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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

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Steve Rogers x Reader: The Nutcracker(AU) Part 4- Final Part

(Warning, this is kind of long)

You noticed as the four of you wandered the island, it began to grow warmer. It wasn’t a major change in the beginning, but after a while you were able to shed your coat.

“Anyone else feel it getting warmer?” you called. The group had split up to explore. You saw Tony a little ways away give a shrug.

“It hasn’t been this warm anywhere in the kingdom since the Mouse King took over,” he called back. “For once, I have no explanation.”

“It’s the Sugarplum Princess,” Steve called from the other side of a ruin. “She’s on the move.”

“Oh my goodness, this is turning into Narnia,” you muttered under your breath. Still, you started to feel something. Something was calling you, beckoning you further into the island. With a final glance at your comrades, you started heading in that direction. However, you halted at the sight of a figure wandering in what looked like it used to be a courtyard. It looked like Thor from the Marvel movies. It was, sort of. He was wearing princely garb similar to Steve’s, but in his usual gray and red colors.

“Hello?” he called, noticing you. “Who goes there?”

“Hi,” you greeted, noticing him raise his hammer in an attack stance. “I’m ____________. I’m a friend, not a foe.”

“Is that so?” he gazed at you seriously. “How do I know that you are not a follower of the Mouse King?”

Huh. Good question. How do you prove something like that to a stranger? You did the only thing you could think of in that moment.

“Steeeve?” you called over your shoulder. “Natasha? Tony?”

The three of them appeared momentarily.

“Your highness,” Steve greeted with a smile when he saw the man in front of you. “It has been far too long.”

Thor’s shoulders relaxed as he lowered his attack stance. “Prince Steve Rogers!” he boomed with a jolly grin. The two clasped their hands on each other’s forearms in a warrior-like sort of greeting. Then, Thor called over his shoulder, “Bruce! Come hither! It is Prince Rogers!”

Bruce Banner poked his head around a ruin, looking nervous at first before he noticed Steve. “Oh, it’s the prince!” He approached, pushing his glasses up his nose, looking quite overwhelmed. “How’s it going? You guys notice it got warmer here? It’s been a long time since it was this warm. You look different, Steve. Are…are you a nutcracker?”

“Good to see you again, Banner,” Nat spoke up.

“Oh, hi, Natasha. You look well.”

“As do you.”

“Bruce,” Tony greeted, going in for a bro-hug. “What on earth are you doing out here?”

“We have come in search of the Sugarplum Princess,” Thor stated. “Is that why you all are here?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve nodded. “This is ____________. She is a victim of the Mouse King’s crazy tricks too. I brought her here in hopes that the Sugarplum Princess can change her back to her normal size, turn me back from a nutcracker, and even restore the kingdom.”

“That’s a tall order,” Bruce said. “But legend says she could do it.”

“That’s if we even find her,” Tony, ever the skeptic, pointed out. “It did get warmer here all of a sudden, but I don’t see any signs or arrows pointing us in the right direction.”

“Well….” You interjected quietly, and everyone looked at you, making you feel a little overwhelmed at seeing so many fictional heroes in one place. “I’ve been getting this weird feeling, like something’s calling me. It was leading me that way before I came upon Thor.”

“Then we need to go. Lead the way, ____________,” Steve said.

“Just like that?” Tony protested. “Could be last night’s dinner calling her, for all we know. Shouldn’t we think this through?”

“You said it yourself,” Nat retorted. “We don’t have anything else to go on. ___________ says something’s calling her, and I believe her.”

“I agree,” Thor said. “Banner and I have been here for some time now, and we found nothing until you all arrived.”

Tony held his hands up. “Alright, alright. Good point. Go ahead, _____________.”

You nodded and began heading in the direction that feeling led you to. Meanwhile, you found out that Thor in this story was the prince of a neighboring kingdom and Steve’s good friend. Bruce had been another scientist in the land, and due to an accident, he had the ability to turn into the Hulk- just like Bruce in the movies. The Hulk was a member of the royal guard and would only be called upon in the direst situations.

You couldn’t help but notice Steve remained at your side the entire walk across the ruins. Even as he conversed with others from time to time, he didn’t leave you for a second.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he assured you. “I’m just trying to be ready for whatever it is we find.”

“Do not worry, Steve,” Thor nudged him. “There are many great warriors here. If we must fight, there is no other group I’d rather be with!”

“I agree,” Nat said. “We’d make a pretty good team in battle.”

“It’s a good thing you think so, Nat, because it looks like we’re going to have to test that theory,” Bruce said. All of you looked ahead to see the Mouse King and his soldiers surrounding a glowing light in the center of what looked like it used to be a vast room in the palace.

“How did he get here?” you asked, drawing closer to your nutcracker.

“Not sure,” Tony replied. “He must have some transport that we didn’t know about.”

“Greetings!” the Mouse King called, raising his scepter. “Why, don’t you all look so good together? Ah, brother, it’s been a while.”

“Stop this madness,” Thor told him. “Step away from that glowing orb. Come home to our palace and give up this poisonous dream.”

“I’m afraid I enjoy ruling far too much,” the Mouse King smirked. “If I go back to our little kingdom, I have no chance at being a king.”

“He’s not standing down,” Steve said. “If a fight is what he wants, it’s a fight he’s going to get.”

Natasha and Steve both got into fighting stances on either side of you. Tony did something to his watch, and a steam punk Ironman suit generated from it to envelop him. He lowered into an attack stance while Bruce morphed into the Hulk beside him. Thor raised his hammer.

“____________,” Steve said in a low voice that you barely heard.

“Yes?”

“We’re going to distract the Mouse King and his minions. I need you to find a way to that orb. Can you do that for me?”

You took a deep breath. “Should be a walk in the park, Prince Rogers.”

He gave you a sideways glance and chuckled. “Be safe. I’ll cover you.”

“You be safe as well. And thanks.”

Then, Steve raised his voice to shout at the Mouse King. “We’re here to avenge the kingdom. We are-”

“The Avengers,” you whispered.

“The Avengers!” Steve called. Then, he grabbed his shield from his back. “Avengers, assemble!”

It was an interesting battle. Despite the seriousness of the situation, you were fangirling big time. Steve was taking down chitauri left and right with his shield. Tony was blasting the minions in his suit. Natasha was doing her awesome Black Widow thing, defeating enemies swiftly and with precision. Thor wielded his hammer and even shocked some chitauri at one point. Hulk, well…he smashed.

You managed to slip past the fight and head for the orb. The Mouse King even joined the fight, facing off with Steve himself. This gave you the perfect opportunity to approach the glowing object and see what would happen. This was what had been calling you. You extended a hand, feeling it grow warm as you reached out to touch the orb.

“Very clever,” you heard Loki’s voice behind you. “But you see, this orb is the key to my victory. Do you think I’d leave it unguarded?”

He had used his scepter to create a double of himself to fight Steve, but the real Mouse King had been waiting by the orb, blending in with the scenery with his illusion tricks. He raised the scepter, and his double disappeared.

“No!” Steve called. “___________, get back!”

In a moment of quick-thinking, you snatched up the orb before Mouse-Loki brought the scepter down on you. The glowing brightened into a flash of light, and the warmth spread from your hand throughout your body. A blast of energy left your other hand, sending the corrupt king flying.

“_____________!” Steve came running over as you fell to the ground. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you replied, staring straight ahead in shock. Then, you laughed. “Did you see that?” You held the orb against your side as you rose to your feet. The light in it had subsided to a soft glow, but something else was happening. Your clothes began to shimmer.

“What’s happening?” Nat asked, hurrying over. The chitauri had been defeated; save for a few that seemed stunned as they watched what was taking place.

“I’m not sure,” Steve murmured.

You were enveloped in the glow entirely until you didn’t see around you. Moments passed until the light faded and you were met with everyone’s surprised looks.

Hulk had reverted back to Bruce, fortunately clothed. He adjusted his glasses and smiled. “It’s ____________. She’s the Sugarplum princess.”

You glanced down to see your outfit had changed. It was a shimmering dress of (favorite color) that flowed to the crystal shoes on your feet. The long sleeves were sheer and sparkling, and the glowing orb had become a large, singular pearl on a necklace draped around your neck.

“Well, this is a game-changer,” Tony said in his suit.

“I’m-?” You paused, unable to comprehend the situation. “I’m the Sugarplum princess? How?”

“It all makes sense,” Steve said in awe. “I left the Kingdom in search of a solution, and I found you.”

“But…” You gave a humorless laugh. “I’m no princess. I’m just ____________.”

Natasha walked to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder. A soft smile played on her lips. “Sometimes it’s hard for us to realize how special we are.”

“And princess or not, you’re special,” Steve added.

“Well, thank you.”

“I really hate to interrupt this touching moment,” Tony interjected. “But what are we going to do with the Mouse King, here?”

Thor cracked his knuckles, jaw set. “Do not fear, I will handle this.” The Mouse King’s eyes widened from his spot where he lay pitifully in the snow. Thor marched up to his brother, but you hurried forward and stood between them.

“Wait, no. I think I know what to do.” You offered a smile and turned around to face the Mouse King. Closing your eyes, you focused on the pearl’s energy and saw the light flash in front of your eyelids. You looked to see the Mouse King’s fur giving way to pale skin.

“No!” He snarled, writhing in the snow. “You can’t get rid of me! How dare you?”

Soon, it was Loki sitting in the snow in green and gold princely garb. His eyes were wide from the transformation, looking totally different from the twisted creature he was. He looked at his human hands and actually smiled, the expression making his eyes crinkle with genuine happiness.

“Princess,” he said, standing to his feet. The smile never left his face. “My greed and lust for power cursed me. The Mouse King took over until I was almost gone, but you’ve brought me back.” He got down on one knee, bowing his head in respect. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Then, you turned to gaze at the ruins around you, feeling a pull to restore this palace to what it was before. “Looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

- - - -

The ballroom looked magical. Lights were strung across the ceiling and along the walls to give the room an elegant shine. An orchestra played music that made your heart swell as you watched your friends on the dance floor. Bruce twirled Natasha, Tony dipped Pepper, and you even saw Coulson on the scene with Maria Hill. The ladies wore stunning dresses, and the gentleman looked handsome in their suits. Loki and Thor stood off to the side, looking rather dashing in their princely uniforms even as they talked idly. Steve, the nutcracker, was nowhere to be found. For whatever reason, you hadn’t been able to change him back. With that being said, you refused to return to your normal size and go home until he was back to normal.

“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” a deep voice said beside you.

“I don’t know, Fury.” You bit your lip. “I think he’s angry with me.”

He shifted and gave you an incredulous stare.

You raised a brow. “What?”

“You really think Prince Steve Rogers is mad at the young woman who defeated the Mouse King and brought order back to the kingdom?”

“Well, he’s still a nutcracker, and I have no idea why.” You sighed, glancing down at the pearl necklace. “I wish there was some sort of manual for this thing.”

Fury shrugged. “How did you go about fixing the castle and turning the Mouse King back into Loki?”

“I don’t know. It was just instinct.”

“Then instinct will tell you when the time is right.”

As you soaked in his words, someone tapped your shoulder. You turned around to see none other than Prince Steve the nutcracker. He extended his wooden hand, smiling, and you took it.

“May I have this dance?”

“Of course you may,” you said.

Your cheeks grew warm as the crowd parted to make room for you and Steve to dance in the center. The next song began, and you giggled as Steve twirled you in a circle. The faces around you began to fade until it felt like it was just you and him. Your feelings had definitely grown over the course of the journey. You saw beyond his appearance to the man inside with a kind heart. If only you knew how to change him back…

Suddenly, the pearl necklace began to glow. You paused, glancing down at it and then back up to meet Steve’s surprised expression.

“Prince Steve,” Natasha called.

He began to change.

“What’s happening?” you asked, and he gave you a joking smile.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” The nutcracker was surrounded in the light until he was no more. In his place stood Steve Rogers in his princely garb and not made of wood. His eyes crinkled at the edges from the smile on his face as he gazed at you. “_____________, I’m me again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as he stepped forward and took your hand in his. It was soft and warm, and you ran your thumb over his knuckles while reaching up with your other hand to cup his cheek.

“I have no idea how I did that,” you murmured.

“Maybe it was the dance?” The two of you shared a quiet laugh, and he leaned his forehead against yours. The small act took your breath away as you gazed into his blue eyes that glistened in the lights. He let out a shaky breath and whispered. “I want to try something.”

Goosebumps bloomed along your skin at his words. “Yes?”

“I want to…”

“Kiss me?” you offered.

He pulled away slightly and nodded. “Is that okay?”

“Definitely okay.” You smiled, and he leaned in to brush his lips against yours lightly. You responded quickly by resting your hand on his shoulder and returning the feathery kiss.

Applause broke out in the dance hall, and you ducked your head in embarrassment at the realization that you still were surrounded by his subjects. Natasha was giving you a thumbs-up, and Bruce smiled happily and clapped. Tony was rolling his eyes, but smiling.

Everything felt right.

And then you woke up.

You sat up on the couch, breathing out a sigh. You had returned your grandparents’ house, and the fire had burned out in the fireplace. Feeling rather chilly, you reached over for the blanket that was kicked onto the floor and pulled it over your form. All the while, you wondered how you’d gotten back. Their old clock struck eight in the morning.

Had it been a dream? You wiped the tears that threatened to fall. It had to have been a dream- a wild one with Avengers and nutcrackers and mouse kings. Your Prince Steve wasn’t really there.

Prince Steve.

The nutcracker.

Your gaze darted to the floor in search of any sign of the gift from Aunt Lily. You lifted the blanket and sat up, running your hand along the cushions in case he was trapped in between them. There was no sign of him. Perhaps your brother knew. He had already taken him without permission once before.

“Good morning, ____________!” the feminine voice cut through your thoughts, and you jumped.

“Oh, good morning, Aunt Lily.” You hadn’t even heard her come down the stairs. “How are you?”

“Excited!” she practically squealed. “I just got a call from my friend, Barbara. She’s stopping by later, and she’s bringing her nephew. He’s young, handsome, and is related to royalty in Europe.” She gave you a nudge and a pointed look.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Little did you know, you’d be absolutely captivated by the man. It was late in the afternoon, and you were doing a more thorough search for your nutcracker in the living room, lifting couch cushions and checking under the coffee table. Several voices could be heard in the other room, and Aunt Lily’s rose above the others.

“Oh, yes! You must meet my niece, _____________!”

You sighed, arranging the couch cushions in their rightful places, and stood up straight when your Aunt Lily poked her head in.

“There she is! Come, darling, meet my good friend, Barbara, and her nephew.”

“Okay,” you said, managing a small smile. Meeting new people could be intimidating enough, let alone people who were related to royalty.

When you rounded the corner, two bright blue eyes captured your gaze to the point where you couldn’t look away. They were very familiar eyes, but yet distant like you’d seen them in a dream. The person belonging to those eyes extended a hand in greeting. Your hand was warmed by his, and that’s when it clicked.

But with so many of your relatives looking at you, you just smiled. “Nice to see you. I’m ___________.”

“I know,” he said, and when he got a curious look from you, he corrected, “oh, I mean, your aunt has told us a lot about you.”

“Hopefully nothing embarrassing.”

“Certainly not. She speaks very highly of you.”

“Aw, they’ll get along well,” the woman you presumed to be Barbara gushed, and she turned to speak with Aunt Lily.

When all eyes were off you, you looked at the blonde and mustered a quiet, “Prince Steve?”

He looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. “Hello, Princess ___________. I missed you.”

#avengers #the avengers #avengers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers reader insert #captain america reader insert #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #avengers imagine

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eagle-raider · 3 years

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Mon Roi

AN: this is an original fiction I wrote some time ago. Not related to my current WIP, this is just the tale of a woman trapped in a relationship with a narcissistic man. It’s... kind of dark? I guess.

Dazzled.

It didn’t start right away. It never does.

Nineteen, naïve and in love.

Isis is floating on cloud nine, humming along to the music as she cleans the counter. If she plays it right, she might get off a little earlier, which means she can drop by her apartment to have a quick shower before meeting with Thomas.

“Ew, gross!” Kowalski's voice sounds from the kitchen. His head pops up next to the threshold. “Someone didn’t throw the food in the bin before putting the plates to wash,” he grimaces in disgust. “Just had a hand full of a gooey, wet cheesecake.”

Isis looks at him and snorts. “Wear gloves next time.”

He sticks his tongue out, disappears into the kitchen before coming back a second later to give her a long, suspicious look. There’s a grin on his lips. “He’s coming back, isn’t he?”

She can’t’ help it, she is beaming. “Already here. I let him sleep it off,” jet-lag is a bitch, they all knew it.

“So caring,” Kowalski coos. He pauses for a while, observing her frantic cleaning and shakes his head. “Leave, I’ll take care of this.”

Isis stops with the cloth halfway in the air. “It’s okay…”

“Leave, I’m telling you,” he makes wide gestures with his hand. “You’re… vibrating all over the place. It’s distracting. Just go. I will deal with it.”

“You sure?” man, he really was the best.

“Yeesss,” he draws the word out, catching her with a grunt when she jumps in his arms.

“Thank you, love you. Love you. Love you,” she says, dropping a kiss on his cheeks at each sentence.

Isis jumps off Kowalski, dashing to the lockers, as she throws her apron away.

“Hey, don’t forget we’re practicing for the chamber thing tomorrow,” he calls when she is already halfway outside. Isis hums and he gives her a look. “Tomorrow morning. You know how she gets. Don’t want to have her up my ass again.”

She grins despite herself. “I thought you liked having things up y—”

“Don’t,” his hand rises up to stop her. “Finish this sentence, or I swear to God you’ll be sleeping in the streets.”

Isis shrugs it off. He stares again and she sighs. “Yes, dad. I will be there.”

“Nine. Sharp.”

Nine on a Sunday, such heresy. “Yeesss. Nine, sharp,” she makes a sign that says scout’s honor, for good measure.

Satisfied, Kowalski nods. “I will get you breakfast.”

She smiles. He knows her all too well; bribe her with freshly baked pains au chocolat and croissants and Isis would follow to the Moon and back.

She leaves, the bell tingling her departure like a warning.

Isis remembered, she really did, asked Thomas to please let her set the alarm at seven thirty (eight at the latest), because she had a rehearsal and it's very important, but his kisses are distracting, and he keeps grabbing her hand in his. The alarm ends up forgotten.

She wakes up at ten twenty to the smell of pancakes and coffee.

When she barges in for practice, Kowalski’s silence weights on her like a ton of bricks.

The bag of cold croissants sits at her place, idle.

Taking control

Little things. Small things. Not so innocuous things.

He is upset and she doesn’t know why. He is upset and she can’t figure it out. “What’s wrong?”

Thomas is glaring at the TV, scratching his cheek slowly. “Nothing,” he says in a breath.

Something.

Isis isn’t a quitter, he was deflecting, she knows. She would get to the bottom of it. “Something is obviously wrong, you look upset,” she lets it hang for a second. “Is it something I did?”

A deeper sigh, another pregnant pause, full of accusations.

It’s definitely something you did.

He turns his head, looks at her, to the side, and back at her again. Thinking. Then: “You kind of made fun of me earlier. I didn’t like it, is all,” even voice, stating facts.

“Oh.”

Dinner, with Chloé, Kowalski and a few other friends. They were celebrating the end of a particularly long and excruciating music project. Laughs, beers, greasy food and nothing but the burble of the Seine as background noise. Perfect. Or so she thought.

Isis frowns. She did poke fun at him, it’s true. Gently, always gentle. Called him a walking American cliché at some point, but she doesn’t remember when exactly. “Okay,” she smiles, a bit awkward, a bit sheepish. It was her fault. “I’m sorry,” she says, index and middle fingers raised in solemnity. “Won’t happen again, Scout’s honor.”

He smiles. Such a lovely smile. She likes it. She lives for it.

When Chloé starts to look at him funny, she tells her to knock it off.

Nineteen, naïve and in love.

Closing in on her

Twenty, losing her identity.

Isis had practically moved in at this point. It’s closer to her work, he says. There’s plenty of space, he says. She’s ecstatic. She still sees Chloé and Kowalski at the conservatory (when Thomas is not monopolizing her attention) or at work. It’s not the same, she knows, and they know. Kowalski gets this look sometimes, like he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut and sighs instead, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Chloé is less accommodating. They argue (they never did), she hints at things and Isis doesn’t like how she makes it sound.

Like she’s giving up a part of herself. All of it, Chloé says, in her eyes there’s a mix of frustration and worry (“How can you be so blind?”)

Isis is okay. (“What the hell is your problem, Chlo?”)

She’s not a puppet.

Not a puppet.

Not his puppet.

…

The months blur together.

He frowns and her heart is racing again. Isis does a mental check-list of everything, out of habit, just in case. Nothing is out of place, she didn’t forget anything. Everything is fine. Then, why is he frowning at her?

Thomas approaches her. He relishes in her doubts. Control. His fingers running through her hair slowly. “You should put it up, it would look nicer. Or just straighten it from time to time,” he’s smiling.

Just a suggestion. An option.

Later, when she does it, his eyes twinkle and he smiles again. He is lovely like that. When he takes her to bed that night, he tells her how beautiful he thinks she looks. He takes locks of hair in his fist, twirls them around with his fingers, looks at her like she is the most beautiful canvas in the world.

After that, there are… other things. Clothes, shoes, makeup. Exactly the way he wants, exactly as he asks. Never imposing anything, always suggesting. And that smile, that smile!

Isis forgets herself for that smile, because that’s how she loves. It’s full on, or nothing at all, there’s no in-between.

“We made it!” she barges in his—their place one day. “We’re going on tour!” she almost shouts, all crazy energy and vibrating with joy. His glare is fleeting, but it’s there. Isis hunches over herself and apologizes with a sheepish smile.

He grins, opening his arms wide for her to jump into them. And she does exactly that.

…

Obeying him because that’s what she was good at. Like a good puppet.

“Did you pick up the scores for Friday’s rehearsal?”

It was Monday. They still had time.

Of course, she didn’t. They both knew it. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

A sigh, a look. A teacher scolding a difficult pupil. “You always put things back to the following day.”

No, she wanted to say. No, she wanted to scream. Didn’t he see everything she had done already? Didn’t he notice? The hair, the clothes and the makeup? Wasn’t it good enough?

Wasn’t she good enough?

...

The first time his eyes stray to Manon, she doesn’t notice. Doesn’t think much of it the second time. The third, she wants to call him out, but he looks back and his eyes say don’t you dare.

Isis keeps her mouth shut. Like a puppet.

Crumbling

Isis is going crazy. She’s up, she’s down, she’s sideways with stress eating at her brain. The new conductor of Paris’s Philarmonie just fired half of his orchestra. No question asked, pack your bags and get out. Rumor has it he was out for blood.

Rumor has it he might consider handpicking a few of them. Isis wants to believe it, but she doesn’t let hope cloud her judgement. She knew they had struck big with the tour months ago, knew he had noticed them. This could be the chance of a lifetime.

“You’re distracted,” Isis flinches. His voice is grating (it never was before).

It’s like he is trying to drill her down when he stares at her like that.

“Something on your mind?” Thomas prompts.

What are you hiding is what she hears. There’s a lump in her throat, and it crawls down all the way to her stomach, it knots, and knots until she feels like she can’t breathe.

I need to breathe.

But he’s chocking her with his words, with his eyes looking at her like that, he’s smoldering her with his presence. And. She. Can. Not. Breathe.

Her hand is flat on his chest, pushing him away a little. She wants to take it back but he grabs it, keeps it in trapped under his own. Keeps (forces) her with him. Isis can’t fight, she doesn’t have it in her anymore.

She spills the beans. The conductor, the orchestra, the maybes. Everything.

Thomas frowns, then smiles. Big. Bigger than she's ever seen. It’s beautiful.

(It’s terrifying).

“That’s wonderful,” he says.

His arms slither around her frame, she searches and searches but there is no comfort in his hug. It’s a cage. A cage she doesn’t have the strength to escape anymore, so she lets it happen, smiles when he pulls back to kiss her. His lips taste bitter on hers, like ash.

He doesn’t smoke.

...

Thomas visits her at work one day, puffing his chest, proud and parading like a peacock. She feels the dread, feels the lump growing and knotting and hurting. Her hands start shaking, she knows, he doesn’t have to say it. She knows.

“The conductor wants us to audition,” and he looks so happy. “That’s great, right?” his hand comes to caress her cheek, travels, his fingers curl around her neck and stay there for a bit. “We’ll be together, can you imagine? Us in the same orchestra?”

Isis can, and she doesn’t want to. It’s her thing. It’s always been hers. It’s hers. Hers. If he gets in, it won’t become theirs, but his. His. Like her.

She barely has the strength to nod, her voice is meek when she says, “Great.”

Kowalski is watching the whole scene. Thomas is scrutinizing her face like a hawk. “You don’t seem happy?”

Why can’t you be happy for us?

Isis blinks, she is at a loss. “I—I am. I j—just—just… I’m…” the stuttering is all over the place because she can’t breathe. Thomas takes up all the air in the room.

“She’s tired, dude,” Kowalski’s low baritone wraps around her like a safety net. He comes next to her, all grins and shiny chocolate eyes. “We all are, look at us,” his hand is pointing at the rest of the staff. They are more sluggish than usual. “Let her be, you guys will celebrate tonight.”

It’s her out. Isis takes it. Kowalski’s grabs her hand under the counter, she doesn’t let go. Thomas looks at them, back and forth, back and forth. His hand is still on her neck and he is still smiling.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy,” he lets go, leans in to kiss her cheek again.

(it burns).

“I’ll see you tonight,” she says, barely a whisper.

When he finally leaves and Kowalski looks at her, she blinks. Her eyes are shining but the tears don’t fall.

“You don’t have to stay with him,” is all he says.

(His eyes speak volumes. A thousand words).

“I know.”

She knows. She just can’t.

...

When it happens, it’s not really a surprise. Isis is hunched on the cold toilet seat, frowning at that little white rod like it was going to change its mind if she glared at it long enough. Her eyes blur and Chloé is pacing like a tigress trapped in a cage.

“Isis,” she growls, then blinks. Softer: “You can’t stay in there forever.”

There’s only silence on the other side. Isis blinks and blinks because she can’t bring herself to cry. It’s too much.

It’s not that she never thought about it. She did; but not like that, not right now.

Not with him, her mind supplies. She tunes it out.

Not with him.

The thought buzzes around in her head when she finally opens the door. Chloé is there, her face creased with worry. She takes Isis in a hug, wraps around her like a blanket and lets her shake. She doesn’t say anything, they already spoke. Isis knows. Isis knows.

(She’s not sobbing.)

It’s a virus, replicating within herself, feeding off her cells.

…

It takes her three weeks to tell the news to Thomas. She tries to convince herself that it’s not out of fear, she just wanted to make sure. Use other sticks, other brands, blood tests and what not. They all come back positive, the nurse announcing her pregnancy with a finality akin to a death sentence.

(It’s not the same, she knows it’s not. It just feels that way.)

Isis doesn’t want to keep it. Kowalski doesn’t say a word and just nods, Chloé keeps her arm wrapped around her shoulders. Their support is a given.

She won’t keep it.

(He will want to keep it.)

(Trap her.)

(Deeper.)

Isis doesn’t make a sound when she comes in the apartment that night. She is exhausted, bloodshot eyes and sticky cheeks. Silent tears to give her the courage to face him.

Chloé is waiting at the(ir) apartment. She wanted to come, but Isis didn’t let her. She had to do this alone. It was between them.

She breathes, her hunched body expending, growing taller as she inhales.

There’s a grunt. Faint. Female.

She frowns, takes a step forward and blinks when it comes back.

A bit louder. Muffled.

Her heart is beating, beating, beating.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

It’s not what she thinks.

(It’s exactly what she thinks.)

Leave. Now is your out. Leave. LEAVE.

Isis doesn’t turn back.

...

Her mother’s eyes are still bleary with sleep. Worried. Isis hasn’t said a word. It’s been hours and she hasn’t said a word. She’s staring a hole in her mug of disgustingly lukewarm chocolate.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

It’s all she hears, like a broken record.

Beat. Moan. Beat. Grunt. Beat. Thud.

Her brain is always on, and so she surprises herself trying to turn this into a song. A sick melody of quivers.

Heartbreak in D minor.

#original fiction #we went dark didn't we #oof #guys i'm sorry #writing #my writing

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archeo-starwars · 3 years

Text

Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 5: Zenith of the Republic (p. III)

NIGHTFALL ON RUUSAN

Jason Fry: I thought this was one of my “with” author’s nicer pieces of work, and I’m really happy to get to showcase it here. Honestly, it probably got cut because all the dialogue made it a very cost-effective subtraction. But enough of my yapping. Paul?

Paul Urquhart: The Battle of Ruusan is supposed to be a big date in Star Wars history, the equivalent of Gettysburg or Waterloo. The trouble is, everything obvious about Ruusan has been said already — so I wanted to approach the story from a new angle and create some characters whose attitudes didn’t necessarily run in the directions the reader might expect. I also took the opportunity to explore an idea I feel is slightly underused: when Jedi knighthood becomes hereditary, an ancestral lightsaber might end up in the hands of someone who isn’t very good at using the Force.

Erich Schoeneweiss: It was pieces like this that proved very difficult for me. The Essential Guides are meant to be nonfiction books set within a fictional universe. The reality is it’s all fiction, but I strive to maintain the feel of a nonfiction book in these guides to the galaxy far far away. What was happening in The Essential Guide to Warfare was that Jason and Paul were writing short stories for some of the sidebars. My concern was that if there were too many of these, the book would start to feel more like an anthology than a nonfiction reference book. There were cases in which these shorts really added a nice flavor to the book and new insights into what Jason and Paul were writing about in the main body text. “Clone Trooper Falls in a Hole…” on page 80 is a perfect example: It’s a first-person account of a clone trooper’s experience during the Battle of Geonosis, and enhanced the entire chapter. “Nightfall on Ruusan” is a good story and solid writing, but Jason had already written about the Battle of Ruusan and the consequences to the galaxy in the text. So in our constant struggle with too much of a good thing this was one of the good things that had to be cut. I’m happy for Paul that you all get to read it now.

From “I, Corellian: Ruusan and Reformation”

I found myself staring into gray infinity. Eventually I realized I was looking up into the sky, lying flat on my back between the rain and the mud.

Someone was watching me. I turned my head and looked at her.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on the hood of a crashed command skimmer, sheathed in black armor, tight-fitting and glossy with rain. She had a long polearm held casually across her lap, a lanvarok with a wicked bardiche blade.

Her hair hung in dark braids around her cheeks. Her bare shoulders were tan from outdoor living. Her eyes, when they found my gaze, were ebony, flecked with gold.

“You’re still alive,” she smiled, as if it was funny.

Now I remembered. I’d been her prisoner. My hands were still tied. Groaning, I sat up, and looked around.

The battlefield was empty. The knights and lords were all gone, leaving just the rain and mud—and a few survivors abandoned even by the dead. The broken hulks of armored vehicles still rested where they’d sunk into the mire, big guns pointing at the ground. And here and there, I could see slanted lances, damp, tattered pennons lifting in the wind.

But that was all.

The Republic cleaned the wreckage up afterwards, and carved a big memorial out of the cliff face in the Valley – a clumsy statement, a way for the real victors to impose the wrong meaning on the war. That evening, the wreckage looked beautiful.

Hauling myself up to my feet — painfully — I looked at her.

“Githany was right,” the girl said, talking as much to the wind as to me. “She said Bane had kriffed Kaan’s head, tricked him into this stupidity.”

“Who’s left?” I asked. It came out as a whisper.

“My lords are all gone,” she said, not meeting my eyes. She held a tarnished Jedi comlink in her hand—my comlink. My lightsaber was on her hip. “Your Lord Farfalla seems to be in charge. He was far enough from the thought bomb, with his retinue. They say Lord Berethon’s channel is still transmitting, but he’s not answering”

“Farfalla?” I sighed, but the Force already told the truth – even to me. I looked around the battlefield and frowned. “What a waste.”

“You think?” She gave me an ambiguous look.

“More than you could know,” I replied.

She shivered slightly, but it was just the cold wind, a sign that night was coming.

“What now?” she asked.

“Let’s look for some way out of this mudpit.”

“You’re the slave here, Jai,” she reminded me. I shrugged my bound hands and started to walk. She could probably beat me in a straight fight, but I wasn’t in any mood for fighting, and I didn’t think she was either.

She hopped off her perch, hurrying to keep up.

“Don’t do that, slave,” she snapped. “It makes you look like you have some sort of plan.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” I asked.

“Jedi plans?” she asked, a wide sweep of her polearm taking in the ruin around us.

“Sith plans,” I said, and for a moment I felt some of the dangerous old fire.

She frowned for a moment. “You Jedi all just walked into the trap,” she said. “At least we did something with our deaths.”

“I’m still here,” I said. “So are you.”

She frowned again, and this time she kept quiet. I’d seen it a few times before, and I would see it a lot more—the mild confusion of a Sith soldier no longer in thrall to battle meditation.

I sometimes wonder if Jedi aren’t much different. We use battle meditation, too, but we assume we have a special exemption where delusions are concerned, because we’re on the right side.

She leaned on her polearm, watching me. “So where are we going? You want to find Lord Berethon?”

“The Lord Peregrine?” I asked her, in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Yeah, I hear he’s not a very good Jedi. You seemed to like him better than Farfalla, and I approve of that. I know Gith wanted him to join us.”

I laughed. “I tell you what—if I get you to Lord Berethon, you agree to release me and come under his protection.”

She tilted her head and looked at me, shifting her weight against the weapon. “You think he’d do that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think he would.”

“OK.” She shrugged, half-believing, and we walked on in silence. Overhead, the gray sky grew darker.

“Have you ever heard of Thon, the Master of Ambria?” I asked, as the rain eased.

“Should I have? I was in the battle there, last year.”

“He was a Jedi Master, three thousand years ago. He taught that the connection between light and dark was just the Force flowing, no different than the simple stuff about levitating rocks — something basic, true, and interesting.”

“What happened to him?”

“You’ve seen Lake Natth, right? Thon created that, as a work of art.”

She looked at me, disbelieving. “But it’s a dark-side focus….”

“Thon thought it looked pretty in the mountains, apparently. And then there are the Miraluka. They worship Light and Dark together, believe them to be inseparable, like lovers. There are a lot of great Miraluka Jedi.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you believe that, Jai boy? About Light and Dark?”

“Nope. Not in a doctrinal way, anyway.” Near the horizon the setting sun had broken through the clouds. “I think that looks pretty, though.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Maybe the Masters all just read the doctrines the wrong way, then?”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not.

We walked on, as the stars came out overhead, turning the night to cool silver and shadow. I remember thinking that it was beautiful, and that her armor and the bare skin of her shoulders glinted like the steel and silk discarded around us. But I kept silent, and tried not to look at her too much.

“Do you have a name, Jai boy?” she asked eventually. Her smile hinted she was either starting to like me or planning to kill me. I couldn’t tell which. I wondered if she could.

I laughed, then stopped and looked at her.

“Cut my bonds and I’ll tell you,” I said. “I’m not going to run. Where would I run to?”

She looked at me doubtfully for a moment. Then the polearm flashed, and I was free. I rubbed my wrists, grimacing, then slowly looked up and held her gaze. She blinked back.

“Sorry,” I said with my best grin. “I’m Lord Berethon.”

It didn’t sound nearly as impressive out loud as it had in my head.

She looked disbelieving for a moment, then she laughed. Really laughed.

“You’re the Lord Peregrine…?! Oh, fierfek….”

I nodded. “I’m the King of Corellia. I was never much good as a Jedi, though.”

“I noticed.”

“I think I might try being king again.”

“You’d have made a worse Sith,” she said.

“Maybe. Come on. Let’s see if we can find a way off this rock.”

“I have your comlink,” she reminded me, holding out the battered handset. “Don’t you have a fleet in orbit, or something?”

“Oh. Yes, I do. It’s been a hard day.”

Her look grew softer as I took the comlink. If it had still been day, I could have seen the color of her eyes.

“Just remember, Your Kingship—you promised to take care of me.”

I murmured something in agreement. “Falcon? You didn’t hear any of that, right?”

#star wars #jedi #sith #battle of ruusan #in universe religions

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narastories · 4 years

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Happy 280th Birthday Tom!

After having such a great fun with doing this for Lord John, I decided to do a reading for our wee Byrd as well.

A Natal Chart Reading for Tom Byrd

Disclaimers:

I am still not an astrologer

This is made in the spirit of appreciation of this character and his story. The purpose of this is pure fun on my part and hopefully to entertain some of you as well. Plus, to maybe provide some character-study-style insight or inspiration.

Tom Byrd’s character belong to Diana Gabaldon - duh -

Tom has no official canon birth date as far as we know it. A few of us decided on a whim to celebrate him on this day, and oh boy is it perfect from an astrological standpoint. Of course, it is. But that’s it, it’s just adoring fan-silliness from our part.

Again, I take full responsibility for the time of day chosen. I have cycled through the day by the hour, compared charts and decided on the one that I’ve found most fitting and just went with that.

Tom Byrd’s character has appeared only in the Lord John books so far, so every example I’m giving here will be from there. Nothing too spoilery.

This is astrology applied to a fictional character, you have been warned. Continue at your own discretion.

Let’s transport ourselves into the world of Outlander, and imagine the day that world was gifted with the presence of this cute and complicated character. What do the stars tell us about him?

Double Cancer

No one ever said that Cancerians would be easy to understand. People born under the Crab are capable of holding many contradictions in their personality, and this is twice as true in the case of Tom Byrd who has both the Sun and the Moon in Cancer. When the two most powerful planets of a chart are in the same sign it tends to make the characteristics of that sign very prominent.

He is extremely cautious, but won’t hesitate taking the initiative when he needs to. Others tend to underestimate him at first, because he will stick to the rules. That is until he breaks them. He does not welcome change, but still adapts quickly to changing circumstances.

Tom appreciates safety, like the security that comes from stable employment, but still has a secret love for adventure. Luckily he can satisfy both of those cravings as the valet of Lord John Grey, because we all know that his lordship has the talent of getting into the most bizarre situations and is more than happy to keep Tom around to accompany him. (#zombies #succubus)

Just like a little crab crawling sideways he might have an indirect approach to things, but eventually he will always get where he wants to go.

He is sensitive and kind, but since his feelings are so dominant his mood can change fast. This is usually concealed by a carefully constructed exterior built from propriety and good manners. He uses this to hide deep feelings and extreme sensitivity underneath. He might be calm and collected on the surface most of the time, but there is a constantly shifting tide of emotions in his heart. He has the tendency to worry too much, to brood silently when he’s hurting or sulk when he disapproves, but no one listens to him.

Those who know him a little better will know that this grumpy little valet has a heart of gold. He is extremely caring and has a natural talent for making others comfortable and cared for.

At the same time Tom is cautious about revealing too much, which makes him naturally discrete. Besides his skill at giving a close shave this was one of the characteristics that made Lord John keep him as a valet just after just a short while of knowing him. Tom is also exceptionally perceptive and hard to deceive. He will notice the tiniest of details. This, and his high sensitivity to people’s emotions makes him good at figuring out others’ motivations. His intuition also makes him great at sensing public trends, and this combined with his creativity contributes to him becoming a good valet. He has a good memory and likes to collect information and store away small details later to be used.

His most admirable trait is probably his loyalty. When he is caring for someone, nothing can deter him. Crabs are known to retreat to safety at the first sign of danger. Don’t be fooled by Tom’s occasional outburst heroism, bravery is not his default setting. (#roaches) And because of that it means so much more when he does choose to stay and fight.

Cancerians tend to be quite the people-collectors. They don’t easily let people they know out of their sight. So fyi: there is no way Tom Byrd would willingly abandon Lord John Grey or let him out of his life completely. I think he would have loved if Jack decided to stay with them, but you know… his brother had his own loyalties.

Underneath all these layers Tom hides a fragile heart. He secretly needs and craves support and encouragement. He tries to hide it, but he has a lot of insecurities and can be a bit shy.

He is passionate about fixing other people’s problems. It comes from a strong urge to care for others even if it can be a bit overbearing sometimes.

Having the Moon in Cancer as well makes him even more protective and persistent. He perceives the world through his emotions, rather than rational arguments. This can cause a conflict with people who try to argue their feelings away - khm John khm - because that is very hard to understand for Tom. Other aspects of his chart play into this as well (Mars in Taurus) Sometimes he won’t be willing to see someone else’s point, especially if he knows that person feels differently than the argument they intellectually make.

No matter how in tune with his feelings he is, he doesn’t usually show them openly and as hypersensitive he is to other people’s emotions, he can sometimes be blinded by his own.

He is best in a deep, committed and loving relationship with someone who will appreciate his delicate heart and will dispel his feelings of unworthiness.

Capricorn Rising

Tom Byrd has a serious outward demeanor. No matter how young, inexperienced or out of his depth he may be in a certain situation, he is more than capable of employing the ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ tactic.

With strangers he is often quiet and reserved. He also possesses great willpower and determination. It is important to him that he achieves things through his own hard work and that he feels like his life is meaningful. (Mars in Taurus) He has all the necessary discipline, ambition and patience to do just so. Becoming a lord’s valet is something he takes pride in, no matter the initial circumstances.

He has an active mind, quick intelligence, and the ability to concentrate. He likes to map things out ahead of time, because he doesn’t like to be caught unprepared. Fussing over details is his way of staying in control. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist.

He is a worrier. He loves deeply, and goes out of his way to be kind to others, but on the other hand he will hold onto hurt, and will hold a grudge.

His chart is ruled by Saturn which is in Cancer in the 7th house of partnership. This might suggest that he is emotionally too dependent on others. However, he is great at seeing a task through completion. Can be sly if he wants to. (see how he inserted himself into John’s life? see??) The obstacles he needs to overcome are his insecurity and lack of confidence.

Other interesting tidbits

The evils of propriety

Tom is mindful of decency and societal norms. (Capricorn Rising) That doesn’t mean he is not ready to throw them out the window, this is just another one of his contradictions. With him belonging to one of the Uranus in Capricorn generations he has the confidence to break through old established ideas. This aspect of his chart does oppose the likewise generational Neptune in Cancer, which suggests that this conflict is something he has a lot to do with in his life. Old-fashioned values vs. change for the better. Being compassionate towards others and maintaining harmony vs. fighting for your values and/or goals.

Sweet little cupcake

Tom is irresistibly likeable and naturally attracts warm feelings from others. (Venus in Leo) Do I need to say more? He is adorable and I have fallen under his spell. Points to Venus - there is my excuse lol

Twin influences

Tom has Mercury in Gemini, which gives an interesting quicksilver quality to his personality. He is surprisingly hard to pin down (get your mind out of the gutter ;P ). He is curious, versatile and quick witted. A great example of this is when in Private Matter John is trying to be very discreet about inquiring about his brother, and is surprised to find that against this effort, Tom immediately sees through him that he considers the possibility of his brother being guilty.

He also has Jupiter in Gemini, which again points to his adventurous nature and the knack for getting into advantageous situations. Do I need to say more?

Detective

My favourite small tidbit in his chart is a complex trine which suggests that he is good at looking beneath the surface for answers, good at investigating and unearthing things, and that he finds great allies in this. He is quite a little detective, our Tom. Seems like a small thing, but the placement of it suggests that this aids him in a great way. Which we know is true ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little ramble. It was fun to write, and it just made me fall twice as madly in love with our wee Byrd. Not that I need the encouragement on any day lol

#happy bday wee byrd #tom byrd #lord john grey #tom byrd/lord john grey

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

Rainbound

I have three major WIPs on the go at the moment and they all require a lot of concentration, research, and brainpower, and sometimes I need to take a break from that. Recently these breaks have tended to take the form of tropey trope-fests of trope-ness, otherwise known, in this case at least, as “OTP stranded together due to bad weather and forced to share a bed.”

For @thisonesatellite who always encourages me (even my worst instincts which now that I think about it is maybe not such a good thing but I love her anyway 💕💕)

5k words

Rating: M

On AO3

@kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @thejollyroger-writer @stahlop @mariakov81 @teamhook -- just tagging off the top of my head some people I think might enjoy this.

Rainbound:

Rain ran in rivulets down Emma’s face, soaking her clear to her skin as she climbed the three steps onto the cabin’s wide porch. It was a small cabin and a simple one, not at all what she would have expected for a man with the cocky swagger of Killian Jones. It was incongruous, and she disliked it as she disliked all things that didn’t fit a pattern.

Frowning, she knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal the man himself, the charming twinkle in his bright blue eyes dying instantly when he saw her.

Killian slouched against the doorjamb and smirked. “Emma Swan,” he drawled. “Well, well. To what do I owe this dubious honour?”

She stiffened, hating having to ask him for this, for anything. “My car broke down,” she said grudgingly. “On the main road just past where you turn to go to the harbour. I remembered you lived around here and I thought I’d come and…” she sighed. “And see if you could help.”

He looked past her to the rain that was pounding down in torrents, turning his dirt drive to mud and the potholes into puddles, deceptively deep. He sighed himself. “You’d better come in, then,” he said, just as grudgingly as she. “There’s no point going out in this weather, best to wait until the rain lets up.”

“What about my car?”

“Are you afraid someone will steal it?” The frank disbelief in his voice rankled her, but she couldn’t refute his point.

“No.”

“Well then. It’ll be fine on the side of the road for a few hours. No one’s going to be out in this mess. Come in, Swan.” He stepped back and opened the door wider.

Emma took three steps into the cabin and stopped dead in astonishment, eyes wide and mouth agape. The interior was as simple as the exterior, a single room panelled in wood with a small kitchen along one wall and a narrow bed pushed up against another. A worn sofa and a battered sea chest sat in its centre. But what drew Emma’s attention, what astounded her, were the books. Shelves and shelves of them lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crammed with volumes of every size and colour, hardbacks and paperbacks and even some bound in faded leather.

She turned to look at Killian, who was watching her warily.

“Are all these yours?”

“I’m not in the habit of keeping books that don’t belong to me,” he said irritably.

“And have— have you read them all?”

“Aye.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one, and I don’t appreciate your tone,” he snapped.

“Sorry!” Emma held up her hands. “Sorry. I just— I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh? And just what were you expecting, love?”

She shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know, like— like a bachelor pad or something. Someplace swish where you can bring your women.”

“I never bring women here,” said Killian shortly. Emma could only gape in response, and he ran a hand through his hair then shoved it deep into the pocket of his jeans. “You’re dripping all over my floor,” he mumbled. “Let me get you a towel and a change of clothes.”

“It’s really not—”

“Yes, it is necessary,” he retorted, anticipating her protest. “I won’t have you getting pneumonia or some such. Not on my watch.” It was a weak attempt at humour, but she forced a smile.

He opened a door just to the far side of the kitchen area and Emma could see a small bathroom with a shower and toilet. Killian pulled a clean towel from a shelf and handed it to her then went to the sea chest and removed a pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt. He handed the clothing to her as well, and indicated the bathroom. “You can get changed in there,” he said. “Just hang your wet clothes on the shower rail. I don’t have a dryer.” He looked at her defiantly but she said nothing, merely took the clothes from him and headed to the bathroom.

He might not have a dryer but his clothes were clean and soft and she sighed as she slipped them on over her still-damp skin. She squeezed the water from her hair and wrung out her clothes as best she could before hanging them in his shower and returning to the kitchen, feeling oddly shy. It was a peculiar sort of vulnerability, wearing his clothes. Emma deeply disliked being vulnerable to Killian Jones.

His lips curled up when he saw her, his eyes softening in a way that made her want to squirm. “Those look far better on you than on me,” he said. Emma doubted that, but she managed to bite back the words. He didn’t need to know how attracted she was to him. How attracted she had always been. “I made tea,” he continued, handing her a steaming cup.

She sniffed it dubiously. “Tea?”

“Aye. Don’t look like that, Swan, just give it a try.”

“Don’t you have any coffee? Or better, hot chocolate?”

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s tea or nothing.”

Tentatively she sipped. It was strong and sweet, bitter in a different way than coffee but not unpleasant. She took a deeper drink. “I guess it’s all right,” she said.

His smirk told her he saw what she was doing but he merely sipped his own tea and moved to the sofa. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other, resting his mug on his knee as he took up a book lying facedown over the armrest. “You’re welcome to join me, love,” he said. “My library is at your disposal.”

Emma wasn’t much of a reader but she found herself intensely curious about what Killian had read, this man she only knew as her brother’s friend’s friend, the shameless flirt who had tried to sleep with her the first night they’d met then treated her with amused disdain ever since.

She sipped her tea as she wandered around the room perusing his bookshelves. He had an amazing variety of books, from histories to science fiction novels, heavy volumes of philosophy and slim ones of poetry.

Killian Jones reading poetry, she marvelled. Who could have imagined that?

“See anything you like, Swan?” asked Killian. She turned to see him watching her, a soft smile on his face. Without looking she snatched up a book and sat on the small sofa as far from him as she could manage, ignoring the fluttery feeling that rose in her chest from even that much proximity. From the corner of her eye she could see he was smirking at her again, with that glint in his eye that she hated, the one that said he understood her. Firmly, she ignored him, opened the book and began to read.

An hour later her teacup was forgotten on a corner of the sea chest, her legs curled beneath her as she devoured the words on the page. She failed to notice Killian get up and collect her teacup along with his own, carrying them to the kitchen.

“Care for some dinner, Swan?” he called.

Emma jumped, startled. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted some dinner. It’s still raining, and I’m hungry.”

Emma’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. She flushed bright pink and Killian laughed. His laugh made him look younger, carefree, his eyes twinkling brightly. He was unfairly gorgeous, thought Emma, not for the first time, though for the first time she wasn’t mad about it. He was being nice for once, the least she could do was reciprocate.

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

“It’s chicken marsala, if that’s okay.”

“Um, I don’t really know what that is, but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she replied, and he smirked again.

“Not a terribly adventurous eater, are you love?”

She tried not to bristle defensively. “I just know what I like.”

“But if you never try anything new, how do you know you won’t like that too?”

Emma had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t just talking about dinner. She shrugged. “I’ll try this chicken whatever and let you know.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” he muttered.

Emma tried to return to her book, but she found she could no longer focus. Setting it down on the sea chest she approached the kitchen cautiously. “Um,” she began, twisting her fingers nervously when he looked at her. “Is there— can I help?”

Surprise flared in his eyes and they softened with an expression that made her heart thud painfully. Then he blinked, and the smirk was back. “Think you can manage to slice some mushrooms?”

“Without chopping my fingers off, you mean,” she snarked.

“Aye, preferably. I don’t find blood to be a very tasty seasoning.”

She snorted and he grinned, and handed her a knife. She took it and moved to the chopping board, frowning as she concentrated on slicing the mushrooms evenly and not on the disconcerting man standing so close to her in the tiny kitchen.

“So how did you learn to cook?” she heard herself ask.

Killian gave her a sideways glance, surprised again, but he answered politely. “I spent ten years in the Royal Navy, and travelled a lot. Whenever I had leave I would go exploring and try to learn something new. In Italy, through an odd series of events I ended up on a farm in the hills above Rimini and was taught pasta making there by a beautiful Italian woman called Marcella.”

She snorted again. “Of course you were.”

“She wouldn’t approve of me using her recipe for chicken marsala, I imagine, but I think they go well.”

“And what else did you and this Marcella do?”

“Very little, I’m afraid, Swan. She was eighty, and had arthritis in her hips.”

“Oh.” Emma focused on the mushrooms again, feeling ridiculous.

“Now her granddaughter Emilia, on the other hand, we did quite a few things together.”

His smile was teasing when she turned to huff at him, and she couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know how much of this to believe,” she said.

“Every word, Swan. Everything I say is one hundred percent solid gold.”

“Solid fool’s gold, maybe.”

He laughed at that, deep and rich and filling her with a tingly warmth. “Ah, Emma Swan, you are a challenge,” he chuckled.

Emma’s laughter died at those words. A challenge. Wasn’t that just a nicer way of saying difficult? Too much trouble? Not worth it?

All words she’d heard before.

Killian’s fingers brushed hers as he reached for the chopping board. “I love a challenge,” he said, his voice low and rough and too near her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs at her temple. She held her own breath to keep from gasping, and when she risked a look at him the soft expression was back in his eyes. Soft and understanding.

How did he always understand her?

Her heart was pounding again, thudding so loudly she feared he’d hear it.

He took the board and tipped the mushrooms into a pan where they immediately began to sizzle. He stirred them, not looking at her, and when he spoke again his voice was normal. “Grab that bottle just to your left, would you love, and pour half a cup of it into this,” he said, laying a glass measuring cup where the chopping board had been.

Emma’s hand trembled slightly as she picked up the bottle, but she managed to measure out a half cup without mishap, and held it up when she was finished.

“Now what?”

“Pour that in here,” he instructed, indicating the pan with the mushrooms, now a pale brown.

She did so, jumping when the liquid hissed in the heat of the pan. Killian chuckled, continuing to stir. “Burns off the alcohol,” he said.

“What’s the point of that?” she attempted to joke.

His smile took on a razor edge. “If you’d like me to get you drunk, Swan, all you have to do is ask.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Your loss, darling.” Killian poured some chicken stock and cream into the pan along with what looked like mustard and spices she didn’t recognise. He gave it a final stir then covered the pan and lowered the heat and lifted a towel off of several small nests of uncooked pasta. Emma peered at them, fascinated.

“You really made this?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“And… you’re sure there’s enough for me?”

“I always make two servings. It’s hard to cook for just one person, and I have the leftovers for lunch the next day.”

“So what will you do for lunch tomorrow?”

He shot her another smirk, but a soft one this time. An I-appreciate-your-concern-but-it’s-all-under-control smirk that she recognised from her own arsenal of expressions. “I’ll think of something, Swan. Don’t worry about it.”

He lifted the lid off a pot bubbling on the back of the stove and tipped in some salt, followed by the pasta. He stirred it with a fork and replaced the lid, leaving a gap for the steam to escape. Opening a cabinet, he withdrew a colander and placed it in the sink.

“Plates and glasses are up there,” he said, indicating a cabinet next to the refrigerator. “If you could grab two of each. Wine glass for me but you’re welcome to have water, or I’ve got some iced tea.”

Emma hesitated. She’d always been so careful not to drink too much around him, afraid of what loosened inhibitions might lead her to say, or do. But surely one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt? She took down two plates and two wine glasses, then looked around for where to put them.

“I eat on the sofa,” said Killian quietly.

“Okay.” Emma kept her face neutral. He was clearly sensitive about the way he lived. She supposed he was worried she’d judge him for it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

She set the plates and glasses on the sea chest then returned for silverware just as Killian was pouring the pasta into the colander. He removed the chicken from the sauce and replaced it with the drained pasta, tossing it along with a splash of the water it was cooked in. Emma watched, impressed by the ease and confidence of his movements. He’d definitely done this before.

That Marcella must have been some teacher.

“The wine’s in the fridge,” he called to her, “If you wouldn’t mind opening it.”

His fridge was ridiculously clean —Emma wondered vaguely why this surprised her, given the rest of his place— and she found the wine lying on its side on the top shelf. She took it out and twisted off the cap then brought it over to the sea chest, where Killian had just placed a serving bowl full of pasta and neatly sliced chicken. He sat down and using two large forks scooped some onto both of their plates while Emma poured the wine. She sat next to him, and awkward silence fell.

Emma had the wild thought that all they needed were some candles and maybe a few actual chairs and this would be a very romantic date indeed. She stuffed a huge bite of pasta into her mouth to cover her embarrassment.

And nearly groaned in delight.

It was delicious, creamy and rich with a slight sweet tang. Her eyes fell closed as she chewed slowly, wanting to savour it, and when she opened them again she found Killian watching her with an unreadable expression.

“What’s the verdict, then, love?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful.” Emma couldn’t even snark. She sipped her wine and was delighted again as its flavours perfectly complemented the ones the chicken had left in her mouth. “Do you eat like this every night?”

“Pretty much, aye. Food and books are my only indulgences.”

“And women.” The words were out before she could stop them, and Emma winced as his expression shuttered.

“Aye,” he agreed tightly. “And women.”

“Well this is amazing,” she said effusively, “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Better than Granny’s grilled cheese?” he teased, with a tentative smile.

“Well, let’s not get carried away.”

He chuckled, breaking the heavy tension between them. Emma sighed lightly in relief, and they both began to eat.

“You were reading quite intently earlier,” Killian remarked after a short silence. “What book did you pick?”

“Oh,” she said, surprised by the question. “I just grabbed it at random, but it’s so good. It’s, um—” she picked up the book and flipped it over to look at the cover. “Northern Lights.”

He nodded. “One of my favourites. That copy I actually brought from England when I moved here. In the US it’s called The Golden Compass.”

“Oh yeah! That was a movie wasn’t it?”

“Aye, an abomination of one, best forgotten.”

She rolled her eyes. “Book people always say that.”

“‘Book people,’” scoffed Killian.

“Yeah, book people. You know, the people who no matter what the movie or miniseries or whatever tries to do are always like ‘Oh but the book was so much better,’ like that’s special knowledge that only they have, or something.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, “Some adaptations of books have been very well done, but in this case we ‘book people’ are completely correct to say the movie is utter crap.”

“Well, when I’m done reading it I’m gonna watch the movie and judge for myself.”

“That’s the wisest strategy for most things, I find,” he replied, and again she had the uncomfortable sense that he was talking about more than the subject at hand.

“You said books were your indulgence,” she blurted, surprising herself with the question. “What did you mean?”

He gave her a searching look before replying, and when he did his voice held a quiet sincerity she’d never heard in it before.

“I’ve always loved reading,” he said. “My mum was a librarian, and when I was a child I wanted to be one too. But you need a degree for that and by the time I was eighteen my mum was dead and my father had drunk away all the money she’d saved for my education. So I went into the navy instead.” He sipped his wine. “I intended it just to be for a few years until I’d saved some money myself but I ended up liking the lifestyle and I figured what was university really but a lot of reading, which I could do on my own for free.”

Everything he said was true, but Emma could it wasn’t the whole story. Their understanding cut both ways.

“You regret that now, don’t you?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

He looked wry. “Aye, I do. It’s hard to get any decent job without a degree, so now I work at the docks until I’ve saved enough to buy my own boat.”

“What kind of boat?”

“A sailboat,” he replied. “For me, mostly, but I figure I could make a decent living chartering it for tourists.”

She nodded. He probably could.

“So that’s why you live so simply. To save for your boat.”

“Aye.”

It was such an unexpected twist on the character of this man she’d thought she had the measure of that Emma could barely get her head around it. She was beginning to think she’d badly misjudged him.

And that terrified her.

She asked him to tell her about the boat he wanted and they made surprisingly easy conversation until the food was eaten and the wine drunk. Emma insisted on carrying the plates and glasses back to the kitchen where Killian insisted on washing them immediately. “No dishwasher,” he said, and there was a lightness to the admission that had been lacking in earlier ones of a similar nature. Like he knew Emma would understand now why he chose to forgo expensive household appliances.

She did. And she insisted on drying.

When the kitchen was spotless she hung up the dishtowel and felt awkward again. It was late and she had already stayed far longer than she’d planned, but the noise of the storm outside was if anything even louder than before.

“It’s still coming down in buckets,” said Killian, looking out the window into the dark night. “The roads are likely flooded. I fear you might be stranded here, Swan.”

She tried to answer but her words were swallowed up by a yawn that nearly cracked her jaw. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take the sofa,” he said.

Emma regarded the furniture in question. “It’s not very comfortable”.

“I’ll manage.”

“Killian, no,” she protested. “I feel bad enough showing up unannounced and eating your food, I’m not going to steal your bed too. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Absolutely not, you said yourself it’s uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind—”

“No. And that’s final.”

She threw up her arms in exasperation. “Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bed, then.”

The moment the words left her lips she regretted them. She froze, barely breathing, unable to look away as she waited for his reply. He had also gone completely still, staring at her with hooded eyes. “All right,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Emma sucked air into her lungs. “All right,” she echoed.

The tension was back now, thicker than before but no longer awkward. Nervous. Anticipating. Eager. He produced a spare toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet and she brushed her teeth and splashed water on her hot face. When she finished in the bathroom Killian went in and Emma approached the bed with butterflies dancing in her belly. It seemed to grow narrower the closer she came and she wondered how they would manage. If they tried to keep too far apart they risked falling out. But if they got too close...

She imagined Killian pressed up against her back, his arm around her waist, his warm breath teasing her hair as it had in the kitchen. The butterflies in her belly began to do rhythmic gymnastics, and her heart beat so fast she felt faint.

I should have let him take the sofa.

She climbed into the bed, scooting as close as she could get to the wall. That way he wouldn’t have to climb over her to get in, she thought. Yeah. That sounded plausible.

Killian emerged from the bathroom wearing another sweats-and-t-shirt combo, and a carefully blank expression. He climbed in next to her, careful not to let their bodies touch. “There’s a switch right by your head,” he said. “To turn out the light.”

“Okay.” Emma flipped it and the room plunged into darkness. She rolled onto her side, her back to him, and tried to ignore the sound of his breathing and the heat radiating from his body, tried to ignore her blood pounding through her veins and the way she absolutely longed to know what it would feel like to have his arms around her. To kiss him. To—

“No!” she whispered, too loudly, and felt the bed shift as Killian turned.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, his voice low and soft, like he cared. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.”

She could feel his eyes on her, could sense him willing her to turn around and face this, this pull of attraction between them, always difficult to resist and nearly overwhelming now that she actually liked him.

“Swan,” she heard him whisper.

It had been there from the beginning, that attraction, fierce and terrifying and like nothing she’d ever felt before, which of course was why she had been so eager to write him off as another asshole only interested in fucking her. In retrospect, viewed through fairer eyes, he had probably just wanted to get to know her a bit, maybe ask her out. She had shot him down, epically, and Killian, she could see now, had taken refuge behind snark and disdain to protect himself, exactly as she would have done in his shoes.

She’d been an idiot, and a jerk, and she wished like hell she could do it all over again. But it was too late.

She forced herself to relax, to close her eyes and breathe deeply and evenly. Killian sighed and the bed shifted again, and after several interminable minutes his breathing evened out as well and she sensed he was asleep.

It was a long time before she followed.

—

Emma awoke when the sunlight shining through the window threatened to blind her. Grumbling incoherently, she buried her face in her pillow.

Or would have, had her face been on a pillow.

Instead it was pressed against Killian’s chest, his t-shirt soft under her cheek and the spicy, musky scent of his skin filling her nose with every breath. She inhaled deeply and rubbed her cheek against him and his arms tightened around her.

His arms were around her. So that’s what that felt like.

She felt warm and protected. Content. Loved.

No! Emma jerked back, digging the heel of her hand against his ribs, and he jolted awake.

“What the devil— oh!” His eyes widened as he took in their position, his arms still around her and their legs entwined, their faces inches apart. “Bloody hell!” He scrambled out of the bed, stumbling backwards and almost falling on his ass as he did. “I’m sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” Emma willed her stupid heart to stop beating so fast, to stop being hurt by his reaction.

“It’s not, I—”

“I said it’s fine, Killian!” she snapped, and he closed his mouth, running both hands through his hair then clenching them into fists at his side, unsure of where to put them.

“Looks like the rain’s stopped,” he said. “We can go get your car now. Do you, um, would you like breakfast first? Tea?”

“No. Thank you.” She wanted to get the hell away from him, before she did something stupid.

He nodded. “Aye. Well, get dressed then and we’ll be off.”

He moved towards the kitchen just as Emma rolled from the bed and they collided awkwardly. His hands came to her hips to steady her while hers landed on his chest and she could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips. He caught an unsteady breath and when she dared to look up she saw his eyes were wide and full of the same longing that ached within her.

“Emma,” he whispered.

The sound of her name on his lips, in his voice, when he’d only ever called her Swan or love, was more than she could take. Her hands on his chest clenched into tight fists, gripping his t-shirt and pulling his mouth to hers, into a kiss that blazed instantly into barely-leashed passion, all open mouths and clinging lips and his tongue stroking hers in a way that set her on fire. One hand tangled in her hair as the other slid down to cup her ass, pulling her hips into his so she could feel the press of his erection against her belly. She moaned and ground against him, as close as she could get, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted his skin on hers, his mouth all over her, wanted to hear him moan her name into her flesh.

She pushed him away, ignoring the flash of fear in his eyes, and pulled his shirt off her body. His eyes instantly latched onto her bare breasts, hunger chasing away the fear, and she smirked. “Now yours,” she rasped.

He nearly tore the shirt in his haste and Emma gave herself a second to admire his lean form liberally covered in dark hair before launching herself at him, toppling them both onto the bed. His mouth was on hers again, kissing her deeply as his hand cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb as her own hand slid beneath his sweats and closed around his cock.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he spluttered, grabbing her wrist almost painfully and pulling her hand away. “Don’t do that again if you want this to last.”

“But—”

“Emma, please. I have wanted you for so bloody long I could be finished in minutes, but I would very much prefer to take my time.”

The way he purred the words made her tingle, the look in his eyes made her melt. “Take your time how?” she gasped.

“Well I’ll start by kissing you.”

“You’ve already—”

“Everywhere.” His hand slid between her legs, fingers slipping through her slick flesh, gliding across her clit with the lightest touch. “There are some parts of you I just want to lick.”

“Oh, god.”

“Indeed.”

“And then what?”

“After I’ve tasted every inch of you and made you come at least twice with my mouth and my fingers—”

“Cocky,” she gasped as his fingers slipped inside her, one first and then another, stroking her walls as his thumb caressed her clit.

“Confident, darling,” he corrected. “As I was saying after I’ve made you scream my name—”

“Oho, screaming your name now—”

“—then I will run as fast as I can to the sea chest because that’s where the condoms are.”

She laughed, her face pressed to his shoulder, gripping his shoulders as his fingers worked inside her, proving his confidence was not misplaced.

“And then,” he said, leaning down to breathe the words in her ear. “Then I will fuck you, hard and deep and thoroughly, as I have wanted to since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“I knew it,” she gasped. “I knew you just wanted to fuck me.”

“Not ‘just’, Emma,” he said, pulling back to look at her, so she could see the truth in his eyes. “I want everything with you.”

She waited for the fear to come, and the overwhelming urge to flee. Waited, but it never came.

Instead, she did, as Killian’s thumb pressed hard on her clit and her orgasm ripped through her, taking her by surprise.

“Fuck, Killian!” she screamed.

“Later, darling,” he murmured, fingers still inside her as he eased her down from her high. “That’s only one.”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with eyes softer than she’d ever seen, warm and full of promises she knew he’d keep.

She smiled. “Maybe I’ll stay for breakfast after all,” she said.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #cs au ff #captain swan #stranded #in a cabin #by the rain #bed sharing #ust #like a lot of it #as much as I could cram in #'cram in' haha #that happens at the end #rainbound #(which is not a word btw)#profdanglaisstuff

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hoopdiddies · 5 years

Text

I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met at university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, FlUFf, AnGst. Just one mention of alcohol.

WC:2184

A/N: Irrelevant but omg tomorrow's the Endgame premiere. Please pray for my grieving soul.

Tags: @mrsmazzello , @likeit-or-leaveit

"Hey Joe, I'm going to get something from the car. Mind if I borrow your keys?" You ask Joe who's enjoyed a few drinks but hasn't intoxicated himself. He nods in a lousy way and fish his car keys from his back pocket, dropping it onto your open palm. "Bronze key."

"Thanks, Maz." You ruffle his fiery red hair and leave it a mess, making your way back into the kitchen and through the living room. You had expected to at least find Ben close by but he's probably somewhere else. The guests are gradually leaving anyway so that could be a good thing. Upon reaching the front door and swinging it open, you gasp breathlessly at the sight of Ben standing in front of you.

"Oh god, you scared me." You plant your hand on your chest as to catch your breath and punch his arm jokingly. He rubs his nape, chewing on his bottom lip as a playful smile dares to take form on his face. "Yikes, sorry, Y/N. You were little jumpy there."

"No kidding." You raise an eyebrow as you zip past him, in a rush to get to Joe's car.

"Wait, where are you going?" He calls out and you turn, juggling Joe's keys carelessly. "Just going to get something in Joe's car."

With the amused smile still plastered on his face, he glances sideways and strides over to your side. "I'll go with you."

"I think I'm capable of crossing the street, Ben." You fold your arms together yet to no avail he spins you around and leads you across the empty street to Joe's car, squeezing your hand. Your brows furrow at his eagerness but at the same time, you feel your blood accumulate in your face as the way his fingers entwine around yours triggers a weird spark between you.

However elating it feels, you wonder where Rosy is.

"I know, but I had to tell you something, right?" He looks at you over his shoulder with a lopsided smile and you nod, avoiding eye contact. Upon reaching Joe's car, you pull out the bronze key and unlock the driver's seat to retrieve your wallet from the dashboard.

Afterwards, you slam the door shut and secure the lock, slowly turning to Ben to prompt him to talk. He inhales sharply and shoves his hands into his back pockets. "See, I wanted some advice from you. And a little verbal encouragement." He averts his gaze from yours, leaning towards the hood of the car.

Your brows couldn't be any more higher than they already are. "Did you and Rosy bicker?"

"No. But yes. It is about Rosy." It's almost as if he nearly hesitated to say her name but you could've been just hearing things. You encourage him to go on and he does, lacking the will to look you in the eye thereby giving you the inkling that he wants something to progress between them.

"Thing is, do you think I'm ready?" He finally looks at you directly and you smirk. "Ready for what?"

"For you know...that life."

"You're not making any sense, Ben."

He scratches the side of his nose and swears underneath his breath, letting out a faint chuckle. "I'm not good at this."

"Just build up the words right."

"Okay, do you think I'm ready for a new life with her? You know," and out of the fear that he might say the thing you now dread the most, you unconsciously hold your breath in, "settling down?"

It takes a good five seconds for you to fully comprehend the latter words and just as Ben is about to snap his fingers to bring you back to reality, you heave out a rough exhale and force a supportive smile at him. "If you want to, of course."

"What would I be like as a husband?" He just had to ask. Had he meant that in the fictional situation where you were in the place of Rosy, you would have a definite answer. But he's asking you as a friend. As someone who knows you and looks at you from a sibling-like perspective.

You feel yourself crumble from the inside as you open your mouth to answer. "You as a husband? Oh god, the horrors!" You joke to mask the pain.

He rakes his hand through his hair and plays along. "Come on, Y/N. Silly idea but I wanna hear it from you."

"Why me? Why not the girl who inspired you to ask this?"

He takes a light step forward and rubs your shoulders, having his green eyes burn through you. "Because you've known me longer."

Yes, I have. But why did you still pick her? The inner voice in your head cries out. The only rational thing you could do now is be here for him. As you always have. No matter how painful it is, you love him enough to support him with this.

"You as a husband? You wouldn't be perfect, " you pause to look down but after doing so resume, "you'd have your fights, temper tantrums and frankly, I doubt you could be a lot less messier in the morning."

"Y/N-"

"But your ability to love makes up for your imperfections, Ben. I know of Rosy's little episodes and despite her being a mess sometimes, being moody and hard to handle, you loved her regardless," you gently press your palm against Ben's cheek, caressing his skin softly, "you'd be the husband whom she'd wait for at the door every night."

Touched by how delicately you delivered your words, he takes you by surprise and hugs you tight. Your eyes widen for a couple of seconds before finally surrendering to his the beat of his heart, wrapping your arms around him too. No matter how bittersweet the situation is.

You've lived through Ben being that way. He truly is someone you'd always wait for at the door. Someone you wish to wait for.

"How come you're still single?" He asks amusingly and you look up to prevent the tears from falling. "I'm not."

Wait a minute.

Ben quickly releases you from his hold and his expression shifts instantly. "Who's the guy?" He asks you directly and you still haven't recovered from what you just said. In a daze, you ask back. "What?"

"You said you're not single anymore. Who's the lucky guy?"

Why did you say that? You haven't got a clue as to why, it was probably some kind of involuntary thing to fight back the hurt but now that there's no taking back what you said, you play along awkwardly. The somehow bright idea of pretending to be in a relationship to compensate for being in a hopeless situation popping into your mind.

"Um...um. Uh.." You can't think of anyone decent enough but luckily, and unluckily at the same time, you spot Joe jogging across the street over to you and reluctantly, you answer Ben's question.

"Joe!" You say out loud, catching Ben off guard and confusing an approaching Joe. "Hey...guys. What are you two still doing out here?" Joe, clueless to what you just said, asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joe and pull him close to your side. "Yeah, Joe and I are together." You say out of nowhere, making Joe do double-take at you to make sure he's hearing you correctly. Ben's eyes fall as a smile forms on his face. "That's awesome! Since when?"

Just as Joe begins to protest, you answer abruptly before he could utter a word. "Just last week. Sorry for not telling you earlier. We've dated for a while, often so when you and I don't hang out." You swear you could just toss yourself in the middle of the road and hope for a truck to run you over.

As being the only one who knows how you really feel about Ben, Joe seems to catch your drift instantly and what you're trying to pull, so he decides to play along.

"Is that right, mate?" Ben asks curiously and Joe nods in the most casual way possible. "Yeah. Been seeing this lovely girl for a while now."

"I see."

"Ben, darling! There you are!" You close your eyes as you hear Rosy call out from a feet across. Ben shrugs meekly before whisking past you and Joe in his way to Rosy.

"Hey babe, sorry. I was just helping Y/N with something." He smiles down at her. She gives you an almost curt glance and smiles back at Ben. "It's alright. Let's get back inside, it's cold out here."

"Yeah."

You apologize to Joe quietly for involving him in your mess yet he doesn't mind, as long as he's helping you get over it. You suddenly feel the need to get back home to recharge your batteries and escape the unwanted strains you get from seeing Ben and Rosy in each other's arms.

You walk towards them and huff. "Hey, uh, Ben? We better get going. I'm so sorry if I can't stay any longer but I have work tomorrow."

He turns his body to you fully and by the looks of it, he's quite disappointed that you have to go so soon. "Oh. Are you sure?"

You nod and he sighs, giving you one last embrace for the night. "If you have to. Thank you for coming and the gift. You have no idea how much it means to me everytime you're around." You ought to slap yourself everytime Ben says something that just breaks you into two. You rest your head over his shoulder and smile softly. "Of course. Thanks for the time as well. Happy Birthday again."

You pull away deliberately and give him and Rosy one last smile before walking back to Joe. He opens the driver's seat for you and you get in, clipping the seatbelt over yourself.

Accepting that you're now in the arms of someone as trustworthy as Joe, Ben smiles crookedly at him."Don't break her heart. That's just one rule, okay?"

"Never been one to do that. Don't worry." Joe reassures with a wink and gets in after you, the two of you waving at Ben and Rosy before driving off. You immediately take out your phone to text Lucy and Gwilym about your rush to leave the party. After doing so, you place your phone on your lap and cover your face with your hands.

"I'm curious, what prompted you to lie to him about being in a relationship with me?" As eager as ever to hold back a laugh, he asks, keeping his eyes firm on the road.

You throw your head back against the seat and tut. "He thought of proposing to Rosy."

"Seriously?"

"He didn't actually say that, per se. But he gave a clear hint. It didn't even seem like a hint."

"But what if he does propose," he adjusts his rearview mirror all the while stealing glimpses of you, "because I can tell you, when a guy implies like that, it's go time." You shrug weakly, "What can I do but be there for him? Yes it'll hurt, a lot, but seeing him happy is enough."

"Are you sure? You've known Ben longer, heck even loved him longer. Why didn't you ever tell him?" Now that Joe's brought up the question, you begin rethinking what could've been had you told him.

You didn't want to ruin what you already had. Your friendship with Ben was already considered a strong bond, it was on all levels...except romantic. You feared it might have just caused a riff in your relationship and damage what you've built with him through the years.

What if he does propose?

Would you still be strong enough to be around him?

You look out the window and trace your finger across the glass. "It's complicated, Joe."

"Okay," Joe exhales softly and raises his brows at you, pressing his lips to a hard line, "if you're tired, feel free to doze off. You look bummed." You smile at him and pat his hand that's on the gear lever, leaning against the window afterwards to take a nap through the drive back.

By the time you arrived home, you give Joe a kiss on the cheek and thank him for the night and particularly for saving your ass when you couldn't think of someone to name as your "boyfriend" at that moment. He bids you good night and drives off.

You kick the door to your apartment open and toss your shoes aside, flopping like a pancake onto the couch and feeling your phone buzz from your back pocket. You take it out and find one message from Lucy, two from Gwilym and...one from Ben.

You narrow your eyes as you skip the first, three messages to read Ben's and find yourself unwillingly tear up at one simple text from him.

Hhhh- Ben:

We finally found our soul mates like we once swore. Thanks for bein here, love. Good night, love you.

Your eyes gloss over those two words once more.

,love you.

If only he knew.

(Part 3 will be posted tomorrow...after I come out of the theatre wheezing uwu)

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #borhap #borhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap imagine #queen

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tlbodine · 6 years

Note

Hello. Sorry to bother you, but do you have any advice on how to write a visual novel?

It’s no bother at all!

I’m fairly new to the format, so definitely don’t take my word as gospel in any way, but here’s what I’ve learned from working at Black Chicken games and on my own interactive pieces.

First: Decide on what type of interactivity you want, if any. You can write a VN that’s a linear story, just brought to life through click-to-progress and images/sound/etc. That’s technically called a kinetic novel, and it’s a totally valid format.

But if you DO want interactivity, think about what you want. Do you want branching story paths? Do you want stats to play a role? Will there be any “game” elements (like puzzles) or is it just a choose-your-own-adventure story? Nailing down the basics will help you with decisions down the road.

Second: Decide on what platform you’ll use. If you just want a very simple choose-your-own-adventure type branching story, Twine can work really well. There are CSS templates you can use that will incorporate images and make it sort of VN-like.

If you want a more classic VN approach and don’t mind a bit more coding, I’ve been using Ren’py. It’s a little harder to learn at first but you can do a LOT with it, and it’s based on Python which is probably the most intuitive coding language (as opposed to Javascript, which is what any advanced stuff you’ll need to do in Twine would be built with). There’s also Novelty, which is a WYSIWYG editor but I honestly found it very intimidating to work with because there is SO MUCH you can do in it.

The format you choose will sort of guide the way you write the story, so picking one and learning the functionality of the kind of stuff you want to do will help you with the script.

Third: Map out the story.

If you’re a discovery writer, you might want to write out the whole thing in text format first, then go back and map it out. But you definitely want an outline, especially if your story will be branching a lot. Ideally, you’ll want to do this visually with flow charts so you can see where branches recombine and such. Twine is great for this because each scene is its own little module that connects with arrows and you can move things around in it, so even if you don’t finish the story in Twine it can be great for outlining. You can also draw it out on a whiteboard, use sticky notes, spread notecards all over the floor, whatever. But a visual story map is really important if you have a lot of branches.

So, as for the actual nuts-and-bolts of writing an interactive story...

The more choices you offer the reader, the more complicated the story gets because you’ll have to write out storylines for each individual choice. So if you have five options at first, and each one of those leads to five more options, etc., you can see how a story can become exponentially huge and unmanageable if you’re not careful.

Therefore, most stories will do one one of four things:

1 - Branch off early, so that the first couple of choices a player makes will sort of “lock them in” to a storyline (this is sometimes called a “time cave” structure).

2 - Keep the story relatively linear up until the end, at which point there are several endings to choose from

3 - Offer lots of choices, but have most of them be dead ends

4 - Branch the story, then recombine it at key points so that no matter what choices came earlier, certain key scenes are inevitable no matter what (this is the most common).

You can read a really excellent article about interactive fiction structure here: https://heterogenoustasks.wordpress.com/2015/01/26/standard-patterns-in-choice-based-games/

So once you’ve decided on a basic format, you might even want to draw out the structure of the story map first, and then fill in the plot points from there. That’s actually how I wrote a lot of my assignments for Black Chicken -- they’d give me a flow chart, and some basic parameters of the scenario, and it was my job to figure out how to fit the story into that structure. In a lot of ways that’s actually a lot easier than trying to tell a story and then imagine all of the different ways it can go sideways.

So: If you’re writing a story that branches and recombines, you’ll need to write the key “hub” scenes in such a way that they’ll make sense no matter which route you took to get there. (You can cheat on this a little bit with variables, such that if people have experienced X before, they get Y as a result, but don’t get Y if they haven’t seen X, but that gets complex on the coding side and can be unwieldy in its own right if you’re not careful).

You might want to write the “hub” scenes first, and then flesh out the side stories afterward.

Or you might want to write straight through a single play-through of the story, then go back and write a second play-through, and then figure out where they overlap. Whatever works for you.

I recommend starting out with a short, simple story to experiment with and get comfortable before you start doing anything too complicated.

Bear in mind that, most of the time, your reader will be interacting with your story one sentence at a time. That means writing a story that is coherent when spooled out that way. It also means taking advantage of pacing and timing for dramatic effect.

Also bear in mind that dialogue is the primary story vehicle in a VN. You can have narration, but you should mostly be thinking of the story in terms of scriptwriting. You won’t spend much time describing things, since there will be visuals. And you’ll want to keep the story moving pretty fast so that people don’t get bored and wander off.

Additional Tips and Considerations

It helps to play a lot of visual novels to get familiar with them. You can also read or watch Let’s Plays. Here’s a handy archive that can help with that: https://lparchive.org

If your game will use multimedia assets, take the cost/time into consideration. If you’re doing your own art, how much time can you afford to spend on it? If you’re hiring someone, how much can you afford to do?

The more characters and locations in your story, the more art you’ll have to buy/create. Thus, it might be a lot easier to do a story with only a handful of characters in 2-3 locations.

If you use music, make sure it’s something that loops well and won’t drive someone crazy listening to it for hours while they play the game. You can get royalty-free music from Purple Planet: http://www.purple-planet.com and I’m sure other places as well.

It’s also worth lurking around the Lemmasoft forums, which have lots of great tips and resources (especially if you’re working in Ren’py): https://lemmasoft.renai.us/forums/

I hope that helps! if you have any other questions, feel free to ask any time :)

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ritacaroline · 6 years

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In The Light Jimmy Page Fan Fiction Part 56

Part 56 Enhanced

The set ended, tons of applause. First half was over, intermission time about to begin. Jimmy was struggling with knots in his gut. He felt that his insides had all entangled themselves together and he felt his breathing was effected. His anxiety was through the roof and he began his stage departure toward the back stage area. His brows were drawn together as he felt he was headed into possibly his own hell.

As Jim strode determinedly into the backstage big room, his heart was pounding and his stomach was doing flips. He was picturing his Jill, being held in Julian’s arms, Julian kissing her, devouring her, with his mouth and grasping onto her delicate frame with his brawny muscular arms. The burning in Jim’s chest increased tenfold. And he felt like screaming. But he needed to put that out of his mind for now. He didn’t know anything for certain yet. Nothing yet. Besides, Jill would never allow that, she’d never betray him like that. If she wanted to be free of him, she’d certainly speak with him gently about it first, before acting on it. True. Right ? He deeply realized that whether Jill decided to end it with him kindly or rudely, either way would be more excruciating than he could bare. All he could do was hope, that she was still his. Jim desperately scanned the room but couldn’t find his angel. As the seconds ticked by, the more exasperating agony filled his chest. The thought of tears actually entered his mind, and he really hoped he could control that urge, the feel of those coming on was horribly embarrassing. Not something he’d like for Jill, nor Julian, nor anyone to see on his face. Then finally he spotted Jill. His eyes connected with hers. He saw her slouching down on a bench, way far down the room. A sort of sad look on her face. Julian was nowhere to be seen. Jim strode rapidly toward her, and she stood up also, and began moving quickly to him. As they got much closer, Jimmy opened up his arms to her, and she landed herself directly into his arms. She mashed her head into his shoulder, sideways and hugged him around his waist firmly, as though she had not seen him in a year. He clung onto her and rocked her back and forth while embracing her tightly, possessively. His heart was still pounding. Kissing the top and side of her head as though she just survived a near fatal fall or such. He was thrilled to have her in his embrace, but still unknown to the result of her talk with Julian. Jimmy looked up and now saw Julian leaning against a wall ahead of him. Jill could not see, since she was facing the opposite direction. There happened to be a chalkboard right there. Julian had written in big letters, “ I’ve been SHOT DOWN.” With a big frown symbol after it. After he saw it, Jim nodded his head in acknowledgement. And Julian immediately erased the board and walked away. The info took a moment to seep into Jimmy’s head. He had had no idea of what to expect a minute ago. Jill let go of him and led Jimmy to his little dressing room and closed the door. He sat down and pulled Jill right into his lap and held her tighter than ever and kissed her mouth with so much feeling, cradling her like a precious baby, that she fell into a state of pure relief. The images that Julian had presented to her were very troubling to her. Imagining leaving Jim made her feel confused and a little nauseous. With that in mind, she held onto him for dear life. A few tears formed and dripped, in appreciation of having Jimmy clutching her, giving her his furious affection and caring. It was rapture for both of them. Pangs of love filled his heart, like never before. There was so much emotion right there, that moment in that little room. Jimmy’s heart was so full just then, he felt that he nearly lost her. Even though that was truly never the case. But now, he was beside himself with joy, knowing that Jill still chose him, even when offered an other possibly great option. Neither of them said a word to each other, but in some cases, words aren’t needed. Jill had no idea that Jimmy had knowledge of what had just transpired with Julian. And she certainly had no intentions of telling Jimmy. Not needed, that’s for sure. And they both decided to keep their own knowledge of the event to themselves.

But, what was now obvious to Jimmy, was that his bond with Jill was unwavering and that not much could get between them, not anytime soon. Not even an offer from a six and a half foot tall Viking type. But he knew how he felt for certain. The two just sat there kissing intensely and holding each other for the rest of the break. He wanted her to feel how precious she was to him. And she felt it, and she knew.

When the second half of the show began, Julian sent a different crew member to watch over Jill. He didn’t feel comfortable anymore, being right beside her. And it made no difference to her.

When the acoustic set began, the first song the band performed was ‘Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You.‘ And Jimmy didn’t normally sing, but when the end of the song took place, he looked directly at Jill, moving his head from left to right, and mouthed along with Percy, “I’m never, never, never, never gonna leave you, baby.”

And she got chills through out her entire body when he did that. Felt like some fireworks were exploding inside. After the show, once the band got showered and changed, they all headed out to a pub to relax for awhile. Clare met them there, since she had not attended the show this night. When she and Jill saw each other, Clare looked like a breath of fresh air to Jill. Someone she cared for, on whom she could rely and confide. They grasped each other in a tight squeeze and stayed like that a few moments. Jill whispered to her buddy, “I’ve gotta tell you something later,” while looking exasperated. A tear or two even filled her eye. It had been a long night. Clare nodded in a worried way.

Jimmy was still heavily feeling the effects of the pain and anxiety he’d been through earlier. Even though the results had proven to be completely in Jim’s favor, he was still reeling from the close call. So understandably, he felt extra possessive tonight regarding Jill. He especially didn’t want to be there at the pub this night. Where he wanted to be was back at the relaxing hotel, appreciating his woman. He spoke softly to her, while softly brushing his lips against her temple, “I wish I was back in our room now, holding you in my arms and kissing you all over your body and caressing you, while speaking sweet words of passion in your ear, my darling.” But apparently, this obnoxious meeting was for some mandatory reason, as per instructions from Cole. How irritating. He wished it were over. The other bandmates had no idea about the drama that had occurred in Jimmy’s love life tonight. They had no idea why he’d been crabby earlier in the concert, then elated later on. However, it really wasn’t any of their business. But, once they got comfortable with a few drinks at the pub, with their women by their sides, things became a little bit more survivable. They all noticed Jimmy was particularly attached to Jill this evening. While holding her in his lap, he kept caressing her thigh and holding her close, on the pub bench. As though she was a delicate glass treasure. She also, was still getting past the events of earlier, and she more than appreciated Jim’s affection. Jill’s one concern however, was not nauseating the others, with their public display of affection.

Jimmy couldn’t care less about what they thought ! His only concern was Jill tonight, the rest of them could all fall off a cliff and he wouldn’t have blinked.

Richard approached Jimmy, “Excuse me, Jim ? You may need to put the girl down for five minutes, just while we meet with security, ok ?” said Cole. Rich had heard Robert use a phrase similar to this, toward Jimmy a few days ago, and thought he could get away with the same type of comment. However, Jimmy didn’t love being spoken to in that manner, especially by Cole. Somehow, it didn’t sit well when he referred to Jill as “the girl,” as though she were any random ‘girl.’ Or like she was a hobby or something. As in, ‘put the stamps away now Junior. It’s time for homework.’ Jim gently lifted up Jill and placed her sweetly on the bench and kissed the side of her head. He asked her to excuse him a few minutes. Then, once out of ear shot, he roughly yanked Cole by the front of his shirt and barked, “What the fuck was that ? Watch your remarks when you speak to me. You chose your words poorly. You and I are not that close. And the word is respect, have some.”

Cole was pretty shocked, but just kept his mouth closed. Jimmy was the star of the show. There was no band without Jimmy. Rich knew it was time to shut up. Jim may have reacted stronger than necessary, but he was on the edge of his composure here tonight. It would take very little to push him over the edge. He was extra sensitive. They all knew to avoid pissing him off, at all cost when he was in a mood like this, but Cole could be a dumbass sometimes.

Jill did not hear the words spoken between Jim and Cole, but observed their body language and expressions as they strode away.

She could see how angry Jimmy was and she wasn’t used to seeing him like that. It was a bit alarming, as she noticed how protective he had been of her. And she kind of liked that part, although she did not at all enjoy seeing him upset. Jill hoped she was not somehow the cause of this.

Once Jim was alone with the men, first they covered the business part of the meeting quickly. Once completed, Robert asked him very quietly and gently, “Hey, buddy, what’s off with you tonight ? Something’s wrong.”

Jimmy responded calmly, “Ah well, it’s cleared up now. I had some trouble learning that I had some competition going, a guy trying to steal Jill away. I got bent outa shape when I panicked, but it’s fine again. Nothing’s changed.”

Robert spoke, “Wow, the two of you look extremely happy together, and it’s been a long time that you’ve been with Jill now, compared to your typical track record at least. What would you say is so different about Jill ?”

“Well, mate, she’s sweeter than honey. Smart. Kind. Sexy beyond words. Makes me laugh constantly. Caring. Loving. Calm. Never seen her complain or get angry. She makes me feel so good. Simply speaking, it doesn’t get any better than Jill. If it does exist, I haven’t seen it.” Jim said. “She’s ruined me now, for anyone else. So many low quality people whom I had allowed to surround me before. I could never go back to that way again.” he said, with an extremely serious look on his face.

Next Part 57 : https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/178245190476/in-the-light-jimmy-page-fan

Chapter Index :

https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/Fan%20Fiction

#Fan Fiction #submission #jimmy page fan fic #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fan fiction #led zeppelin

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hornsbeforehalos · 7 years

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Anytime, Sweetheart: Part 17

Pairing: JDM x OFC, Features: Ackles & Padalecki Families, R2, Misha Collins & Vicky Vantoch, Norman Reedus, Andrew Lincoln, Kim Rhodes, Briana Buckmaster, Ruth Connell, Corey Taylor and other cast members & OFCs* *THIS IS AN RPF FIC** SERIES MASTERLIST Summary: (I’m horrible at summaries, but let me try): Kylin Ackles runs to her brother’s house after leaving her abusive boyfriend of 3 years, where she meets Jeffrey. Events unfold that bring them together, as well as push them apart. Warnings: Emotional abuse, Physical Violence, mentions of rape, cursing, drinking, recreational drug use (weed), Strip Club, RPF, NSFW**, GIFs, implied smut, Age Difference, Slow burn, Emotional rollercoaster, poorly written smutt, etc… 18+ please(A/N: This is strictly a work of fiction that I came up with off the top of my head. For fictional purposes, his S/O & Son are not mentioned. I love him and his little family, though, so no hate intended. This is the first time posting anything on Tumblr, but I couldn’t get it out of my head since my ao3 fic is currently on hiatus because writers block. Feedback is appreciated. unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.) TAGS: @jml509 @jesbakescookies @daddy-kink-confirmed@aquivercactus @xagateophobiax @sorenmarie87@missghoul18@jdmfanfiction @jeffreydeanneganstrash @through-thesilver-lining@beffyblueeyes @docharleythegeekqueen

"Jesus Christ, Jeffrey, what the fuck were we thinking!?" I whined from the shower stall, scrubbing myself clean. "I-I-I'm sorry, Ky, I couldn't...you said..." was his muttered response from where he stood leaning against the bathroom sink. "Fucking bitch. We're screwed. I'm screwed. God damn." I huffed, blowing water out of my face as I rinsed my hair.

"Just because...doesn't mean that anything's gonna come from it." "Jeff, this is me. My luck is shit." I replied, shutting off the water and opening the door. He greeted me with a towel in his open arms for me to step into, which I did and appreciated him engulfing me in it and kissing the top of my wet head as he held me. "Would it be so bad, having a baby with me?" He frowned, looking down at me with an emotion in his eye I couldn't quite place. I sighed, "Jeff, neither of our lives are available for a baby. Hell, we barely see each other ever." "And who's idea was that?" "Hey, I'm fucking here, aren't I?" I furrowed my brow and recoiled my head from him in offence. "Which brings me to my next question." I sighed again and stepped out of the bathroom with the towel around my body and into his bedroom to find a shirt. I picked one of his old ACDC ones and threw it on before pulling the leggings I had been previously wearing back over my thighs. The sun was up now and Jeffrey had called into set while I was in the shower to let him know that he was going to be running late. "I don't want to talk about it, Jeffrey. I'm here. I wanted to see you and I came." "Yeah you did." He teased, wagging his eyebrows and biting his tongue between his teeth. He trapped me between his arms as he loomed over where I sat on the bed.

I rolled my eyes at him and patted him on the soft scruff of his cheek with my hand, earning me a chuckle as he nuzzled his face into my palm. "You wanna come to work with me today?" he rasped as he moved to kiss my neck. "What else am I gonna do while I'm here? Got two days before the boys get in." I smirked at him, pushing him away so I could stand up and make my way over to his dresser mirror. I braided my long, wet hair into pigtails and wiped the remaining smudged eyeliner from my face. He pressed himself against my backside and moved his hands in front of my to play with my braids. "You're so damn cute, woman. I still can't believe you're actually standing in front of me. What changed your mind?" He put his chin on the top of my head and looked at me through the mirror. "Someone reminded me that I belong with you." I replied sweetly, meeting his eyes in the reflection with a tender smile on my face. "Was it your boy toy?" He quirked an eye brow at me and I narrowed my lids at him and exhaled a growlish sound. He chuckled a bit before wrapping his long arms around my shoulders and I brought my hands up to his forearms. "He kissed me." I said truthfully, watching his reaction as the words registered in his mind. He took a deep breath in and exhaled loudly, his shoulders moving with the motion before tightening his arms around me. He was quietly looking at my face in the mirror, eyes glinting. "And you didn't like it?" he finally spoke. "I'm here, aren't I?" I repeated again, annoyance flitting through my voice "I flew across the continent by myself to run into your arms, didn't I?" He gave a small smirk at that, one side of his mouth lifting as he huffed a small giggle before pulling away from me, "I suppose."

I made Jeffrey stop by a drug store on the way to the studios so I could get the Plan B pill, me praying and hoping to whatever gods and goddesses there were that I didn't end up with a rug rat outta this. "You probably should get on some birth control, sweetpea. Ain't no way I'mma be able to pull out everytime." he'd said once I had crawled back into the truck and popped the little pill in my mouth. I swallowed with a deep gulp of my Red Bull and looked over to him with a smirk.

"Who says you're getting anymore, Mr. Morgan?" the tone in my voice obviously hinting at the opposite. A hum came from his chest as he looked at me knowingly as he placed his hand on my bare thigh. I had changed into shorts and a tank top before we left the house, the Georgia heat blistering. I propped my sandaled feet up on the dashboard, his hand not moving, and sat back in the seat as he rubbed his calloused hands over my flesh. "Ms. Ackles, has anyone ever told you you're the biggest tease in the world?" He chuckled, squeezing the tenderness a bit and causing my breath to hitch. My eyes shifted over to see the gorgeous smile plastered across his face while his forearm rested over the steering wheel. I snorted, "Tom did all the time. See where that got him." "Tom didn't have a smile as awesome as mine." He shifted his hand up a little bit further, towards the frayed ends of my shorts. "True, Mistah J. You do have a killer smile," I giggled in my best Harley impersonation. He chuckled again and shook his head, his eyes closing for a second before returning to the road, "I love you, you know that?" "Yes." I turned my head to look at him as he continued to stare forward "You love me?" his eyes shifted to me for a second and he bit his bottom lip. "Sometimes." I sighed, teasing him with a Cheshire grin. "Brat." He chuckled again, giving my thigh a little shake in amusement. "Always." I snorted back at him. "My Brat." "If you can put up with me." My eyebrow raised up at him in challenge as I glanced sideways at him. "You ain't nothing that I can't handle, darlin'." he assured. "If you say so, Mr. J." "I say so, Ms. Ackles, and what I say goes."

Jeffrey and I walked hand in hand through the rows of trailers at the studio, his eyes twinkling behind his RayBans as he swung our arms back and forth with a smile on his face that could make a blind woman see again. "Happy, love?" I asked with a giggle as I peered up at him behind my own sunglasses. "Hell fucking yeah I am." He beamed down at me, his smile seeming to get even brighter, "I got laid last night." I rolled my eyes as we approached Norman's trailer, Jeffrey rapping at the door with a "Woof." Norman opened the door, dressed in his Daryl wardrobe, and his eyes instantly went to me, "Kylin! What the fuck!"

"Hey Normskie." I chuckled as he launched himself down the stairs at me, tangling me in a bear hug before taking my face in his hands, "So fucking good to see you, girl! I've been needing to talk to you!" He kissed my forehead with a smack before turning towards Jeff, "You went and got your girl, didn't you, brother?" "Actually, Bubbah, this time she came for me." He explained, brushing his beard down with his hand as he smirked at the innuendo. Norman, never missing a beat or an opportunity, gave a naughty grin of his own and replied, "I bet she did" We stepped into Norman's trailer and I found myself a spot on the sofa, Jeffrey sitting next to me and placing his arm on the back behind me. Norman sat on the floor in front of us on the other side of the coffee table. He leaned over and opened one of the nearby cabinets and pulled out a small pipe and sack and began to pack a bowl.

"I got a call back from Webster, the dude I introduced you to at the gallery?" he began, looking up from his task to see me nod my head before continuing, "I sent him the work that we took in New York before you left, and he really liked it. He talked to the artist on the project he's working with and she apparently really liked your style. I gave him your info, so they should be calling you within the week he said." He brought the pipe and lighter to his lips, taking a hit before passing it towards me. My eyes widened as I comprehended what he said at the same time as I shifted forward on the couch to take the pipe from his hands, "Really? They liked it?" I took a hit and passed it to Jeff, "That's crazy." "You're good at everything you do, woman. I don't know why you doubt yourself so much." Jeffrey insisted, lungs full of smoke before he exhaled, "Give yourself some credit." I rolled my eyes as at him and shifted back towards Norman, "I really wasn't thinking that it would go past me and you messing around." Norman burst out laughing with smoke still in his lungs, enticing a coughing fit from his as he regained control. "Jesus Christ, I'm smoother than cream cheese on your mama's bagel until I get around your dumb ass, you know that?" I shook my head and looked down as I took the pipe from him, cheeks burning as Jeffrey continued to chuckle behind me. I turned around and smacked him in the chest, "Shut the fuck up, Morgan." "Yes 'mam." he snorted, trying to stiffle his laughter as a P.A knocked on the door to call Daryl to film and Jeff to wardrobe.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Andrew Lincoln beamed, coming up behind me from where I sat in Jeffrey's chair behind the film crew. "Hey, Andy, how have you been?" I replied with a smile, outstretching my arms for him to hug me. "Good, love. Good, good." He answered as he sat down in the chair next to me, "Here for buisness or pleasure?" "A little bit of both, actually. I flew in early to see Jeff, but I have a convention this weekend with my boys." "Lovely, dear. We should have drinks this weekend while everyone's here." "That would be awesome, Misha's birthday's on Monday and he's been dying to celebrate." "It's settled then. I'll get with Jeffrey and handle the details."

"Details about what?" Came his raspy voice, pulling my attention away from Andy and back to him. God Damn that fucking leather jacket and bat. Pull it together, Ky. "Dinner and drinks with everyone this weekend, mate."

Jeffrey nodded his head with a wink towards me, "Any chance I get to get this one liquored up, I take." "Lord Jesus." I huffed, shaking my head as he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on my lips. "I even still have that little black dress in my closet," He lowly rasped in my ear, sending goosebumps to the surface of my skin. "Hmmm, you never did get to see it on me, did you?" "No, doll, I didn't. I also didn't get to take you out on my bike, which is why I'm leaving early today." "You already came in late, Jeff." "And I'm already done with what they need of me. Get your purse and get in the truck, woman." He retorted teasingly. "Yes, sir." I snorted, rolling my eyes once more before hoisting myself off the chair and bidding Andy a good day.

The wind was whipping through my hair like crazy, the braids thrashing around behind me like I was Medusa under my helmet or something. My leather jacket that Jeffrey had bought just for me stuck to his where my arms were wrapped tightly around his waist. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, not out of fear, but to keep the wind and dust out of them while Jeffrey stormed down the long stretch of asphalt at a speed that had to be nearing 100mph. He would chuckle when he felt me squeeze tighter on a turn or gear shift, happy to feel my small little body clinging to him like my life depended on it. Well, technically it did. We rode around for an hour and a half before he finally pulled us into a quiet diner right out side Senoia. Jeff and Norman frequented there on their excursions, so when we stepped in the hostess was quick to greet him. "Mr. Morgan, nice to see you this evening!" She smiled, kind eyes flicking between the two of us, "Will it be just ya'll this evening?" "Yes, 'mam" he replied, voice unintentionally husky. The poor girls face flushed at his tone before she quickly turned and lead us to a back booth. I shot him a look and he shrugged his shoulders innocently "You're gonna give someone a heart attack with that voice, one day, Mr. J." "Oh yeah," He lowered his baritone down until it was almost just a rumble from his toes as he pushed his reading glasses on to his face. He slithered a hand under the tablecloth and reached over to grab my leg and pull my foot into his lap. He looked across the table at me with hooded eyes and massaged my calf. "Jesus." I gasped, feeling my pupils dilate as I watched him smirk at me. He chuckled a bit before taking one hand and opening the menu in front of him, laying it down flat and assessing it as he returned his fingers to my muscle under the table. I opened my own menu and looked over it, an array of comfort foods that could only be found in the South. My mouth watered at both the dinner options and the delicious way that Jeffrey's fingers worked my leg. The waitress came over and took our drink orders and Jeffrey pulled my other leg into his lap to continue, the both of us quietly stealing looks from one another as we made our meal choices. I couldn't control a few of the mewls that his hands dragged out of me, which caused him to rumble a chuckle as he watched me. "The usual, Mr. Morgan? Where's Mr. Reedus this evening?" The waitress said when she approached a short time later to refill our sweet teas and take our order. "He's somewhere, hon. Just me and this hellcat tonight." He lifted his hands onto the table and gestured to me. The young woman smiled and shifted her eyes over to me. "You're Dean's little sister, aren't you?" She asked as she pulled out her order pad. "Ha." I huffed, lowering my face and shaking my head for a second before looking back up to her, "Yeah, Jensen's my brother." "He's so hot." she commented absentmindedly, before startling her self back into reality, "Oh! Sorry." "You're fine, doll." He chuckled, pulling his glasses off his nose and handing her the menu before looking to me, "I'll take my usual. What are you getting, Darling?" "Chicken fried steak, please, with mash potatoes and macaroni." "Ha!" Jeffrey and the waitress both barked at the same time. "What?" I asked, confusion contorting my face and making my eyebrow raise "That's his 'usual', sweetheart. That's cute." She looked between the two of us with a sweet smile and a giggle before turning and heading towards the kitchen. "Well, that's funny." He said, reaching over to take my hands while scrunching his nose playfully. "Great minds' stomachs think alike." I grinned back, squeezing his fingers slightly in affection.

Dinner was absolutely amazing and the ride home was thrill-full as well. Jeffrey learned over our meal that I had actually knew how to ride on the back of a bike and took full advantage of it, taking the turns sharper and lower and letting the bike growl just a little bit louder with the speed. I held on to him for dear life the entire time, and I kinda think that that's why he really through caution towards the wind.

When we got back to his house, it was just after ten. I was exhausted, being up for almost 24 hours straight was definitely taking its toll on me. I quickly stripped and changed back into the ACDC shirt I had stolen from Jeffrey earlier, forgoing pants, and curled myself up on his huge leather sofa. "Tired, baby doll?" He asked, sitting beside me and handing me a big glass of red wine. He had changed into sleep pants and a tank top, and in his other hand carried a tray with a pack of rolling papers and allt he other ingredients needed to roll a joint. "Mmm, yeah. Jetlag is finally catching up with me, I think." "I'm sorry, baby doll. This, that, and me will get you knocked out in no time." He gestured to my glass of wine that I was sipping from and the nicely rolled reefer in between his fingers. "Mmm, amazing." I smiled sleepily at him at the taste of the sweet alcohol. He lit the spliff and inhaled deeply, choking slightly on the smoke as he passed it to me and turned on the television. He sat back into the cushion and I nuzzled into his chest and side as we passed the joint back and forth between the two of us while I gulped on the glass of liquid heaven. Once the glass and weed were done, he cleared the couch and laid down behind me after opening the window behind the sofa and lighting a cigarette to share with me. "This feels like home, doll. You fit me." He mumbled as he slipped the cigarette from his fingers to mine. "Yeah." I said quietly, inhaling the cancer and exhaling slowly before nuzzling in deeper "I do, don't I?" "Like a puzzle." he confirmed "I love you, Jeffrey." "I love you, Kylin." he kissed my temple and pressed his cheek to the side of my face. "Thank you." "For what?" "Loving me." "Ha. Anytime, sweetheart."

“Well God-fucking-damn, toots, look at you.” Jeffrey growled as I stepped out of the bedroom in my little black dress, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“You likey?” I smiled, spinning around for him.

“Like? more like Love, dear.” he rasped, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his chest, “Could eat you the fuck up, little one.”

I giggled, peering up at him as he bent over to melt his lips with mine and snake his tongue into my mouth, enticing a moan from my chest as his fingers gripped my waist tightly. I would never, ever, get over that man’s kisses.

“We have people waiting on us, Mr. Morgan.” I hummed against his lips when he finally let the kiss simmer down.

“One thing real quick, love. You’re outfit is missing something.” He grinned as he kissed my forehead before picking something up off the nearby table.

“And what’s that?”

“I believe you forgot these the last time you were here.” He answered, opening the large velvet box for me that contained my necklace and ring.

“I did, didn’t I?” I smirked as I looked up at him while he pulled the jewelry from the box.

“Mmmhmm, no more taking this off.” He said as he slipped the ring on my finger where it belonged.

“Yes sir.” I said as he clasped the necklace around my neck.

“One more thing,” he dug into the other side of his jacket and pulled out another case.

“Oh yeah?” I asked as he handed it to me.

I opened it and gasped, seeing the most beautiful diamond tennis bracelet, “Jeffrey.”

“Kylin.” he smiled, taking the bracelet off of the velvet before clasping it around my left wrist.

“You spoil me entirely too much. I’ll never be able to give you stuff like this.”

“Sure you will, trust me. Plus, I like spoiling you. I like seeing other men look at my woman coated in diamonds and know she’s being taken care of.”

“You definitely do that, Mr. Morgan. Far more than I deserve.”

“You deserve the world, Ms. Ackles, and I intended to give it to you.”

“Happy Birthday, Dear Mishaaaaa, Happy Birthday to youuuuu.” we all sang, glasses raised in the air as Misha drunkenly stood on the chair and ‘waved to his peasants.’ We were all laughing and drinking and celebrating, everyone was having the perfect time.

And then Corey walked in.

‘why me? like seriously?’

“Taylor! Back here, bro!” Norman shouted from across the bar, getting his attention and waving him over.

“Fucking Christ,” I hissed as I felt Jeffrey’s arm throw itself over my shoulder and pull me closer to his side in my chair. Everyone said their greetings to the man, besides us, and he sat down on the opposite side of the table, a few seats down.

His eyes of course instantly met mine when he took his seat and flicked to Jeffrey’s for a moment before giving us a curt nod. Jeffrey let off a low, dominating growl that only I could hear. Misha of course sensed the tension between the two men and since he was drunk and it was his birthday, decided it would be the funniest thing in the world to tease us. The others at the table didn’t know about Corey and I, or Jeff and I’s arguments in regards to him. Corey didn’t even know the man secretly wanted to knock him into next week for even thinking about kissing me. Which left Misha all the more room to play.

“Kylin, dahhhling, that’s is a b-e-a-utiful bracelet, is that new?” he said in an overly dramatic accent.

I glared at him, and I could hear Jeffrey chuckle beside me as he leaned back in his chair to scruff his beard and wait for my answer.

“Yes, Dmitri, It is.” I ground out, eyes fluttering to everyone who was watching me. Corey included.

“You’re always buying her expensive gifts, Jeffrey. You spoil her too much.” Misha teased some more, swirling the liquid around in his glass before taking a sip, “Look, Jense she’s got that rock back on her finger, too. You owe me a hundred bucks, babe.”

“That’s what she said earlier.” Jeffrey chuckled, sitting up in his chair slightly and rubbing my arm as he kissed my temple, “And like I told her, she deserves it. I’mma have my woman dripping in diamonds if I have my way.”

I knew he was mostly saying it as a way of staking claim to me, rubbing shit in Corey’s face, so to speak. It didn’t matter, though, because my face still flushed and I turned to him and kissed his cheek, nuzzling my nose over his beard for a moment before returning my eyes back to Misha.

“How much you think you’ve spent on her so far?” Misha asked, curious.

“Ha. She wouldn’t want to know.” He chuckled, fingers gently tracing down my neck to the pendent between my breasts, “A small fortune, to say the least.”

“How many karats is that fucking ring?” It was Briana who blurted out from her end of the table.

Jeffrey chuckled again, smoothing his beard down as he held his tongue between his teeth, “7.”

“Judas fucking Priest.” Corey gasped with a whistle, making Jeffrey secretly beam with pride in his eyes for a moment before he wrangled himself.

“Only the best for my queen.” He drawled, nuzzling the tip of his nose against my hair as I burned a bright red at his words.

“Jesus Christ, babe, you never told me that!” I gasped, turning my head to him and smacking him in the chest.

He chuckled, recoiling back slightly from my faux assault, “Oh please, like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t!”

“Please, that rock looks like it’s worth more than all 5 of my kids combined, sis. Get it together.” My brother joked, leaning his head drunkenly against Misha’s shoulder as he joined the conversation, “I need another drink, Mishka.”

“No, you don’t.” Misha responded, looking down at Jensen fondly in his drunken state with a chuckle, “You need some water.”

“I could use another shot with all this tension in the air, so I’mma go do that. You coming, Collins?” Norman finally said before Mish nodded and helped Jensen stand and followed him to the bar.

And then the awkwardness really set in.

Corey cleared his throat, “Look, um, I know this is awkward.”

Jeffrey and I both simultaneously snorted, and I reached forward to down the rest of my drink.

“I just want to apologize, to the both of you. I shouldn’t have ever kissed you, especially not really knowing the situation with you, Jeff.”

Jeffrey hummed and nodded, “It’s in the past, just keep your eyes to yourself, boy.”

For being in his 40′s, Corey felt like a little kid when he responded, “Yes, sir.”

I sighed, “I’m sorry I made it kinda, confusing, I guess. Um, it’s been weird lately.”

“But it’s not anymore.” Jeffrey corrected, making sure that Corey knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you guys, really.” He smiled at us, and I gave him a small smile back.

“So what brings you out here?” I asked, sucking the melted ice through the straw of my glass, wondering where Norman and Misha had run off to at about the same time they all showed back up. My brother was still thoroughly wrecked, but more coherent.

Norman handed me another drink that I was extremely thankful for, “Bubs here hadda puke.”

I rolled my eyes, “Of course he did.”

Jeffrey shook his head at my brother, “Boy, didn’t I teach you better?” which caused the rest of the table to laugh out loud.

“Shuddup, Daddy.” Jensen mumbled, resuming his spot against his best friend’s shoulder.

“Only your sister’s allowed to call me that, son.” Jeffrey prodded with a smirk and a wink, earning him another smack from me as my face turned red while everyone else hooped and hollered cat calls.

“Jeffrey Dean!”

“What?”

“I hate you!”

“Do not.”

I huffed and crossed my arms before turning my attention back to Corey, “I told you they were embarrassing. I’m just glad Jared’s not here.”

Corey giggled, his eyes squeezing shut as he wiped his mouth with his palm, “Yeah, they’re outta there. But um, I was actually here seeing Normskie, needing his input on a couple band art projects I’ve been working on.”

Norman nodded before taking over, “They’re redoing a couple of the videos with newer versions. It’s actually funny that your here...”

I quirked an eyebrow at him as he looked over my head to Jeffrey, who I wasn’t looking at, but felt the hum deep in his chest.

“That would be really dope, actually. I mean, if you wouldn’t mind and are not to busy.” Corey interrupted, gaze flicking between Jeffrey and me.

“Hmm. Possibly. Um, everything’s about to calm down with Gish in a couple weeks, uh. Norm, didn’t you say that Webster fellow was supposed to call me sometime next week?” I turned back to Norman for a second to see him nod his head again at me.

“Let me figure out what my scheduled gonna be like this next month and I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Corey shared a smile with Norman as they both raised their glasses in toast.

“Thank you for not a douche, tonight, handsome.” I smiled, crawling over the covers towards him as we got into bed.

“Me? A douche bag? Well I’ve never heard such a thing.” He gasped, feigning offence as he peered at me over his glasses from his place against the headboard.

I snorted as I fell into his arms, “Yeah. Sure, Mr. J.”

“Well, I do think he got my intentions.” he rasped, turning out the light and curling his arms around me as I snuggled closer to him.

“I think he did as well.” I chuckled.

“I love you, Kylin. And I promise to you, you are my queen, and I will love you for as long as you allow it.”

“You’re promising a long time, Mr. Morgan.”

“I understand that. Was kinda my goal.” He scrunched if face and nuzzled his nose to mine.

“Sweet dreams, Jeff.”

“Sweet dreams, baby doll.”

PART 18 RELEASED 9/21/2017

#jeffrey dean morgan rpf #jdm fanfiction #jdm x ofc #jdm x you #jdm x reader #jeffrey dean morgan x ofc #jeffrey dean morgan x you #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan fan fiction #negan fanfiction #the walking dead rpf #jdm smut

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takarazuka-rpf · 7 years

Text

ITEIWAY 11

Disclaimer: This is an RPF (Real Person Fiction) meaning anything written here does not reflect the events in real life.

Miyu:

It was quarter to two in the morning and Miyu and MoMo were still in Miyu's living room. The TV played in the background while MoMo lay stretched out on the sofa and Miyu sat on a nearby by chair. The pair hadn't been able to fall asleep due to the fact that MoMo decided to order take-away a couple of hours ago and both were still trying to digest the food in the stomachs. Miyu learnt that when MoMo was stressed out, she liked to indulge herself in as much food as possible (and the people around her too).

MoMo had been staring at her phone while lying down and Miyu wondered how long would MoMo's eye sight last at this rate. She also wondered what MoMo was looking at because from time to time MoMo would burst out laughing while reading something from her phone. Miyu wished she could take a peak too.

It was not the first time Miyu had been left out from someone else's entertainment, in fact she's fairly used to it, used to the fact she sat in the background observing the others around her like a wallflower.

Flashback:

(Miyu POV) Finally it was time for a break and everyone immediately scurried over to their bags to grab out their phones and snacks. Over the weekend, Miyu had made herself some macarons which she was currently excited to share it out with the other Yukigumi members.

When she got to her bag, she plopped down on the bench and took out the box containing the sweet confection. She took special care to make them look pretty with each one having a different colour and flavour which made them even more appetising.

One of them was different from the others though. This special one was cherry-red in colour and shaped like a heart. Miyu smiled to herself as she already knew who she wanted to give this too.

Since Valentine's Day was close, she wanted to do something special for her Top-san and what better idea was there to bake a pastry in the shape of heart. Her heart was beating fast because she didn't know how she was planning to give it to Chigi-san or how Chigi-san would react. Having said this, she felt as giddy as a school girl and as excited as a kid on Christmas Day.

Suddenly from a few benches along, she heard a laugher, a laughter which belonged to no other than Chigi-san.

From where she was, Miyu saw that Chigi-san was in the company of some other musumeyakus, having some sort of conversation. At that moment, Chigi-san's head was thrown back in laughter while one the musumeyakus placed one of her hands on Chigi's thigh and the other over her own mouth covering her own laugh.

Not only did Miyu feel jealous at this scene, she also wished she was part of the conversation and was able to make Chigi-san laugh like that herself.

Chigi-san's smile was one of Miyu's favourite things in this world: the way the corner of her lips curved up, the way she squinted her eyes and the way a small dimple would appear at the corner of her mouth. It was almost infectious because every time Chigi-san smiled, it made Miyu want to as well.

With the box of macarons still opened in her lap, she continued to watch Chigi-san from afar while wishing she was one of them. As she let out a sigh, she wondered how she was going to give Chigi-san this gift now.

Without noticing, Reiko had come and sat down next to her and when Reiko spoke, it caused Miyu to jump slightly.

'What have you got there Miyu-chan? Ooo, a heart-shaped macaron?' This seemed to knock Miyu out of her trance and bought her focus onto Reiko.

'Oh it's nothing! Just something I baked over the weekend…,' said Miyu in a melancholy and crushed tone while looking back down at the box on her lap. Her fingers traced over the edge of the box pondering as to whether she should put the lid back on.

Reiko registered Miyu's weird behaviour and went to search with her eyes the thing Miyu was looking at before Reiko sat down next to her. When she had found what Miyu had been looking at, Reiko immediately understood.

'Go for it Miyu-chan,' said Reiko.

'Eh?' replied Miyu now looking at Reiko with confused, wide eyes. Was Reiko able to read her?

'Go and give it to Chigi-san, that one is for her right?' Reiko pointed to the cherry-red macaron and Miyu's face immediately flushed with embarrassment. Reiko let out a small laugh and proceeded to nudge Miyu with her elbow, 'I'm sure Chigi-san will love it! Since it's made by Miyu-chan herself, I'm sure Chigi-san will be over the moon,' said Reiko giving Miyu a bright smile.

With that, Miyu looked up at Reiko and said, 'you think so?' Reiko responded by giving her an enthusiastic nod and a thumbs up. And just like that, a wave of braveness surged through Miyu's body and she instantly stood up with an air of purpose.

She was going to do it! No musumeyaku will ever get in the way between her and Chigi-san!

Taking a deep breath and giving a firm nod back to Reiko, she turned around and started to walk towards Chigi-san (and her current group of musumeyakus).

(Chigi POV) She didn't think the musumeyakus in Yukigumi were this funny! They had just been telling Chigi about a prank they played on Shou with the help of Saki and its hilarious outcome. Sometimes Chigi really felt sorry for Shou, but it is stories like this that makes Chigi glad they have someone like Shou in their troupe to play pranks on.

When she returned her head back to normal position from her outburst of laughter, a little farther away from her, she noticed Miyu conversing with Reiko.

Almost immediately, her sense of humour was gone and replaced with mild bitterness and annoyance. The musumeyakus next to her were still talking but at this point Chigi had drowned out their voices and was currently looking at Miyu and Reiko with stalking eyes.

But all of the sudden, Miyu stood up and Chigi wondered what had happened. When she saw Miyu turn towards her, Chigi looked away and pretended to divert her attention back to the musumeyakus next to her. Hopefully, Miyu hadn't noticed Chigi looking at her.

(Miyu POV) As Miyu headed towards Chigi with the box of macarons clutched tightly in her hands, she held her breath and walked with determination. If any third person was watching now, it would look like a school girl about to hand a confession letter to the most popular boy in school.

When she was about 2 meters away from her target, Chigi and her group of musumeyakus looked up at her with puzzled and expecting eyes.

Miyu felt like she was going to hurl.

(Chigi POV) From the corner of her vision, she saw Miyu starting to walk towards her. For some reason she started to feel a bit nervous and she wondered why Miyu was approaching her. It looked like she was holding onto a box of something.

When she got closer and closer, the musumeyakus had stopped talking as they had also noticed Miyu's presence.

'Miyu-chan! Are you ok? Is there anything you wanted?' Asked Ei-chan beside Chigi. Chigi was observing Miyu's every facial expression and body language very carefully. Every sign and movement told Chigi that she was nervous and slightly uncomfortable. Miyu's mouth seemed to open and close as she tried to form her words.

'Um, I-I'd like to talk to Chigi-san please,' said Miyu in a timid tone. Hearing her name, Chigi's curiosity immediately peaked as she wondered why Miyu had wanted to talk to her.

However next to her, she could feel the other musumeyakus giving her wagging eyebrows, already teasing her the hell out of her.

Ok maybe it would be a better idea if she and Miyu went somewhere else to talk, out of sight from these snooping eyes.

'Sure Miyu let's go somewhere more quite because currently I'm having a hard time hearing you above all these noisy obasans talking next to me.' Chigi was feeling extra cheeky right now.

After saying this, Chigi received a few painful jabs and strikes on the shoulder from the musumeyakus beside her but Chigi thought she was hilarious. Others may have thought her current mental age was of a 3 year old.

As she hastily got away from the obasans next to her while chuckling, she got up and led Miyu by her arm outside the rehearsal room and closed the door behind them. After that, she turned around and faced Miyu.

'What is it you want to talk to me about?' said Chigi in a hushed tone. She didn't know why she was whispering. Chigi observed that Miyu had her head down and seemed to be fidgeting with the box in her hands. Chigi looked down and saw that the box was filled with multi-coloured macarons. However, one of them was slightly bigger than the others and it was in the shape of a cherry-red heart, her favourite colour. Chigi looked up at Miyu's face again waiting for her reply.

'Chigi-san, I-I baked some macarons… an-and I was wondering if you'd like one,' said Miyu in a quiet voice, so quiet that Chigi almost didn't hear her, but she did. Miyu finished this by looking into Chigi's eyes.

Chigi's heart skipped a beat because she couldn't stand it when Miyu looked at her like this. Feeling her face becoming red, Chigi cleared her throat and looked away.

'Well, only if they taste nice,' said Chigi with a false sense of superiority, teasing Miyu. She stole a quick look at Miyu to see what her reaction was and it was just as she had expected. Miyu's face flushed like crazy and her mouth was furiously trying to form words to respond to Chigi's teasing reply.

'O-of course they taste good! I-I had a taste of them myself and they were delicious!' Chigi can see Miyu was desperately trying to present her case and she couldn't help but to laugh internally to herself.

Clearing her throat again, Chigi continued on with her tease, 'oh really? Well let me be the judge of that,' as she said this, she folded her arms and gave Miyu a sideways look. Not a second later, Chigi could see anger bubbling onto Miyu's face and Chigi have not seen a cuter sight.

With one hand, Miyu picked up the heart-shaped macaron and offered it angrily towards Chigi. Chigi being the mischievous brat she was, pretended to inspect the macaron with an unimpressed expression while bending down which only offended Miyu even further.

Just as Miyu was about to withdraw her macaron, Chigi suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. She then took a bite out of the macaron while it was still held by Miyu. Miyu's eyes widened at Chigi's action and Chigi couldn't be merrier.

As she was chewing, Chigi pretended to judge the flavour while making pensive noises even though this was the most delightful macaron Chigi had ever had. Of course, she was not going to say this in front of Miyu.

'It's not bad I guess…' said Chigi in a causal tone, still observing Miyu to see what her reaction was. 'Umm, I'd give it an 8!' Miyu's eyes widened and a bright smile appeared on her face.

'Really Chigi-san!' gasped Miyu in excitement.

'Out of 100,' Chigi immediately retorted with a smirk on her face. Miyu smile instantly collapsed.

'EHHH?! Nani?!' Whined Miyu. Chigi liked it when she got this reaction from Miyu.

'Well I guess you just gunna have to try harder next time,' said Chigi to a very defeated looking Miyu who had her shoulders slightly slumped and a pout on her face.

Thinking Miyu had probably being teased enough for now, Chigi couldn't resist but to bop Miyu on the nose and say, 'I was only joking, it was delicious.'

Hearing this, Miyu's spirit seemed to return to her and her big grin reappeared.

'But. I expect better next time, if I don't see an improvement, I'll never eat your bakes again,' warned Chigi but of course she was joking. She lived for Miyu's bakes.

Miyu gasped and all of the sudden her game-face appeared, 'Hai! I will definitely do better next time.' Miyu's face was so full of determination Chigi thought she might not be able to contain her laughter.

'Good I'm glad you have that in mind,' said Chigi as if she was a teacher talking to a student. Chigi was definitely enjoying herself.

'Righty-ho then! Let's get back to rehearsals!' said Chigi as she gave Miyu a wave before entering the room herself. Chigi was worried if she stayed too long with Miyu by herself, the obasans from earlier would be wondering things and letting their imagines run wild. As we all know, this was definitely not something Chigi wanted.

However after Chigi had re-entered the room, Miyu stood there for a few more seconds in shock and astonishment replaying the words Chigi had just said to her.

Not only did Chigi compliment her on her food, Chigi had also basically given her the permission to bake more for her in the future.

Miyu felt like she could soar across the sky and never come down. She was that high.

Miyu:

As the clock ticked by, Miyu felt her eye lids getting heavier and heavier. She was about to get up to go to bed when suddenly like a knife cutting through the silence, her private mobile beeped.

Both hers and MoMo's ears pricked up like a dog hearing a car coming up the drive way. At this time of the night who could be calling? It couldn't have been the agency. Was it Haruto-kun?

Reaching for her phone in her pocket immediately, she looked at the sender.

It was from Reiko. Confusion filled Miyu's mind.

Why would Reiko be texting her at this time of the day. Reiko rarely texted her anyway, even though she texted Miyu the most out of all the other Yukigumi members.

Swiping across her screen to unlock her phone, Miyu read Reiko's message.

Hi Yuumi chan, I hope you are all well. As you probably expected, I have seen the news today and questions came to my mind immediately. However, knowing you, I know none of it is true so I don't want you to worry and I want you to know that I’m on your side. Ganbatte Miyu-chan!

Anyway, the reason for this text is not only about me telling you my support for you, but also something else. It is concerning Chigi-san.

Eh?!

Miyu's mind began to ring alarm bells at reading the Chigi-san's name. For all of today, Saki and Hitoko, even Shou, had tried to contact Chigi-san but receiving not a single reply from her. We think there might be something wrong and we are getting more and more worried.

Miyu was panicking immensely now. Why wasn't Chigi-san replying to any of their messages? Did something happen?

Therefore we were hoping you can help us. You are our last resort. If you call Chigi-san, she will probably pick up. Please help us, we are relying on you.

Thank you and let's get together soon. XX

- Reiko

Eh?! Why me? Surely if the others hadn't succeeded Miyu wouldn't either.

Having observed Miyu's multitude of changing facial expressions from the sofa, MoMo finally got up and came over to Miyu to see what was going on. 'Miyu you ok? You look worried, who was that?'

Still with an extremely concerned expression, Miyu handed her phone over to MoMo who started to read over the text message.

'Chigi-san hadn't being replying to any of their messages and they're worried that something might have happened to her,' Miyu said while looking up at MoMo who was still reading the text, 'and I'm starting to worry too… why wasn't Chigi-san replying?' Miyu looked down at her hands and began to fidget nervously. Distress was written all over Miyu's face.

Then from the corner of her eyes, Miyu saw her personal manager starting to do something on her phone.

'Eh?! What are you doing?' Said Miyu trying to snatch her phone back from MoMo. But MoMo was fast and dodged Miyu's attempts.

'I'm calling your precious Chigi-san,' said MoMo trying to find Chigi's phone number high in the air away from Miyu's reach.

Miyu froze and stopped what she was doing for a second.

'EHHHH??!! Why???' Miyu was now physically jumping up and down to retrieve her phone but alas, MoMo was too tall for her.

'Because, you, need to talk to her,' said MoMo calmly despite the physical efforts she was making to get away from Miyu.

'But right now?! It's nearly 02:30!' Miyu's legs had never worked so hard before as she desperately tried to jump up and down trying to get hold of MoMo's arms, 'pleaaaaase don't do it.' Miyu felt like she was about to cry.

'Oops too late now, it's already dialling,' said MoMo now handing Miyu's phone back to her as if nothing had happened. Miyu retrieved her phone with both hands and looked at it as if it was a foreign object not knowing what to do with it.

Her phone was currently displaying 'call in progress' for Chigi-san.

'If you hang up now, it would appear as missed call on Chigi's phone. Either way Chigi would know you called,' said MoMo next to her while playing with her own phone again.

Miyu shot a deadly look towards MoMo but MoMo ignored it. Right now, Miyu could think of a million ways to kill MoMo.

Her thumb was over the 'End call' button but Miyu had to admit it, MoMo was right, either way Chigi-san would know that she had called.

Giving up, she pressed the phone next to her ears while her heart drummed rapidly in her chest.

Suddenly, the line became clear and Miyu felt her heart had jumped up to her throat. A person had picked up.

'Hello?... Who this is?’

The person speaking sounded sleepy and also slightly annoyed. But the only problem was, this wasn't Chigi-san's voice.

Confused, Miyu took her phone away from her ears and read the name of the person she was dialling.

Huh?

The name displayed was Chigi-san but the voice on the other end was not.

Because Miyu did not reply immediately, the person said 'hello' again.

Deciding it was probably best to say something, Miyu said cautiously, 'Um hello? I think I may have got the wrong number….'

There was a slight pause on the other end and Miyu thought maybe she should just hang up. She didn't want to disturb whoever this was from sleeping. Maybe there was something wrong with her phone.

Then as if a bucket of cold water had being poured on her, the person on the other end spoke.

'Miyu-chan?!'

Wait what?

How did she know Miyu's name?

Actually, this voice sounded familiar…

Miyu felt like knew her.

No, she definitely knew her… Wait. Hold on. Wasn't this… 'Seshiru-san?!'

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mrmichaelchadler · 5 years

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True/False 2019: Over the Rainbow, Midnight Traveler, Treasure Island, Let It Burn, A Wild Stream

My third trip to Columbia, Missouri to attend the True/False film festival confirms that the setting has become a source of comfort in these trying times. Each year, talented filmmakers, artists, writers, and journalists convene to witness the year’s best crop of non-fiction filmmaking. In between films, they soak up great food, cheap drinks, and smart talk. The festival’s precise, specific programming identity has always been its greatest asset, and this year was no exception. Programmers Chris Boeckmann, Abby Sun, and Amir George put together a lineup that challenges instead of placates and embodies diversity rather than merely paying it lip service. Its lack of cynicism and its commitment to promoting/exhibiting capital-A Art never fails to overwhelm me, especially considering it exists adjacent to an industry defined by slick, commercial interests. I’m eminently grateful to take a minor part in such a joyous excursion each year.

Over the course of five days, I saw many films that raised provocative questions, shined a light on unseen corners of the world, and remained in my head long after I left the theater. Here is the first of two dispatches from the festival.

“Over the Rainbow”

Popular documentaries like Alex Gibney’s “Going Clear” and the A&E series “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath” might have exhausted new information about the controversial religion, not to mention sated audiences’ appetites for disturbing scoops about cult-like brainwashing. However, director Jeffrey Peixoto doesn’t adopt an exposé angle with his experiential feature “Over the Rainbow,” which has no fresh revelations about Scientology. Instead, he takes an observational tact by interviewing current and former Scientology members about the origins of their New Age faith. Peixoto spent almost a decade gaining the trust of his subjects and, subsequently, their confidence in his project shines through the film. In turn, “Over the Rainbow” becomes a compassionate, nuanced discourse on faith as an operating principle in one’s life, especially when the religion in question is in its most nascent stage.

Given what we already know about L. Ron Hubbard, David Miscavige, and the organization’s history of abuse, it’s tempting to think that Peixoto takes a naïve, even immoral, stance with “Over the Rainbow.” Does giving documentary subjects the space to wax poetic about their history with Scientology amount to a tacit endorsement of the religion itself? That might be the case if Peixoto’s formal approach didn’t systematically defamiliarize the vast majority of “Over the Rainbow’s” participants. Aided by an unnerving score from Australian electronic group HTRK, Peixoto films the Scientology members in lingering long takes that render their visages alien and unknowable. (It’s no coincidence that “Over the Rainbow” opens with a discussion of the psychology of UFO abductees.) In between the interviews, Peixoto fills the frame with ominous B-roll footage of Scientology retreats that compliments equally ominous footage of anonymous strangers walking in an urban metropolis or abandoned country roads. All life becomes a series of abstract, alienating enigmas when viewed through a narrow worldview.

“Over the Rainbow” doesn’t unsettle because of what its subjects explain or disclose but rather how Peixoto presents them, i.e. people who have gotten so in touch with themselves that their relationship with the rest of the world has been corrupted. The gap between the subjects’ comfort on camera and their non-fiction staging creates a nerve-wracking liminal expanse for the viewer. “Over the Rainbow” might run the risk of confirming pre-conceived biases from those within or adjacent of the organization, but to claim there’s no moral dimension to the film would be abjectly false.

“Midnight Traveler”

Hassan Fazili’s “Midnight Traveler” might be the most compelling argument for the iPhone (and, presumably, Cloud storage) as the best available vehicle for vérité filmmaking. Fazili brings gripping immediacy to his three-year, 3,500-mile asylum journey from Afghanistan to Germany after he and his family are targeted by the Taliban. Three different iPhones capture the danger and uncertainty inherent in such a voyage: Fazili and his family are often forced to sleep in the woods or in abject housing conditions while facing prejudice because of their refugee status. Yet, Fazili, a sentimentalist as well as a staunchly political filmmaker, also includes plenty of warm scenes with his family as they try to carve out something that resembles a normal life amidst the global chaos. (It helps that his two young daughters, Nargis and Zahra, are adorable testaments to the resiliency of children.) An existential road film with life-or-death stakes, “Midnight Traveler” presents a ground-floor portrayal of the refugee crisis that smartly privileges experience over solutions.

Screenwriter and editor Emelie Coleman Mahdavian deserves credit for shaping a lucid narrative from hundreds of hours of footage, even if, as a result, “Midnight Traveler” occasionally suffers from a neat storytelling sensibility. It’s not difficult to imagine a fiction adaptation of Fazili’s film, considering that all the A-to-B, three-act elements are already present. However, Mahdavian finds sideways approaches to Fazili’s story that impress, e.g. close-ups of Zahra’s bedbug bites that cover her arms and face communicates the dehumanizing condition of refugee camps better than standard B-roll footage. Interestingly, “Midnight Traveler” introduces but never resolves the tension between Fazili’s filmmaking impulses and the responsibility he feels towards his family. Whenever Fazili’s wife, Fatima, implores him to stop filming, he almost always refuses. Later, when Zahra goes missing for an hour, Fazili chastises himself for even considering how he might film her safe return. It’s an overwhelming concern, but one that’s dwarfed by the myriad practical complications Fazili and his family face as they try to find safekeeping.

Similarly, the way “Midnight Traveler” touches upon, but doesn’t directly analyze, a litany of political issues—xenophobic bigotry towards global migrants, the hijab as a symbol of oppression and/or cultural pride, broad institutional failures to protect marginalized communities fleeing state violence—only amplifies their resonance. These topics are the fabric of Fazili’s life, not abstract notions primed for TV pundit debate. It’s a feature not a bug that Fazili and Mahdavian allow these ideas to pulsate in the background rather than touting them front-and-center for easy liberal digestion. Sometimes the best tactic is to let the footage speak for itself.

“Treasure Island”

One of the more whimsical entries at True/False this year, “Treasure Island” offers a broad portrait of a suburban Parisian water park. Director Guillaume Brac exploits his unfettered access to capture multiple groups that flow amongst each other: jubilant swimmers itching for a good time, exhausted security guards who try to keep kids from sneaking inside the park without paying, and administrators making decisions behind closed doors that keep the lights on and people safe. The park’s recreational modus operandi connects them all even if their intentions are at cross-purposes.

Brac crafts a hazy, semi-utopian landscape in “Treasure Island”; it’s a place where multiculturalism exists without much consequence and life’s nasty realities are elided for fun under the sun. Splashes and joyous screams dominate the sound mix. Teens and twentysomethings eagerly flirt with each other in between awe-inspiring water stunts. In this regard, “Treasure Island” embraces its liberated French core: a sequence featuring a hunky lifeguard and two young women culminates with his arms around both of them, smirking up a storm, and repeating the mantra, “Life is great.” Brac contrasts the park’s charged adult energy with scenes of children embarking on their own carefree parallel journeys, as if to suggest that the space exists to be consumed from multiple vantage points. Frederick Wiseman’s institutional approach meets a pop sensibility in “Treasure Island,” which is content to privilege leisure over sharp insight.

“Let It Burn”

Maíra Bühler makes the admirable choice to resist almost all exposition for her film “Let It Burn,” a profile of São Paulo’s Parque Dom Pedro hostel that houses and employs drug addicts, until the very end. It’s only then that she explains that Brazil’s newly elected conservative government plans to shutter the harm reduction program that keeps this community off the streets. This choice retroactively provides weight to the purely observational film that otherwise offers dignity to people written off by society at large.

Culled together from four years of footage, “Let It Burn” carves room for strung-out citizens to exist outside of a punitive system, illustrating how their addictions operate while refusing to let it wholly define them. Men and women frequently break out into song, cannily performing for the camera and themselves. Violence permeates the environment but it’s presented as an unfortunate byproduct of a program designed to support instead of punish. Idealistic activists who run the hostel strive to keep the order while maintaining empathy for their charges. Lovers quarrel and make up. Tenants ride the elevator for amusement as much as they use it for transportation. Even as “Let It Burn” occasionally gets mired in repetitive rhythms, or too frequently loiters in overly familiar footage, Bühler’s generous eye keeps the whole project afloat. Judgment isn’t in Bühler’s vocabulary. Instead, “care” is the operative emotional framework.

“A Wild Stream”

Two men bonded by circumstance on the coast of Sea of Cortez, Omar and Chilo spend their days fishing and their nights drinking in a shack. Though not fast friends, they eventually reach an appreciably understanding of each other, partially because their isolation from larger society necessitates a relationship of some sort.

Their chemistry grounds Nuria Ibáñez Castañeda’s “A Wild Stream,” which splits its time between character study and regional portraiture. She captures the sea as a prideful entity, one that will exist long after Omar and Chilo have gone, but emphasizes the loneliness of the men who dedicate their lives to its upkeep. Castañeda strips away the rest of the world from her frame and only hints at a larger world outside of Omar and Chilo’s eye line. Thus, the coast becomes a confessional space for Omar and Chilo; they’re cautiously vulnerable with each other while maintaining enough emotional distance so that neither gets too uncomfortable. Suggestions of past lives, lost children, and scummy citizenry are bandied about, but Castañeda never pushes for explication. This approach might render “A Wild Stream” an opaque work for some, but any time the film threatens to get into the weeds, Castañeda returns to fishing and the mundane joys of working with ones hands. It turns out that nature and friendship are still sustainable resources.

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carasueachterberg · 5 years

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Word of Warning: If you are not following along on this Rescue Diary on Facebook, you may not know that this story is a hard one. Sadly, it is a reality of rescue that we can’t save them all and that sometimes the damage that has been done prior to the dog arriving with us is insurmountable. Still, we do all we can and while that may not be enough, it is more than many dogs would experience apart from rescue. The following are the Facebook Diary posts in their entirety:

Diary of a Rescue: Day 1 Daisy, a pregnant shepherd mix, arrives tonight on a transport from South Carolina. Puppy room is ready and Daisy is on the van headed north! Travel safe, sweet girl, we can’t wait to meet you! #diaryofarescue#anothergooddog

Diary of a Rescue Day 1 (near midnight):

Daisy has arrived- she is terrified, skinny, and it is obvious that she has already had multiple litters. Settling in but doesn’t look like we will have puppies tonight. She’s a beautiful dog with gorgeous, expressive eyes. Gentle and frightened and yet to eat anything. I’ve tried to tell her she is safe but don’t think she believes that yet. Thanks SAVEDOG Project for getting her here safely.

Diary of a Rescue: Day 2

Daisy is still very unsure of us. She follows me hesitantly and so far is a silent dog. The light of day shows clearly how hard this dog’s life has been. I would wager she’s had many, many litters in her lifetime. Her body is stretched and worn, and the defeat in her eyes just breaks my heart.

One of the signs of impending labor is a drop in temperature. The experts say that when a mom’s temp drops below 100, she will deliver in 24 hours. I’ve had about a 50/50 success rate with that prediction, so I’m not sure it’s ironclad. Daisy’s temp is 98.9 today at lunchtime but she’s finally eating (and most moms stop eating when labor is approaching), so I think we’re still a ways off.

Diary of a Rescue Day 3:

My son, Ian, is a talented photographer and here is a picture he took of Daisy last night.

You can tell by her face that this dog is carrying some really tough stories around. This is a rare moment when she is looking up. Almost all the time, she is looking down and her tail is tucked between her legs. I was rewarded with a teeny, tiny, almost tail-wag this morning when I brought her food, so I’m hopeful we will win her over soon – hopefully before her pups arrive.

Temp today is 101.5 – perfect normal temperature for a dog which means no puppies are imminent! YAY. This gives us more time to get to know her and for her to begin to trust us. That way if anything goes sideways during the birth she’ll let me help. 98% of dogs don’t need any help when giving birth, and Daisy is obviously a pro at this, so I’m am hopeful that I will be nothing more than a cheerleader and water girl when the time comes.

Diary of a Rescue Dog: Day 4

Daisy spiked a fever this morning so we are at the Pet ER. The regular OPH vet is on maternity leave and her fill-in couldn’t see us. So we have waited almost two hours here, me worrying and Daisy fretting and Nick bored to tears. Finally, they are taking X-rays and giving her fluid and electrolytes to get her temp down and to figure out why it is so high. Of course, this all happens during a snowstorm. Could use your prayers for Daisy and her unborn pups.

Diary of a Rescue: still Day 4: Headed home from ER with Daisy. Temp still up. Hoping meds work so we don’t have to go back and hospitalize her. Snowstorm complicating things. Good news is that puppies (lots of them) look fine at this point and the fluids seem to have reactivated her appetite! They’ve also inflated her a little so her bones aren’t poking out so much.

Diary of a Rescue: Day 5

We ended up in the ER again last night with Daisy as her temperature shot back up to 105.3. I was only ever able to get it down to 104.2 at home by keeping cold wet washcloths on her feet and cooling her ears nonstop.

Normal temp for dogs is 101-102.5. That high temp put the puppies at great risk, not to mention the stress on Daisy between the fever and the travel (in the snowstorm) to and from the ER twice.

Daisy’s temp was down to 102.4 when we brought her home and this morning it is 99.3. She has very little appetite but otherwise seems good as can be expected – tired and still wary of everything around her.

She’s on antibiotics now and fingers crossed that will knock out whatever caused her fever. I am hoping that the current low temp doesn’t indicate labor coming and that she will have another week to rest and heal and for the puppies to grow.

Daisy does seem to be trusting me and Nick now – she meets my eye and her tail isn’t clamped so tightly between her legs. Nick had to carry her (59 pounds!) in and out of house and vet, she was too wobbly from the fever and too scared to follow me. I know it wasn’t how he planned to spend his day/night and he missed work to help me, so I’m more than grateful to have a partner who backs me up and grateful we have a good four-wheel drive vehicle that got us safely to and from the ER – twice!

We are all tired and holding our breath and hoping the worst is over, but something tells me this journey with Daisy is nowhere near finished.

Diary of a Rescue: Day 5 (evening)

Daisy’s temp shot up again this afternoon over 105, so we are at the vet’s office waiting to see doc at Clearview Animal Hospital, LLC. Daisy did well on the hilly drive over here and thankfully we didn’t encounter and downed limbs from the heavy snow and ice. We could use your prayers once again. Hopefully, we can get her some relief and figure out where fever is coming from.

Diary of a Rescue Day 6:

Let me start by reminding you that when I started this Diary I warned you that there might not be a happy ending. Because this is not fiction (oh, how I wish it was), I have no control over the outcome.

Daisy got more fluids and a new course of antibiotics last night. The wonderful staff at Clearview taught me how to administer fluids and sent me home with more ‘just in case’. Her temp was normal by the time we were home.

I will spare you the gory details, but nothing about what happened next was anything like any of my other litters. About 10pm Daisy delivered a puppy that was clearly not ready to be born. It lasted only a few minutes. Five hours later, after straining and straining and wandering confused around my puppy pen, she delivered a stillborn pup and this morning, just before I took her back to Clearview when they opened, she had another dying puppy.

Daisy has been amazing through all of this – confused, scared, and trying her best. She has leaned on me and licked my face each time I sat down with her. I’ve done my best to comfort her, but truly, there was not much comfort to find.

She is in good hands now, and I am only focused on saving Daisy. As sad and awful as it is, her body cannot take raising another litter of puppies and I am not holding out much hope that any of the remaining pups will survive. In the end, that will be a blessing.

So much is wrong with this situation, but none of it is Daisy’s fault or OPH’s fault or any of the vets that have treated her or the shelter that held her. The fault lies with some anonymous person or persons in South Carolina who did not care for or value this dog. She has likely already had a dozen litters of puppies in her life, and yet no one who knew about it or adopted one of her cute puppies did anything to help her.

I thought much about this last night as I sat with Daisy. It will not do us any good to be angry now, what we have to do is act. We have to change this crappy situation. There is no excuse for it.

While I so desperately wish this had turned out differently, I’m glad I’m sharing it with you because this is the part of rescue too many people don’t know about. We see the best and the worst and it stretches our hearts, but it will not break them. There is too much work to be done.

Diary of a Rescue Day 6: (midday)

Daisy is struggling to deliver the remaining pups and it has been decided that she will need a C-section. She’ll be spayed at the same time, so one good outcome – no more puppies EVER again. This dog has been through so much, so surgery will be risky, but is necessary. I’m grateful she’s in such good hands and super grateful that they are keeping me updated even though I know they have their hands full with regular patients. Her doc even came in on a day off to do this surgery. Daisy is in the best possible place right now.

One more thing, at this point, one of the puppies she delivered at Clearview is alive. Maybe he takes after his mama and is a fighter too. We shall see. Prayers and positive, healing energy welcomed! #togetherwerescue

Diary of a Rescue: Day 6 (4pmish)

Daisy is out of surgery and doing well! One large female pup survived of the five additional pups they pulled during the C-section (that’s eleven total pups if you’re keeping count). The boy pup has been nursing and holding his own. Once Daisy is fully awake from surgery, they will try to get girl pup nursing. If everyone continues to improve I can bring the little family home tonight!

It will be another long night fretting over this little crew. Daisy will be exhausted and now we have an incision to keep an eye on while being sure the puppies can nurse. Her nipples from her years of having puppies are enlarged and misshapen and some will be impossible for the puppies to latch onto.

Long, sketchy road ahead, but one big hurdle jumped. Can’t say enough about how amazing Clearview staff have been. Courtney has been with the puppies all day long and I imagine it hasn’t been easy to lose so many. Dr. Shank gave up her day off to operate on Daisy and the two of them have taken the time to keep me informed of all that’s happening. Outstanding veterinary care, but more than that, they truly love the animals.

Relieved, but bracing myself for more to come. Thank you all for your many prayers today – I know Daisy and her two little babes have been wrapped in them. #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog

Diary of a Rescue Day 6 (evening):

Daisy is home and resting but has lost a lot of blood. She is weak and dehydrated, but I will give her fluids through the night. As hard as this is, I’m learning a lot and gaining skills that will help me with the next litter.

Puppies are very skinny and have a lot of trouble latching on and staying on. In this grab from my baby cam, she is snuggled around them. She has been licking and nuzzling them, so no matter what happens tonight they are being loved.

Hopeful sign- Daisy walked from her travel crate into puppy box (Nick removed a side for her so she didn’t have to hop over) AND she had a big drink of water.

It will be touch and go tonight. I’m staying close by and will do what I can but we still don’t know the cause of the fever and the abortion of the pups. We don’t know if the pups failing created the fever or vice versa. Hoping she responds to the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories she is on now.

Hoping to turn the corner soon but still far from it. Thanks for your support and kind words- they mean a lot. #togetherwerescue #anotgergooddog

Diary of a Rescue: Day 7:

We had a mostly good night. Daisy is eating a little bit of chicken and rice almost every time I offer it. This morning she even ate a little canned puppy food. She is drinking water also. She doesn’t get up for either but obliges me when I offer her bowls to her. All good signs! I think being ‘home’ in the quiet warm puppy room is really helping.

I had planned to take her back to Clearview this morning but she is doing so well we’re going to stay home for now. She has yet to pass any urine or stools so I know she is still very dehydrated, but her gum color has returned and she no longer lying flat.

The girl puppy passed last night but the boy puppy is still with us. He seems determined to nurse but it is a challenge. Daisy spent most of the night curled around him.

We are still not out of the woods and far from that corner I keep hoping we will turn but things are decidedly better. I got some sleep last night and even a quick shower! Hoping to have a moment to sneak over to Walmart to grab something for Ian for Valentines Day. A little normalcy is good for the soul!

Thanks for following along on this rescue- it is comforting to know we are in so many prayers. Remarkable to think that this dog who has been so neglected for so long is on the hearts of so many. I keep saying (about the problem of so many good dogs dying from neglect or crowded shelters) that it’s not that people don’t care it’s that they don’t know. #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog

Diary of a Rescue: Day 7 (3pmish):

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Daisy is doing great (although every time I say this things go sideways). She is eating a lot and drinking well, and (this is huge) she finally peed! I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to step on a soak puppy pad in my stocking feet before! Peeing means that she is not so dehydrated, which has been one of our biggest threats for the past 24 hours. Her temp has been normal all day, which is a huge relief. I’m plying her with chicken and rice and hamburger and some fancy canned puppy food I dashed out and bought at Pet Valu a little bit ago.

Boy puppy is hanging on but getting weaker. I will be surprised if he lasts the night, but then again I was surprised when he made it through last night.

Another OPH foster, Chris, is going to come and mama/pup sit for me so I can sneak out to watch Ian swim in the Invitationals (thanks Chris!) later. Going to the store and now heading to a swim meet, I feel like I’m returning to the land of the living, like Daisy and I have been on some kind of Odyssey for the last four days.

This sweet dog’s heart is overwhelming. Daisy rarely gets up, stayng put to let the puppy nurse/stay warm and also because she is beyond exhausted and each time I bring her a bowl to eat or drink, she takes a few bites or sips and then licks my hand. I think it’s her way of saying thank you. #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog

Diary of a Rescue: Day 7 (evening):

Daisy’s baby boy passed this evening. What a little fighter he was- but there were far too many strikes against the little guy. At the end he went very peacefully. It was actually pretty amazing even though it was heart wrenching to witness. Daisy cradled him in her paws for awhile and licked him gently. After he was gone she ripped up all the bedding into a pile in the puppy box and is now lying here on it finally really sleeping hard.

If I try to leave she gets up, so I’m sitting here until it’s time for meds in thirty minutes hoping she has at least that much peace. I’m remembering where this girl was just a week ago and thinking of all we’ve been through. She is still hurting and swollen and I can’t help but wonder why this happened the way it did and whether it’s over (in terms of Daisy’s health).

Tomorrow we start moving forward with this girl- getting her healthy and happy and ready to find her family. But tonight we’re going to sit here together and mourn her 11 babies and all that might have been.

Thank you for your prayers and support for this beautiful dog and her enormous heart.

#togetherwerescue #anothergooddog

It is hard to believe it has been a week since Daisy arrived and that this time last week, I was hopeful and excited to welcome Daisy and her impending family. Now, instead, in my mudroom is a broken and sad dog who is just beginning the long road to healing. I will continue to post her journey because it’s my greatest hope that now is when the good part starts.

When I set out to write this diary, I thought it would be a happy story to buoy us during the long, cold winter. When things began to slide, I wasn’t sure I should continue to keep writing or whether I should share all of the details with you. In the end, I did, except for the long night of labor/delivery at my house because it was so very hard to witness and the outcome spoke for itself.

I decided to keep writing because maybe this was a story that needed to be told and that just maybe it would inspire someone to act, to get involved, to help change the situation in our country in which too many good dogs are neglected and forgotten. Our country continues to euthanize up to a million dogs a year, and that doesn’t count the dogs like Daisy who die in or out of rescue as a result of apathy and ignorance.

If this story has motivated you to help in any way, here are a few options:

Volunteer at your local shelter or rescue – walk dogs, take dogs for a ‘day out’ or a sleepover, or consider fostering dogs. Photographers are always needed because a good photo can be the difference between a dog getting adopted or not. If you’re a cat person (and the cat problem is MUCH bigger), you can cuddle kitties or take pictures/write bios. Volunteers are also needed for fundraising, reference checking, and many other tasks that don’t require that you even get your hands dirty. Even one hour a week will make a difference.

When you decide to get your next dog, consider adopting from a shelter or rescue. And when you hear of others who have done so, thank them for choosing to rescue.

Donate to your local shelter or rescue – stories like Daisy’s are all too common. Adoption fees don’t begin to cover the cost of rescue. If you are moved to help with Daisy’s bills, you can do so through the OPHrescue website designating that your donation is for “Daisy B.’

And, if you’d like to follow along daily on Daisy’s journey, like/follow my public Facebook page. I plan to continue to document Daisy’s journey right up until the happy ending that she so deserves.

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to know more about my blogs and books, visit CaraWrites.com or subscribe to my monthly e-newsletter (which is rarely monthly, but I’m working at it…everybody needs a goal).

If you’d like to know more about the book, Another Good Dog: One Family and Fifty Foster Dogs, visit AnotherGoodDog.org, where you can find more pictures of the dogs from the book (and some of their happily-ever-after stories), information on fostering, the schedule of signings, and what you can do right now to help shelter animals! You can also purchase a signed copy or several other items whose profits benefit shelter dogs!

If you’d like to know how you can volunteer, foster, adopt or donate with OPH, click here. And if you’d like more pictures and videos of my foster dogs past and present, be sure to join the Another Good Dog Facebook group.

I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to comment here on the blog, email [email protected] or connect with me on Facebook, twitter, or Instagram.

Best,

Cara

Released August 2018 from Pegasus Books and available now

Diary of a Rescue: Week One #togetherwerescue #anothergooddog @operationpawsforhomes Word of Warning: If you are not following along on this Rescue Diary on Facebook, you may not know that this story is a hard one.

#dogrescue #pregnantdog #rescue reality #rescuepuppies #shelterdog #spayandneuter #togetherwerescue

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acidflash · 6 years

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The Secret DJ

This is the third book in succession I’ve read about the phenomenon we love and know as Electronic Music. I think that’s what to call it anyway. As time goes on I like using that term less and less as “EDM” becomes more and more infused into our everyday lives. Either way, whatever you want to call it each book has been significantly different in its approach to this intoxicating lifestyle but equally enjoyable. “Ninety” by Johnny Proctor was a foray into fiction and Acid House, “Sonic Youth Slept On My Floor” by Dave Haslam was a memoir that heavily focused on his DJing and now we have “The Secret DJ”, a memoir of sorts but it reads like fiction with its larger than life escapades! I loved it and would highly recommend reading this to anyone. I’m not sure this is particularly a “book review” per se but I talk about it and what parts of it mean to me.

The Secret DJ is a series of tales from a now fifty something DJ who was one of the original “Superstar DJs”. He takes us on a non-chronological journey of debauchery, realism, philosophy, narcotics, comedy and education. Several characters play a supporting role, none more so than Tour Manager his, well tour manager obviously. Except he sounds like the most useless tour manager ever and is saved by the fact he sounds like the most hilarious wingman you can imagine. Possibly not for The Secret DJ but certainly for the reader.

The book is written obviously from an anonymous source and focuses purely on life on the road as a working DJ, apart from a couple of life-changing events. There’s no childhood stories that give you hints of the life to come, there’s no background as to how he became a DJ, it’s just straight in with the mostly comical japery and what it’s like to endure/enjoy that lifestyle that is so revered by many, but so few could ever withstand.

As someone who started DJing back when few people did I can empathise with so much of the book. I’m around 10 years younger so although I was part of the first army of “bedroom DJs”, there were far fewer of us than there are nowadays and there was no sync button. Much of his outlook is “I’m an old bastard and it was much better in my day”, and as much as I try not to be, my outlook is not too dissimilar. Of course it’s wrong, there are undoubtedly things that were much better “back in the day” but there are also better things nowadays. Sometimes the same thing is why it was better then/now. We had no camera phones so everyone just got on enjoying themselves, but few of us have much of a record of the great times we had bar what we can remember, which let’s face it isn’t a lot. Clubbers nowadays can keep physical memories of these great times. I’d prefer to just enjoy myself and not worry or cringe about what people I’ve been out with might slap on social media but there are certainly pros and cons to both sides of that argument. Likewise how organised things are these days. There was so much adventure 20/30 years ago, you didn’t quite know if things would happen or not, there wasn’t always security, chill out zones etc. so there’s better safety nowadays. Whatever way you look at it there were good things and bad things about the different eras.

Anyway I digress. There were many passages I’d like to highlight but I don’t want to give too much away. Nothing more annoying than reviews or previews that give away all the “best bits”. Instead I’ll tell you the ones that resonated with me the most. You can read it yourself for the funny parts, of which there are many.

His description of how the art comes more naturally the less you try for instance - “Have you ever tried too hard at something physical, a sport or a game? Have you noticed how you are never better at it when you’re not trying at all? It’s that.” Bang on. Once you can do something on autopilot then you’re sorted. Most of us probably drive a car without thinking about what we’re doing most of the time, it’s like that. Once you start thinking whether your clutch/accelerator co-ordination is correct then you suddenly start changing gear poorly.

Likewise, mistakes. We’re human. Be immediately suspicious of anyone who appears to be mixing “perfectly”. Little mistakes show up reality. Technology is doing most, or all, of the work if absolutely nothing is going wrong. I almost always used the crossfader to mix, and once I got so deep into a mix where I was using the channel slider I forgot the crossfader was still stuck in the middle. The record eventually ran out when I’d faded it out almost perfectly, I slammed the channel slider back up triumphantly thinking the crossfader was right over and had a great surge of adrenaline. Then the next song started, not only were there huge brass stabs at full volume but obviously completely out of time with the record that was playing. Took me around 5 seconds to work out what the hell was going on before I stopped the record. The following month I turned up to play again at the same club to discover they were selling the set I’d done that night on CD. The first half the monitors barely worked so there were trainwrecks and then there was that big mistake. I was mortified. Everybody who I spoke to over the next few months loved it and didn’t care so I stopped caring. Ride your mistakes out, realise everyone makes them and eventually you’ll lose the fear. Unless you are playing in front of 5000 people obviously….

Treating people in the service industry not only with respect (as any even remotely respectable human being should) but to turn it round and be the subservient one. In turn you will be treated much better and for longer. I don’t work in the service industry but in a role that has similarities, trust me when I say the better you treat me the further I will go to give you a great service. In The Secret DJ’s case he also treated them well so that when things inevitably got fucked up later on he was also in credit. Plan ahead in other words.

Talking about Tour Manager he fondly describes how he is the only person made a better person by cocaine, “Some people genuinely have great trouble coming forth from their shell, and sometimes the mollusc within is very special”. Great words and instantly endears you to TM. Their relationship is clearly very special. Well I guess it has to be when he’s useless at being a tour manager!

Talking about the “Shazam generation” and how the research has been taken out of record finding, he says “Being a DJ is about being an authority, which comes through contact and immersion, not mental tourism. In this Information Age, the true hazard is that information gets confused with knowledge. Just cos you have something doesn’t mean you own it”. Incredibly sage words.

Twice I actually cried with laughter. I find laughter to be incredibly infectious and rarely laugh hard on my own even when watching something funny. To laugh at a book so hard that my daughter thought there was something wrong with me takes some doing. Without particularly giving anything away, one downer-addled adventure ends with him saying “If this was a film, there would now be a montage of stills of ascending idiocy”. My head was already doing this, seeing it written out in words tipped me over the edge. Secondly, “MOORSEBERRY SHREWSCAKE”. I couldn’t breathe by the end of this story. Seriously, I couldn’t.

On fame - “One day people loved what I did, then they didn’t. But the things I made were the same. Odd”. We can see it as punters when someone’s musical output doesn’t really change in terms of quality but suddenly a newer, younger kid is on the block and they’re forgotten about. A fickle mistress indeed.

As the book edges closer to the end a very sobering event happens to The Secret DJ. I must say it did knock me sideways a bit, I wasn’t expecting it to hit me so hard. He hinted early in the book that he “lost it” in some way and went off the radar but it was shocking. He writes it in a very blasé way too, I think perhaps as a defence mechanism - making light of what is a very serious situation. How he even managed to survive is a miracle, far less write the book.

Lastly, an extremely poignant quote. “To this day I have no idea how you can spend so much joyful time with another human and end up not seeing them ever again”. I’m sure most of us who spent many years clubbing can fully understand this. Outside of family I had the most amazing time of my life with a few people you can easily count on your fingers. With the exception of one I’ll probably never see them again for various reasons. It still fucks with my head a bit, even years later. How did we go from saving the world, looking out for each other no matter what the situation was, feeling like there was no-one else in the world either understood us or even existed, having the maddest adventures that bound us together for ever more, to never seeing each other again? Growing up I guess. Drifting apart. Shit going down.

Think I’ve hit several tangents there and I was meant to be telling you how great a book it is. It’s a great book for two reasons, the storytelling is first class and will take you through a range of emotions, which lets face it is what you generally look for in a book isn’t it? But also I can connect with so much of it. Like Dave Haslam’s book I mentioned at the start there is so much of the book I get on a personal level. Some of its music-related and some of it’s personality and some of it is both. I guess those of us who obsess enough about music to go down the DJing route are probably similarly built.

One last thing, and I suppose it’s the elephant in the room. Who is he? There are a vast array of clues, although he says something near the end that means you can’t read too far into a lot of them. After all, why write a book anonymously if it’s easy for people to guess? There aren’t too many people he can be and I have a good idea but I like the myth. There’s not really any sniping or secret-telling about other DJs apart from the odd short anecdote and none (apart from the famous Steve Angello incident) are ever named. It just feels like a guy wanted to write a book about his adventures but didn’t want people to know it was him. I know how he feels.

Order it here: The Secret DJ https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0571334482/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i4yxBb5729B54

If you fancy the other books I mentioned you can order Dave Haslam’s here:

Sonic Youth Slept On My Floor: Music, Manchester, and More: A Memoir https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1472127528/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_D5yxBb66E5E24

and Ninety by Johnny Proctor here:

Ninety https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1979953414/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_f7yxBb8C98A14

Review: http://acidflash.tumblr.com/post/174467922138/ninety-by-johnny-proctor-a-review-zico-is-a

#HouseMusic #DJs #SecretDJ #ElectronicMusic #books

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3one3 · 6 years

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The Sequel - 887

An Hour And Two Halves

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Show you what I can do, and you know it’s true, when I dance with you,” Christina sang along quietly with the song on the radio while she chopped carrots for her stew. It was a Joe Jonas song she didn’t even particularly like, but it was upbeat and bouncy and she was in a great mood. The vibe got bigger and louder as the chorus approached, and she was so ready for it. The rider dropped her knife on the plastic cutting board and dramatically flung her hand out at her sous chef, who was cutting green beans. “”Oh-oh-oh-oh, give me your haaaaand,” she sang loud and proud and with a silly face. “Oh-oh-oh-oh, I’ll be who I aaaaam. Oh-oh-oh-oh I ain’t no...Michael Jackson, but give me one chance, one chance to daaaance. Give me, one chance, one chance, to daaaance.” Juan didn’t offer his hand, so she just hopped around him in her energetic, extremely-non-Michael-Jackson-esque way. Her stew-making process was riddled with work interruptions for dancing and animated singing. Despite the midfielder’s disinterest in letting her drag him around his kitchen dancing to Top 40, he found her behavior amusing, and hilarious even at times. Her dramatic and extremely relevant interpretation of Justin Bieber’s “Friends” had him doubled over laughing. When it was over, they agreed that they were evidence for broken up couples everywhere that they can’t still be friends. Christina stopped singing and dancing to make out with him after the third “But we had something so good” line, so it really was pretty self-evident.

“What’s next, cariña?” Juan asked when her dancing took her back to her knife work and he was finished with his.

“Nada. Everything is finished. We put the potatoes in in an hour, and then the rest of the veggies half an hour after that, and then half an hour after that, we eat.” The beef was already simmering away in a big pot of stock, wine, herbs, and onions. He laughed at the chef when her eyes had the typically bad reaction to chopping all the onions too. Their whole cooking project was mostly Juan laughing at Christina, and Christina loving it.

“What do you want to do for an hour and two halves?”

“I’m not really sure, but I know I want to go for a walk after dinner. I miss the smell of London on a fall night sooooooo bad.” She turned her bottom lip over in an exaggerated pout and used her big knife to slide the carrots into the bowl with the beans. “Do you have any ideas?” The Spaniard took both the knife and the small cutting board to rinse in the sink with the ones he used.

“One.”

“Your penis is never going to be in my colon.”

“I want to read a poem to you, from the book.”

“Oh jesus,” the Olympic medalist groaned at the Olympic failure whose token of failure she kept in her book as a reminder of his belief in her ability to avoid failure. There was an unrealized connection between all of those things. The two athletes borrowed a variety of types of strength from each other, and they cultivated that borrowable strength in their own ways- alike, but different. The rider collected takeaways from her history books, and fed her imagination with her mysteries. The footballer collected food for thought from more abstract texts, like the collection of poems she gave him. Books and mutual intellectual stimulus would always bind them.

“It’s very good and you’ll really...relate to it.”

“Is it going to take an hour and two halves?” Christina asked, reluctantly consenting with her body language if not her actual language.

“No.”

“Fiiiiine. I want to hear the end of this Mikky Ekko song though.” She turned around and backed herself up to the small island counter, preparing to hoist herself up on it. Sometimes she was too lazy or tired to do it all on her own, and opened up a big bottom cabinet to step into for a boost. Then she could use her foot to close it again once seated. Juan always complimented her creativity in the matter. She intended to do it on her own on Sunday, and clamped her hands on the counter. He noticed as he was drying his hands, and dropped the towel to lend some help. His hands grasped her waist and lifted her the extra couple of inches she needed on top of her little hop, and he kept them there even after her butt landed safely. He held onto her to keep her from sliding back, so that she had to spread her legs to make space for him in between, and so that she was right up close to his body.

“I lied before.”

“Bout what?”

“I have two ideas for the hour and two halves.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope the second idea involves dragons,” the girl in leggings deadpanned to the boy between her legs. She also casually hung her wrists over his shoulders and passively kicked the backs of his thighs with her heels.

“I can’t wait for your birthday. I’m going to give you the biggest dragon-themed party anyone has ever seen,” the Spanish player laughed, with the same delight in the glint in his eye that had been there all through her dance-cooking. “Every little boy will be jealous.”

“Can it be a costume party? Will you be dressed as a knight? Or is this a Thrones-type dragon party? You would totally be a Stark.”

“We’ll have to see. I have some time to plan.”

“What’s your other idea for an hour and two halves?”

“I want to photograph you- exactly like this,” Juan hastened to add the second Christina’s face turned disapproving. “Exactly the way you’ve been here all afternoon. Just for myself, not the walls, or your Instagram, or a magazine.”

“Aww.” Spanish Teddy Bear is the sweetest, she cooed to herself. I thought he meant naked, and that he was going to try to say he wanted to do a “tasteful” thing instead of something pornographic, which is just what dudes say when they want you to feel classy and glamorous about being pornographic. It’s nice of him too to acknowledge that he recognizes how done I am with being photographed for other people right now, and even for my own social media. I haven’t posed anything with myself in a couple of weeks, because I’m sick of looking at myself, to be honest. I’m sick of hearing about myself too. One of the nice things about weeks and weeks without horse shows is not having to hear about me. I’m so fucking sick of me. Last night was too much about me. I want to crawl back under my rock until Doha. But I can be photographed for him, because that’s adorable. Especially since I don’t even look cute right now, I don’t think.

“Hopefully you don’t think too hard after I read the poem,” he snorted. “That would ruin the picture.”

“Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes. I’ll go get the book.”

Juan didn’t have far to go. Much to Christina’s surprise, her gift to him was right on the footstool-table next to the chaise by the window. That meant he was actively reading it, at least part-time. That was where he kept the current book when it wasn’t traveling with him for a match, or when he wasn’t reading it in bed. She figured he was reading a novel that he would have taken to Chelsea Harbour with him on Friday night since she didn’t notice him put the Frank Bidart poems in his reading nook after the game on Saturday. On occasion, she had a “travel” read and a “home” read going on at the same time too- a practice she learned from the player. He said it helped him get his head into the right lane. The “travel” read, regardless of type, was for shifting focus away from everyday life to the match. He told Christina that it was especially helpful during the busy parts of the season when the team played every 3 or 4 days. The “home” read signaled the shutoff of football and the time to relax and recharge. The first kind tended to be more inspirational, like an autobiography, and the second variety was most often a work of fiction.

They met in the middle. Christina sat sideways on the sofa, Indian-style, and then collapsed backward to enjoy the stretching that position provided and also the offered focal point- the ceiling. Looking at the matte white ceiling was definitely preferable to making her expression available for his purposes during or after the reading of the poem. He sat by her legs and put his socked feet up on the coffee table. Without preamble, he began the poem.

“Advice to the Players. There is something missing in our definition, vision of a human being: the need to make. We are creatures who need to make. Because existence is willy-nilly thrust into our hands, our fate is to make something- if nothing else, the shape cut by the arc of our lives. My parents saw corrosively the arc of their lives. Making is the mirror in which we see ourselves. But being is making: not only large things, a family, a book, a business: but the shape we give this afternoon, a conversation between two friends, a meal. Or mis-shape. Without clarity about what we make, and the choices that underlie it, the need to make is a curse, a misfortune. The culture in which we live honors specific kinds of making (shaping or mis-shaping a business, a family) but does not understand how central making itself is as manifestation and mirror of the self, fundamental as eating or sleeping. In the images with which our culture incessantly teaches us, the cessation of labor is the beginning of pleasure; the goal of work is to cease working, an endless paradise of unending diversion. In the United States at the end of the twentieth century, the greatest luxury is to live a life in which the work that one does to earn a living, and what one has the appetite to make, coincide- by a kind of grace are the same, one. Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune. My intuition about what is of course un-provable comes, I’m sure, from observing, absorbing as a child the lives of my parents: the dilemmas, contradictions, chaos as they lived out their own often unacknowledged, barely examined desires to makes. They saw corrosively the shape cut by the arc of their lives. My parents never made something commensurate to their will to make, which I take to be, in varying degrees, the general human condition- as it is my own. Making is the mirror in which we see ourselves. Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune. Horrible the fate of the advice-giver in our culture: to repeat oneself in a thousand contexts until death, or irrelevance. I abjure advice-giver. Go make you ready.”

“It’s remarkable how you managed to conjure a poem that hits on me missing my family at the same time as my need to figure out what’s next in my life and then also the way you’re “making” with the mirror, with Common Goal,” the very impressed rider commented after giving all the words a moment to land. Every stanza felt immediately relevant to her, and she wanted to make sure Juan understood that she got it all. “My parents were the work to not work people, and they tried to make a business and a family, and never made their own likeness, or what they truky wanted to make. Like, I think my mom would rather have owned her own knitting store than been who she was. You and I are the lucky ones who get paid to make the thing we want to make, or our likeness, mirror image, whatever. But then we kind of grow out of that and we realize what we need to make is actually bigger than football and riding. For you, it’s Common Goal. And the weirdness and equilibrium I experience on and off right now is me trying to figure out what exactly it is I want to make next. And at the same time, I think you and I are kind of making our combined mirror reflection together too...” It all came out so quickly as her mind linked the ideas for the second time, and as she got more excited about them. “Did you think of those things when you first read it, or did it stay with you for a little while and the relevance came later?”

“Right away. From the title, I thought, “This is an important thing for me to read. This is about me, in some ways,” and then I read on and I thought, “This is Chris’ parents, and this is why their relationship was how it was, and why her mum resents her so much. Chris makes the thing she needs to make from inside. Mrs. Martin made the thing she thought she was supposed to.” And I liked the repetitive lines. “Without clarity, a curse, a misfortune.” I try now to have clarity when I make decisions. No lies, no confusion. You’re right,” he smiled as his friend peeked over at him from the flat of her back. “I do feel like I’m making the right thing now, besides football. I like this poem very much.”

“Thank you for sharing it,” she smiled back. “Sorry I objected. I should know to trust you by now,” she chuckled. He grabbed her wrist when she lifted it for help, and pulled her back up and forward so that she could reward him with a sweet kiss in the middle of his lips. They could have dissected the poem together, quite happily, for the two hours before dinner. It just wasn’t necessary. They didn’t need to talk each other into believing their take, or dissect it. Knowing that was sort of novel. Christina appreciated it.

“I have enjoyed the book a lot. It was a good choice, cariña.”

“I enjoy your face a lot.” She put her hands around the back of the player’s neck, paused to watch for the flattery’s impact to arrive in his beautiful blues, and then pulled on him until he got the message that she wanted him to lie beside her, not just be annoying and hang on his neck. He went pretty willingly, and she got more of her arms around his head when they found a comfortable spot together, and she rubbed her right leg on his bare ones until it pushed her leggings up her calf a little. “I know you want to take pictures of me acting like I live here,” she teased knowingly. “But I’d rather be a lazy bum on the couch.” Juan’s nose was captured playfully between her teeth until he kissed her chin. He found an unexpectedly ticklish spot, and took advantage when Christina’s shiver-like reaction brought her midsection even closer to him. He hugged her waist tight with one arm.

“We’re getting closer to the part of the season when I’m a lazy bum on the couch a lot,” he told her while she played absently with the hair at the back of his head, well below the thinning spot. “I hope you’re joining often.”

“I want to stay here for most of the week of the horse show. Schü and Lukas are coming for the Sunday and Monday, and Tuesday, after, so we’ll stay at a hotel, but I’ll be here for 6 days before that. I don’t know if you want an extra bum on your couch for that long.”

“It’s a sexy bum, so I want,” the Chelsea man smiled, squeezing her butt.

“I might want to come for New Year’s too, but I dunno yet. I have no idea, really.” I also kind of want some magical night with Schü. I owe him that, and I want it anyway. I want special with him. We never have that anymore. We have nice nights ended early because of dead goldfish, and then two nights of crying until midnight because of the dead goldfish. How dare the goldfish go and die when it knew Lukas liked to watch him in the light from his nightlight when he wakes up in the night and can’t sleep? How dare he leave him with no soothing thing to watch. IIIIII didn’t know he did that, but surely the goldfish knew.

“You’re always welcome with me, baby girl.” Juan rubbed his nose on the rider’s and then kissed her, long and low-energy, and perfect for the moment. He was finally able to shed the longstanding feeling that their time together was limited, so he was no longer hastening to get his fill of her, and get “through” everything he wanted with her before her next departure. There was a new calmness- a change in behavior dictated by the realization that the clock wasn’t running anymore. Christina was always coming back to him. They didn’t need to have sex in 6 different positions on the first night, or hurry to get from couch-cuddle-flirting to more serious foreplay to actual sex. “Hurry” was relative, of course, because the player’s imperative was subtle, but it was noteworthy by its absence. She watched him for a second, the side of her thumb resting lightly on his cheek, and reflected on that change. I wish I had his ability to settle down in something and believe it’s going the way I want even when I know it will probably change. Thinking too hard about anything was unpalatable in that moment of closeness, and shared breath, and soft pads of fingers on highly personal skin. The equestrian star took her turn to kiss her favorite Blue, mostly on just one side of his mouth because getting to the whole thing would have required her to move her head a little and that was too much. The exact position she was in- literally and figuratively, physically and emotionally- was too perfect to alter either by movement or consideration. His lips were perfect- warm, unblemished by dryness or cracking or even a wrinkle, tense just enough to hold the kiss together, still enough not to interrupt the transfer of love and comfort through that most import line of communication. A kiss like that was practically nothing and almost everything simultaneously. And it was, afterward, symbolic of a cornerstone in recent memory.

“I think I want to tell you something,” Christina whispered after her smooch. Her regular conversational voice was small enough to fit in the very small space between them without even breathing too much air in Juan’s face- something she often took into consideration when snuggling close with anyone- but that voice came with full conviction and confidence and those weren’t the preconditions for what she wanted to say, so all that came out when she opened her mouth was a sweet whisper.

“What?” the Spaniard whispered back teasingly, with a grin, almost like stage-whispering.

“I used to really hate the person I was with you- like because you made me want to do things that hurt Schü, and our relationship has, at times, made it very difficult for me to look after my responsibilities and ride my best, and do the right thing. I loved being with you, but I hated who I was for that,” she explained with a bit more surety. “Now I feel like I’m actually growing and improving myself- I don’t want to say because of you- but with you, together. I’m making decisions that feel good, and I’m finding it easier to be happy and content wherever I am, physically and in a moment. I don’t know- Maybe it’s because the Olympic hurdle is in the rearview now. Maybe that was the big difference. I just don’t think it was. I think it’s you. I’ve said in the past that we are the worst thing for each other. I don’t think so anymore. I think you’re the best thing for me right now.” I didn’t really mean to get so into this, the rider realized, pointer finger on Juan’s chin, which she was staring at instead of the receptive blues she looked into while she talked. I wasn’t going to say that much. I hate when I start trying to tell someone a small thing, or a short thing, and it gets me thinking, and then I can’t stop talking. Now I’m rambling to myself because...who knows. Anyway. “I’m glad you’re coming to Doha too,” she finished after reaching for some kind of period for the declaration, or something to take up some more airtime since Juan wasn’t saying anything.

“I told you we could be happy together and that we can do more than be miserable together. Not miserable together because we’re together, but be together because one or both is miserable about other things. You know what I mean,” the footballer laughed. He was recalling a conversation they fought through years back, right after Lukas was born. Christina didn’t think they could ever be a couple because all of their experience together was when one or both of them was in bad shape because of their other relationships. They were always closest when their lives were the most tumultuous and generally unhappy. “And now you understand how I feel with you,” he added, more sincerely. “I feel good about myself, and happy with myself, with you. I always have, more or less.”

“I think it’s more for you now though. Ever since we stopped lying.”

“That could be.”

“Okay I feel too grown up and in touch with my feelings now. Give me something stupid and immature to talk about.”

“Can I tickle you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I go get the camera and take pictures of you?”

“Can I do goofy poses?”

“Yes.”

“K. I need another kiss first though.”

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