumberjack who is not afraid to chop down any tree in the forest. From the stories his wife tells, tree trunks aren’t the only hardwood he’s capable of swinging.

While I want that, dear God do I want that, I’m on the verge of thirty-five and willing to simply settle for a…thick stick being thrown my general direction.

Desperation has a fun way of dropping a woman’s standards.

Not that I need a man in my life.

It’d just be nice to have someone to share experiences with.

Call to vent to when my best friends, who are also my employees, are frustrating the shit out of me.

Have crawl between my legs at night instead of the neon red BOB I upgraded myself to for Christmas.

Perhaps this year, I’ll get one of those models that comes with an earpiece so you can listen to a sexy male — who sounds like Idris Elba — talk dirty to you.

Swear on my favorite oven that if those exist, I will get one.

“I don’t think she heard me,” Eddie innocently states to his wife.

“She heard you.” Her swift correction is followed by her brushing a long strand of her brown hair away from her face. “She’s just not done mentally cursing me out for making her do this.”

I point her direction before promptly tapping the tip of my nose.

His deep laugh freely echoes across the lush foliage, and the love of his life can’t help but grin.

Ignoring the second pang of jealousy is hard.

It’s not like their marriage is perfect.

It’s not like neither have flaws.

Hell, on this hike alone, they’ve gotten into at least three arguments…only one of which I am convinced was in good spirits.

But they still have…each other.

They’ve still managed to find someone who compliments their souls…who they want involved in all aspects of their lives…whose bullshit they willingly tolerate…

It’s a beautiful relationship to have.

Unfortunately, for me, as the years tick on by, it’s becoming more and more apparent I’m the only person in my little world who has an open position no one is interested in filling. We’re not just talking about unwilling to grab an application. No. We’re talking cross to the other side of the street to avoid even making eye contact with the store.

Sometimes I get the feeling I’m gonna be married to my macaroons forever.”

(review under the cut)

Review

(audiobook) In one word, delightful! It was funny, sweet, sexy, insightful, full of body positivity. The narrators were both excellent.

You get a black tall curvy girl who’s full of insecurity but lives her dreams with a pastry shop, and a blond demi-god who sees beauty in everything and can’t stay in one place forever because he wants to visit the world. And you get the beautiful story of how they find each other and they learn to compromise to make their relationship work.

It’s a mature story. The major problems they encounter come from themselves, and they just have to grow up and change their way of seeing things. All of that with a lot of humor and a touch of sexy.

I also enjoyed the author’s way with words--I read some words that I’m not used seeing in romance novels (or any novel, actually). It’s both witty and poetic. I really loved some of her sentences.

I waited a long time to hear/listen to this one, and I wasn’t disappointed.

Quickie

Series: standalone

Hashtags: #romcom #opposites attract #interracial romance #curvy girl #instalove

Triggers: suggestion of underage sex (in the past)

Main couple: Yasmine Brown & Sutton Thistleton

Hotness: 5/5

Romance: 5/5

+ Sutton’s free spirit and his way of seeing the world

- some side characters were more annoying than interesting

Stalker mode

You can suscribe to Xavier Neal’s newsletter on her website.

You can also follow her on Facebook.

[brightly-painted-canvas]

I’m so happy you’re writing again! Your fics are so cute and happy! For a new prompt, maybe something about Rami and Joe meeting each other’s families for the first time?

Thank you for your kind words, anon! It’s good to be back ;DHere’s a fill for your request, even though I twisted it a bit and it became a ‘their families meeting Rami and Joe’ LOL hope you don’t mind!This, as you may notice, doesn’t follow a specific timeline as the logical order of meetings is mixed up.I also don’t know much about some members of Rami and Joe’s families but as I said before, I won’t dig too deep into their private lives just for fiction purpose, it doesn’t sound nice. I’m keeping my knowledge Imdb/Wikipedia-based and that’s enough :)

This is the One - Mazlek

Sami meets Joe for the first time after Rami gets back from Australia and one day decides to hold a small party at their parents’ house.

Some other actors from The Pacific are invited, but Sami is mostly interested in meeting Joe Mazzello, not only because he has been a Jurassic Park enthusiast since forever and really wants to get his old VHS signed (shut up Rami, what’s the point of you becoming an actor if I can’t get autographs from famous people you work with!?), but also because he feels that something is going on between his twin brother and that kid and he has to investigate.

Most importantly, if his intuitions are right (they always are, when Rami is concerned) and his brother is getting romantically involved with his (admittedly cute) co-star, he needs to take a proper look at this Joe, analyse him and figure out if he passes the ‘Twin Test’ and he can allow this relationship.You know, standard brotherhood administration.

So he steps outside his parents’ house while Rami finishes the preparation for the party and waits for this young fella to show up, ready to snatch him away before Rami can intervene and prevent him for having ‘just a friendly chat’ before lunch (a conversation that could be considered friendly if he hadn’t been used by now to add death threats at the end of it. But to be fair, it had been working out greatly in the past, scaring off some real douchebag trying to date his brother for not nice reasons).

A black car stops right in front of the house at some point and out of it comes a nervous-looking redhead holding a crate of what look like bottles of wine.

Sami patiently waits for him to climb the few steps from the lane to the house when he notices the guy tripping and losing his grip on the crate, that falls on the ground with a horrendous loud sound of broken glass.

“Fuck!” is Joe’s desperate comment, as he rushes to pick up the box and ascertain the damage.

One bottle is shattered and leaking read wine all over the porch’s floor, but the others look intact, except for one which has its neck cut abruptly in half, although the content of the bottle is still miraculously inside.

Sami gets closer to help him and that is the moment when Joe notices him and does a double take, his mind for sure going from ‘who’s there’ to ‘fuck Rami saw me being a clumsy idiot’ to ‘wait this is not Rami’ and finally to ‘ah the famous twin, at last’.

“So, this is a goner,” he sighs, carefully picking up the broken pieces of the lost bottle: “But this one we can keep for ourselves.” he says, extracting the damaged bottle from the box and lifting his gaze to smile mischievously at Sami, who smiles back.

“You drink the first half, I’ll take the second.” he says back and he really doesn’t know why he’s already acting so chummy with this Joe kid, but his smile is infectious and his clumsiness is endearing and he suddenly understands why Rami seems so smitten with him.

Joe laughs at Sami’s suggestion and nods: “I’m gonna need it if I’m meeting the rest of the family as well.” he comments.

“Oh no, just me today.” shrugs Sami: “And I’m the most dangerous one so you are really, really lucky.” he adds, just to have a bit of fun with him.

Joe gulps and nods again and Sami thinks he has passed the Test.

He’s a good one he thinks, helping Joe getting up and calling for his twin brother to come help them clean up.

John meets Rami for the first time when he’s been ringing the doorbell to Joe’s apartment for minutes and he’s about to give up, but then someone opens the door and that someone isn’t his brother.

“Oh. Hi.” he stutters, confused.

The stranger looks tired and sleepy and like he’s been woken up by John’s insistent ringing but he still smiles apologetically and asks: “Joe is gone grocery shopping. Do you wanna come in?” and John says ‘yes’ and steps inside looking around like he’s never been before.

Joe’s house looks the same and it’s clear that this young man is not just a friend crashing on his brother’s couch because said couch is tidy and empty of blankets while the stranger is still in his pajamas.

“Do you want coffee? I should make some.” asks suddenly the guy and John nods, lost in the paradox of being treated as a guest by someone he doesn’t know in his very own brother’s house.

The guy smiles and extend his hand and says: “I’m Rami, by the way. You must be John?” and John’s mind suddenly gets swallowed into a very specific memory of a phone call some days prior in which Joe was talking about some fellow actor staying over for a few weeks and so he goes: “Ah. Yeah, that’s me. So you’ve been…” but for some reason doesn’t end the sentence.

“Dating your brother, yes.” concludes for him Rami and John’s mind gets blown away for the third time in the span of a few minutes.

That’s exactly when Joe decides to get home. As he opens the door and sees the both of them standing between the living room and the kitchen he smiles and exclaims: “You’ve meet my brother!” and then to John: “You’ve meet Rami!”.

“We did meet.” smiles Rami and he looks happy to see Joe, which seems so strange to John considering they’ve probably been living together (and oh my God don’t think about other things they may have been doing together in this very house) for the past few days.

But then he gets distracted by Joe hugging him and asking him to stay for a late breakfast and they sit on the couch chatting about this and that until Rami is serving them coffee and toasts. Joe looks horrified by having left his friend (boyfriend? Partner? Lover?) do all the work in the kitchen but Rami just shrugs and tells him to keep catching up with his brother and gracefully leaves them alone.

John catches Joe’s lingering gaze as Rami disappears into Joe’s bedroom to get changed and he’s stunned by the look of utter love and adoration he sees in his brother’s eyes.

He must be a good one he thinks, still bewildered.

Yasmine meets Joe for the first time when she gets a text from her mom that says Rami hasn’t been feeling well for a few days and asks her to stop by her brothers’ flat to check on him.

The ride from the hospital to the apartment is not a long one and she’s relieved she still has the keys to the front door in her bag, so she can step inside without bothering his sick brother.

When she gets into the living room she’s surprised to see two people sleeping on the couch as the television is transmitting the looped music of a neglected dvd’s main menu.

Rami is tucked under the chin of a redheaded man, sprawled on top of him and almost completely hidden under a blanket, slow breath coming out in difficult puffs from his congested nose.

The other guy seems to be sleeping more relaxedly, holding Rami close with their legs entangled and one arm slung around Rami’s shoulders, protectively.

Yasmine stills and take a proper look at them and, after the initial shock, she smiles at the sight.

She soon will be needing to wake them up to check on Rami’s health, but for a moment she just waits, busying herself with quietly turning the tv off and tidying up the coffee table in front of it, full of half empty cups of tea and used tissues.

She doesn’t know when and how Joe (because this must be The Joe) managed to arrive before she did to take care of Rami, but she’s glad he’s here for her brother.

I hope this is the one she thinks, getting closer to gently shake Rami’s shoulder and wait for him to wake up and explain his symptoms to his doctor sister.

Mary meets Rami for the first time when she asks Joe to babysit the kids but when she meets him at their favourite park he’s with someone else.

The guy politely introduces himself as Rami and Mary thinks ‘oh, right’ as he looks amusedly at Joe’s nephews already playing on the park’s swings.

“Will you be fine with keeping them for a few hours?” she asks Joe and he nods confidently: “Yeah, we’re good. Rami is exceptional with kids, he’s been so excited to meet them he couldn’t sleep.” he confesses with an amused look as they witness Mary’s younger son already confident enough to ask Rami for a push to his swing.

“Wow, Joe! Don’t let this one run away, he seems like a catch!” she jokes lightly.

“Yeah.” is the sincere reply that catches her off guard. Like Joe knows, like he has thought about this already and he came to the same conclusion, but in complete seriousness.

“You got it bad, uh?” she asks, quieter this time.

“So bad.” he replies in a whisper, earnestly.

This feels like the one she thinks, as she says bye to the boys (all four of them) and leaves them having their fun.

Nelly and Virginia meet their son’s significant others the same day they meet each other, at the The Pacific’s premiere. It’s not the first Hollywood event they attend of course, but it’s a big premiere with a red carpet to walk and both Joe and Rami are swept right and left for photo calls and interviews.

As guests and mothers of two of the stars of the show, they hold their distance from the commotion but keep a keen eye on their boys, striding with confidence on the carpet, smiling at the cameras, shaking hands, looking very happy.

And as they catch Joe and Rami finding each other’s eyes amid the crowd, smiling secretly at each other and sharing a silent conversation with just one look, they both understand what that means.

The two mothers just give each other a knowing look and nod, without a need for words.

At some point Rami and Joe excuses themselves with the interviewers to get near them, introduce one another with a ‘mom this is Joe’ and a ‘here’s Rami’. Virginia smiles and hugs Rami close the same way Nelly does with Joe.

This is the One they think of each other’s son, and they’re sure about it.