#I am so proud of you. I hope you will remember my words :) Until tomorrow

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 10: The House Of Saint Honoratus of Amiens] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, weddings, Willis Warning, infidelity, kids, parenthood, Rice-A-Roni.

Word Count: 6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @targaryenbarbie @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @bungalowbear @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon @wickedfrsgrl

Thank you so much for loving this strange, sexy, sweet story. I hope you enjoy the finale. 🥰🧁

Your bare feet in warm grass, your hands around the ropes of the tree swing, no sounds except the ancient psalms of the earth: cicadas, mourning doves, goldfinches, bumble bees, bullfrogs, wind in the leaves of the dogwoods and southern live oaks. The adolescent alligator is at one end of the front yard, sunbathing up by the mouth of the gravel driveway; in the opposite corner are several nutria nibbling on cattails. The sky is a calm, cloudless blue. It’s hot, mid-80s, even when 5:00 p.m. comes and goes; but the breeze is cool as it evaporates the sweat from your temples, your palms, the nape of your neck. It’s as close as Louisiana ever gets to Heaven. It’s a good day for a wedding.

You remember thinking that it was the end of the world when you found out you were pregnant almost exactly eleven years ago, and then again when you realized you would have to divorce Willis, and so you have lived through enough moments like this—these quiet, infinitesimal apocalypses—to know that there will be a future beyond Aemond marrying Christabel. The sun will rise tomorrow, and then it will set, the lightning bugs will appear and the stars will tell myths in the night sky, and the phone will ring as orders come in for the bakery, and Cadi will be back in her bedroom playing her Nintendo, and life will roll on like currents through the bayou: slow, opaque, inevitable. The world isn’t ending, you know that. It’s just full of beautiful things that aren’t for you.

Out on Route 401, a Plymouth Gran Fury zooms by the house, squeals to a halt, and then reverses until Willis can take another look, squinting through his tinted windows. He turns down the driveway and steps out into golden July daylight. He doesn’t pay any attention to the gator as he strides past her. He belongs here, in a place that is old and strange and savage and full of beasts. You have carved out a home for yourself in the swamplands; Willis was born with veins like the roots of a mangrove tree and ancient silt instead of marrow in his bones.

“Hey, sugar,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. The wind ruffles the dark curls of his mullet, the bumble bees flee as he tramples clovers. “Ain’t ya supposed to be at the weddin’?”

“I’m sick.” A lie. “But Cadi’s fine, she’s with Amir. She was so excited she actually wore one of the sundresses my mom bought her and had Amir braid a dogwood flower into her hair to match his. You should have seen it. You would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of her,” Willis says, smiling. And then: “Ya don’t look sick.”

“I am.”

“Ya got one of your headaches?”

You pause. You don’t, but this is a convenient excuse. “Yeah.”

Willis stalls, his hands on his belt. His pistol is there; you remember how he used it in the bayou, how he helped save your life. But he wasn’t the one who jumped into the water. Aemond was willing to risk his body for me, but not his soul. What kind of sense does that make? “Ya had me scared for a minute there,” Willis says.

“What? When?”

“When I thought ya were goin’ to end up with that Rockefeller boy.”

“Aemond?” you say, like it’s so shocking. “No. Absolutely not. It’s impossible.”

“And why’s that?”

You stare into the trees so Willis can’t see the tears welling up in your eyes, the tension in your throat as embers kindle there, pulsing with heat that could char flesh to the bone. “He can’t marry someone like me.”

“I could,” Willis replies, grinning. You glare at him until he recants. “Alright, alright, oublie ça. Pardonne-moi.”

“Why would you be afraid of me and Aemond being together?”

“An oil tycoon? A millionaire? He would never stay here for long. In a town like Napoleonville? Soon as he was done getting’ those rigs up and runnin’, he’d go jettin’ off to some other corner of the world, and he’d take you with him. And Cadi too. I wouldn’t be able to fight that. What’s a parish sheriff to a Targaryen? Who would listen to me? Cadi would be gone and I’d never get her back. It would kill me. It would rip the heart right outta my chest.”

You look up at Willis from where you sit on the tree swing, the soles of your feet colored with soil and grass. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” he asks, perhaps suspicious, perhaps hopeful.

“No,” you promise. “Cadi loves you. Cadi needs you to be in her life. I would never try to take her away from you, Willis.”

He nods; he seems to believe you. And something relaxes in him, like there’s been a tension in the lines of his spine and shoulders that you didn’t notice for years. “I’m sorry about your petit ami.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It comes out like a whisper, brittle and frail. “I’m sorry about Lake Verret.”

“They might be able to fix it. Talk around town is they got some kind of desalination”—he says this with each syllable enunciated distinctly, like he’s put great effort into memorizing it—“process that can take the salt back outta the water. And if that don’t work…” He shrugs with a sly smile. “I’ll survive somehow. The world’s a big place. There’s always another lake.”

You consider him, and you remember—like a dream from the night before that just returned to you—how Willis can be unexpectedly deep, randomly tender. “They should put that on bumper stickers.”

He chuckles and waves as he heads back to his car. “I’ll pick Cadi up on Tuesday. Back to the usual schedule.”

“Sure.” Back to real life. Back to before I met Aemond. And you find yourself wishing that you could forget what it had felt like to be with him; the absence he left feels so much heavier than the nonspecific longing that existed before. Willis’ Plymouth Gran Fury rolls out of the driveway, and you stay precisely where you are on the tree swing, absentmindedly pushing yourself back and forth with your tiptoes and trying to believe that tomorrow this will feel easier, and then even easier the day after that, and eventually it will cease to be anything but a vague recollection, a relic in a rarely-opened drawer, a whisper, an echo. One day, you will stop missing Aemond. One day, you will stop wondering whether a sliver of his life would have been better than none at all.

Inside what Cadi calls the Fall-Down House, the phone rings. You ignore it; if it’s an order for the bakery, they can leave a message. But then it rings again, and again, and you have to answer it. What if your mother had a heart attack? What if Cadi and Amir were in a car accident? You hurry to the kitchen and grab the phone, pink to match the little Panasonic boombox that is presently silent.

“Hello?”

“Hiiiiiii,” Amir says, slow and something else too. Disoriented? Evasive?

Your forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Where are you calling from?” There are definitely no phonelines running to the Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens, a tiny brick-and-stucco edifice built in the 1830s.

“I’m at a McDonald’s up the road. I’ve paid them $5 to let me use the phone.” And then, because he knows it’s the first place your mind will go: “Cadi’s fine. She’s eating Chicken McNuggets. Everyone’s fine.”

“Okay…?”

“I think you should come over here.”

“What, to the chapel?!”

“Yeah.” He’s talking to someone; you can hear an indistinct tangle of voices through the hand he undoubtedly has clasped over the transmitter.

I can’t see Aemond. I can’t see Christabel. There is a lurching in your guts; you are a fish that swallowed a hook. “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to go to the wedding.” I can’t handle it. It might kill me.

“Yes, we did, but now…um…I think you will want to make an appearance.”

“Amir, what happened?”

There is more muffled conversation on the other end of the line. “Look,” he tells you. “Things, uh…things are…occurring. And I think it would be better to explain in person.”

“Did you drop the cake?”

“No,” he says, defensive. “The cake is perfect, thank you for your concern. Not a single frosting wildflower was mutilated in the delivery.”

“Then why—?”

“Do you trust me?” Amir asks.

The answer is obvious. Of course. More than anyone. “You know I do.”

“Then go get in your car.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “Okay, but you know it’s going to take me like 40 minutes to drive to Belle River.”

“That’s fine.” He confers with someone else. “Yeah, that’s good actually, that will work.”

“Great,” you say uncertainly.

“See you soon!” Then Amir hangs up, leaving you alone in the creaks and groans of your ailing house.

You take Route 70 around Lake Verret, gliding past fields of soybeans and sugarcane, paddocks of cattle and horses, marshes of cordgrass occupied by blue herons and white egrets and prowling alligators, stirring awake as the sun begins its descent into the west. More than once, you notice that your Chevy Celebrity’s odometer reports you are travelling well below the speed limit. You aren’t in any hurry to reach the chapel; you don’t want to carry the weight of what you will see there, Christabel in her wedding dress, Aemond in his suit, Alicent anxiously fidgeting and gnawing at her fingernails, Viserys parading around triumphantly. You can’t imagine that there is anything less than torturous for you there. You don’t remember what you’re wearing until you reach Belle River, a small, old town full of double-wide trailers and jetties that run far out into the lake: a simple cotton sundress you threw on this morning without much thought, modest but white and therefore forbidden for a wedding guest. The sky is turning from a sun-drenched cerulean blue to something more soft, more muted, as dusk lurks just a few hours away. The radio is playing Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car.

The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens was built by a man in extremis. An acclaimed mason by trade, he had been born in France and settled in the New World in Louisiana when it was still in the possession of Napoleon. The mason had a wife and children—some people say 5, others say 8 or 10, though details always seem to grow more elaborate in the retelling, don’t they?—and he loved them dearly. But tragedy struck when every single member of the family, except for the mason himself, fell ill with tuberculosis. When healers of the earth failed to offer sufficient remedies, the mason appealed to a higher power. He built the chapel to implore Honoratus of Amiens, his wife’s favorite saint—she was a baker and a florist, both professions that Honoratus presides over—to intercede with the Almighty on their behalf. This effort proved futile, and as each member of the family died, the mason interred them in a brick vault beneath the altar where they would spend eternity together. Perhaps this makes for a peculiar wedding venue, yet for over a century couples rich and poor, religious and secular have traveled to the chapel to exchange their vows. Perhaps there are few things more romantic than loving someone in the face of total futility: illness, distance, unrequitedness, prohibitions, death.

The chapel sits in a clearing surrounded by live oak trees, massive, hundreds of years old, hanging with Spanish moss, blotting out the sunlight as aisles cascade through gaps in the leaves. As you park in the grass—joining an army of Lexuses, Audis, limousines, Porsches, Ferraris, Cadillacs, Aston Martins, Alfa Romeos, and Amir’s blue Ford Escort—you observe that there are perhaps fifty guests in formal attire milling aimlessly around the building. You peer down at your white sundress, frowning. Well, I can’t go naked. The faux pas will have to be forgiven. You step out of your Chevy Celebrity and make your way across the clearing towards the chapel.

There is a long table set up in the shade with a tower of champagne glasses, an ice sculpture of a dragon, and the banana bread cake you and Amir baked for the wedding. Grim-faced servants in black suits are cutting slices and handing them out to guests on green china plates. You recognize Aegon’s wife Stephanie chatting with a flock of young women in extravagant gowns, golds and emeralds and sapphires. Helaena is among them, wearing a shimmering blue-green color like the scales of her chameleon Dreamfyre. Evidently, the Targaryens’ exotic pets have been left at the mansion for this excursion.

“Well,” the princess of Monaco says sardonically as she takes a bite, the white cream cheese frosting covered with a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. “At least the cake is good. What is this, banana? Whoever heard of a banana wedding cake? I mean, it’s delicious, but still. I knew that Christabel girl was daft. Did you see her positively absurd dress? It looks like children doodled all over it…”

Is it over? you think as you weave through the crowd, largely unnoticed. Is the ceremony done already? Why would Aemond want to see me? To try to convince me to be his mistress one last time? To show me what I’m missing by severing ties with him?

But no: something else has happened. Viserys and Christabel’s father the marquess are embroiled in a heated argument; a nun and two priests are trying to haul them apart.

“You’re dead to me, Viserys!” the marquess roars. “And you’ll be dead to everyone back home once I tell them what you’ve done!”

“I did my part! This has nothing to do with me! Wait…wait…we can figure something else out! Wait! Wait! You can have Daeron!”

Wedding guests are gawking and snapping photos with their polaroid cameras. Upon hearing his name, Daeron glances over towards his father wearily. Alicent’s youngest son is kneeling beside where she has collapsed to the grass, patting her encouragingly on the shoulder as she sobs into a green cloth handkerchief. Criston is there too, trying to soothe her with sympathetic murmurs and a flute of pink champagne glittering with bubbles of carbonation.

“How did this happen?” she wails, peering up at Criston with her vast, dark, glassy eyes. The gold rings on her fingers clang and glint; they match the single hoop earring that Criston wears. Alicent’s gown is purple like royalty, but Criston is dressed in a suit of pale pink; it’s the exact same one Daeron has on. Groomsmen? you wonder. “He knows better than this! We raised him better than this!”

You think, stunned and petrified: Aemond, what the hell did you do?

As you approach the chapel, you note that it appears empty inside; you don’t spot anyone in the pews. Somewhere, a boombox is thundering Higher Love. At the entrance of the building, Christabel is sitting on the brick walkway in her wedding dress. It’s the one you told her to choose: elegant and timeless, long train and short flowing sleeves, silk wildflowers sewn into the white lace. Her bouquet is lying forgotten on the ground beside her. Her lips are a deep, lovely pink; her eyeshadow is gold. She’s smoking, something you’ve never seen her do before. There is a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter in her left hand, a single lit cigarette in her right.

“Um, hi, Christabel,” you say. And then, something equally brainless: “Is everything okay?”

“I should have known.” She’s staring out at the crowd, not at you. Her large blue eyes are dull, vacant.

“You should have known what?” Your heart is in your throat; blood pounds in your ears like the hooves of a racehorse.

“That he didn’t care,” she says listlessly. “I could tell that he didn’t. I could feel it. But I didn’t want it to be true, so I told myself it wasn’t. Isn’t that interesting? How we can lie to ourselves? Not that it was entirely my error. Other people meddled plenty. ‘Oh no, Christabel.’ ‘He’s just emotionally stunted, Christabel.’ ‘He’s busy with work, Christabel.’ What man is too busy with work to handle a five-minute phone call? It’s not like he was on the moon. He could have made time if he wanted to. I bet he made lots of time for you.”

“Uh.” You try to decide what to say. “I broke up with him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t want to be his mistress. I didn’t think that was fair to you.” Or me, obviously, but right now doesn’t seem to be the opportune time to voice my own grievances.

“Next time, I’m going to choose who I marry,” Christabel insists, puffing on her cigarette. “He has to talk to me. He has to like me.”

Aemond called it off? What did he say? What is he going to do now? “Christabel…do you know where Aemond is? Or Amir and Cadi?”

“Alicent is so upset,” she says instead. “Poor woman. She’s sweet, in her own way. But I don’t want to end up like her.” Christabel holds up the pack of Marlboros and the lighter. “She feels guilty, I think. She gave me these. She had them in her purse, she has so many neurotic little habits, doesn’t she? It’s not very ladylike to smoke, but it’s not ladylike to get left at the altar either, so fuck it.”

You ask, afraid to know the answer: “Do you hate me? I didn’t know Aemond was engaged when I met him. And then…” Why lie now? What’s the point? “Then I was in love with him and it was kind of…too late to try not to be. But I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Christabel replies immediately. “I know he would never be allowed to marry…someone like you. Your options were limited.”

You don’t know if this is meant to be an insult or not. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think I ever loved him either,” Christabel realizes, exhaling smoke. “I think I idolized him. I think I loved my fantasy of what our marriage would be like. But I didn’t love Aemond. I didn’t even know Aemond. You did, I suspect. Good luck with him. He’s a bit…complex.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, rather compulsively. You aren’t sure what she expects from you. Abruptly, from wherever it’s coming from, Higher Love is cut off. “So, is Aemond, like…around, or…?”

“I don’t regret the sex part.”

“Okay.” You examine the crowd in the clearing again. You still don’t see Aemond.

“That went well,” Christabel muses. “I’m glad my first time is over and done with. I was terrified it would hurt like hell. And so few people know, so it’s almost like it never happened, right?”

“Right,” you say obediently.

“I think I’ll have a new rule. I won’t marry anyone unless he likes me and we sleep together first. Life is too long to spend it with the wrong person, don’t you agree?”

“I totally do.”

“He’s waiting for you inside,” Christabel says, flicking ashes towards the gaping doorway of the chapel.

“Really?” you peer into the shadows; there is indeed a solitary figure standing at the altar. “So…what exactly is happening…?”

“Go,” Christabel urges, and takes a drag on her cigarette. You leave her and cross through the doorway into the chapel.

The light is dim and gentle; fading sunbeams slant in through the glass of the cathedral-style windows. The mason’s inspiration was Gothic architecture, imposing, cavernous. Two candlelit iron chandeliers hang from the high ceiling; the floor is made of tiles of black and white marble. Small stone sculptures of angels watch over their realm like benevolent gargoyles. There is a single stained glass window above the altar: circular like a ring, red and gold like the sun.

He’s waiting for you in a pale pink suit, long disheveled hair, thin mustache with flecks of white powder in it, mischievous smirk. “Hey cake lady,” Aegon says.

“Um. I’m not marrying you.”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Aegon offers you his hand and you take it with some hesitation. “I’m here to be your guide. Just like on the Oregon Trail.”

“What…?”

“Let’s go.” He pulls you out of the chapel, past where Christabel is still sitting at the entranceway, and across the clearing towards the trees. When you look to the crowd, Otto is elbowing his way through disgruntled guests towards a limousine, already idling.

Viserys bellows at him: “Where the hell are you going?!”

“Back to Kiribati!” Otto shouts back, not breaking his stride. He vanishes into the limo.

“Hurry,” Aegon says. He leads you into the forest, a thick canopy of verdant leaves and Spanish moss and the narrow rays of sunshine that tumble down through the gaps.

“Aegon, I don’t think we should be in the woods, it could be dangerous—”

“No, this part is fine. We already checked.”

“Who’s ‘we’?!” You’re wearing flip flops that catch on gnarled roots; the shrieking of cicadas grows loud. One of them buzzes towards Aegon and he screams as he backhands it away.

“You good?” Amir’s voice calls from farther within the trees.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We made it.”

You turn to Aegon. “What’s going on—?”

Suddenly, there is booming music that startles you: “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth! They say in Heaven, love comes first, we’ll make Heaven a place on Earth! Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth!”

“Aegon, what is that?”

“Uh, I think it’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth.”

“Yes, okay, but why?”

“Ask that guy.” You round a thicket and there under a colossal southern live oak tree, surrounded by hundred-year-old branches that twist down to the earth, is Aemond; but he’s not looking at you. He and Cadi are lighting the last of the candles. She picks them up, he ignites the wick with the same lighter he uses to smoke his Marlboros, and then Cadi places them back on the ground or on top of a branch. Amir is standing by the large black boombox, the same one Aegon always listens to by the Targaryens’ pool. Amir grins craftily, pushing his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. His suit is orange, the single dogwood flower in his hair white.

“Did we get them all?” Aemond asks Cadi.

“Yeah, I think so. Wait, no, there’s one over there!” Cadi darts to it and Aemond lights the candle, then spins around and sees you. He smiles. “Hi, Cupcake.”

“Hi,” you say, so shellshocked you can’t form any of your very vital questions.

“Okay, so we have the candles,” Aemond informs you as Cadi and Aegon go to join Amir. “White with wildflower patterns.” And you recall how Alicent mentioned needing to pick out candles with Christabel, and how you didn’t see any scattered around the chapel. They brought them here. They did it for me. “And we have some actual wildflowers.” He takes the boutonniere off the lapel of his white suit and tucks it into your hair behind your left ear. “And we have Heaven Is A Place On Earth.” He gestures to the boombox. “And I think those were the three things you said you wanted if you were ever going to get married again.”

I did say that. Just once, months ago, the first time he ever came over, the first time he ever touched me. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.” He takes both of your hands in his own. Amir lets out a little squeal and covers his mouth as his eyes begin to glisten. Aemond takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t have a speech, because this is very last-minute. I mean extremely last-minute. But you were right about everything. And I realized I couldn’t live that way. It wouldn’t be fair to you or to me, but it wouldn’t be fair to Christabel either. So I broke it off.”

“Literally at the altar,” Aegon says. “In front of everybody. It was so fucking awkward.”

“Those are not necessary details!” Aemond snaps, then looks back to you and is smiling again. “I know what I want. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known you. But I wasn’t a strong enough person to make it happen. I’m so sorry. I should have done things differently. I can’t change the past. But everything is going to be different now.”

You gaze up at him as Belinda Carlisle sings, thinking: This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up now.

“On the night we met, you told me you’d never felt chosen,” Aemond says. “I’m choosing you. And, you know.” He nods to her. “Cadi too. And Amir. And the bakery. And dealing with Willis too, I guess. All of it. I’m choosing you and your whole life and that’s exactly where I want to be.”

You can feel the warmth in your face, beaming and hopeful and full of possibilities. Under the shade of the southern live oak, the first lightning bugs are blooming in the air like stars. “What about your family?”

“I’ll figure it out. I don’t think my father can entirely disown me…turns out I’m the only one who understands how the stock market works. But no matter what, you and Cadi are the priority. And my father will have to learn to live with that.”

“Or he can drop dead,” Aegon says. “Whichever.”

It’s possible? We can be together? Not just for a night, an afternoon, a stolen moment, but forever?

“I said I don’t have a speech.” Aemond tells you. His right eye is bright, elated, gleaming like a mirror. “I don’t have a ring either. But I’m going to get you one, if you’ll let me. So I’m asking you, Cupcake: Will you marry me?”

“Say yes, Mom!” Cadi yells, and Amir bursts out laughing.

“Say yes, cake lady!” Aegon adds. “Unlimited Cap’n Crunch Treats!”

When am I going to wake up? When is this going to end?

But it’s not a dream. It’s real. And Aemond reads the answer on your face before you can say it, and so it’s only a murmur as he kisses you, a whisper, a prayer: “Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The three of you drive from the new house all the way to San Francisco; you still call it the new house, even though you’ve owned it for a full year. The journey takes seven days, with overnight stops in Dallas, Wonderland Amusement Park in Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, and Bakersfield. Aemond sold his Audi Quattro and replaced it with a Dodge Caravan. It’s July 1989, and Tom Petty’s brand new single Runnin’ Down A Dream is strumming from the radio. It’s always temperate in San Fran, in the 60s even at the height of summer. The sky is overcast and grey. When Cadi complains that she’s cold despite the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hoodie you packed for her, Aemond gives her his Marlboro jacket.

Amir, his boyfriend, and two other roommates share a sunshine yellow Italianate townhouse in the Castro District. Aemond parks his wood-paneled Caravan on the steep, inclined street—he narrowly misses colliding with a whooshing cable car, which he blames on poor depth perception—and then helps you carry the luggage inside. There are no alligators on the front porch, but there are neighborhood cats that Amir puts out Friskies for; there are no screaming cicadas, but there are swooping seagulls and the melodies of sidewalk musicians. When Amir opens the door, he nearly tackles you with enthusiasm. He still wears his loud colors and short shorts, but he’s traded in the dogwood flowers he once wove into his hair for dahlias.

Amir’s boyfriend is named Don, but everyone calls him Donald Schwarzenegger because he looks so much like the Austrian bodybuilder turned actor. When Amir first arrived in the city, he got a job as a cake decorator for a very popular bakery, and quickly segued into handling much of their marketing as well. He’s thinking of getting a degree in advertising and trying his luck in corporate America. You very much enjoy teasing him for being a sellout; what would socialist Bayard Rustin say?

“Call your Daddy and let him know we made it safely to the West Coast,” you tell Cadi once her things are unpacked in the guest room she’ll get all to herself; you and Aemond are consigned to the living room futon. Cadi chats with Willis for a while, then says he wants to talk to you. You take the phone, slightly concerned; you hope nothing is amiss with the house. “Hello?”

“What the hell is wrong with this horse?” he demands. “That ain’t no pet. That’s a demon. It’s a goddamn Rougarou.”

“I told you not to try to touch him,” you say, amused.

“I feed him and water him, don’t I? Ain’t that the least he can do? Lettin’ me scratch his big ol’ idiot head?”

“Patches is not very well-behaved. But Cadi loves him.”

“And don’t even get me started on the dog. Ugliest fuckin’ dog I ever saw. Growls every time I show up. Shows its teeth and everythin’. I’d take twenty gators over that son of a bitch any day.”

“Vhagar is a girl,” you say. “Thanks for watching them while we’re out of town.”

“Sure thing, sugar. Although I still don’t understand why the bon a rien can’t do it.”

“Aegon isn’t always…reliable.” But he does seem to be improving. He’s cut back to mostly just booze and marijuana, because otherwise he and Sunfyre aren't allowed to stay at the new house for sleepovers. There’s a guest bedroom, but Aegon prefers the sunken conversation pit in the mauve pink living room. He likes to be where anyone can stumble across him if they wake up in the middle of the night for pancakes or ice cream. He likes to be where people are; he likes to be included. “Anyway, I gotta go. Cadi will call again tomorrow. Enjoy your fishing.”

“Will do. Maybe I’ll toss your accursed animals in as bait.” Lake Verret is still a bit too brackish for a proper freshwater lake, but that’s changing gradually with Daeron’s desalination efforts and a subaquatic plug affixed to the opening of the breached salt dome. He views it as a pioneering experiment in reversing such drilling accidents, potentially for application globally. Now there are more bass and lampreys and catfish, and less breams and gars, but life goes on in Napoleonville’s 14,000-acre lake. Daeron has replaced Aemond as Viserys’ heir apparent, and he is thriving in the role. He is bookish yet empathetic, focused but never ruthless. Furthermore, he happens to be genuinely in love with his aristocratic fiancée: Princess Alexandra of Denmark.

Aemond was right; Viserys didn’t disown him, but he did fire him, ban him from the mansion, and reduce his available funds to a modest living stipend. Fortunately, Viserys has a very limited comprehension of how money works for normal people, and he considers $200,000 per year to be “modest.” With that plus your bakery earnings and a paid-off house, you, Cadi, and Aemond will be living comfortably for the remainder of your lives. Also fortunately, no one else will enforce the no-Aemond rule at The Last Desire, so anytime Viserys is out of town—which is far more often than not—you get to visit the Targaryens at the mansion as much as you please. Cadi loves the water slide and the koi pond. She’s named the fish after Greek deities, her latest obsession: Zeus, Narcissus, Athena, Dionysus, Artemis, Apollo, Echo. Viserys will not acknowledge you, but the rest of the family is polite enough now that the drama of the broken engagement has blown over. When you finish the cookbook of Southern baked goods that you’ve been working on, Alicent had pledged to mail copies to all her friends and relatives back in the U.K. Otto has offered to take a box of them with him next time he jets off for Kiribati; the wealthy housewives marooned in paradise are always on the hunt for new reading material.

On your first night in San Francisco, Amir serves a dinner of cioppino, sourdough bread, and (not homemade) Rice-A-Roni. You provide dessert, a recipe you’re still perfecting: Saint Honoratus cake, a pastry that dates back to Paris in the 1800s. You want to be able to include it in your cookbook, along with photographs from your wedding in the chapel this past May, almost exactly a year from when you and Aemond first met. Your engagement ring has a gold band and pink diamonds arranged to resemble a rockrose, a dauntless little wildflower native to Aemond’s ancestral homeland of Greece. For over a decade you have loved that wildflowers are grown and not bought, small but tenacious, humble yet untamed. They do not wait for other hands to tell them where and how to grow. They are the architects of their own fortune.

When everyone is finished with dessert and gathers around the tv to watch The Golden Girls, Aemond says he’s going outside for a smoke break; but you know he’s trying to quit. You follow him into the small backyard and as soon as your bare feet touch the grass, he’s pushed you against the wall of the house, forced your thighs apart, slipped his hand down the front of your shorts as he watches the amazed, electrified desire rise in your face like heat from a stove. “It’s been a week, and I need you,” Aemond murmurs, his lips ghosting across your throat, his hips braced insistently against yours, and then he kisses you to stifle your moans as you bury your fingers in his hair, to swallow down the vicarious ecstasy of every wondrous thing he’s ever done to you and ever will. “I don’t even need you to get me off. I just need to see you like this.”

Trusting him, wanting him, letting him make me come.

Aemond has been accepted into UC Berkeley’s History PhD program and will start there at the end of August. He wants to write books about underrecognized heroes, extraordinary and yet unassuming people like Bayard Rustin and Bobbi Campbell and Phillis Wheatley. You’ll miss him of course, but there will be breaks for holidays and summers when he can return to Napoleonville, and you can fly out to visit him too, and there are phone calls, and postcards, and one day you’ll be able to go anywhere together—

You gasp, a shaky, starving breath, your lips grinning into Aemond’s. You’re close, you’re so close.

There is a shrill whistle from the back porch of a townhouse from the row behind Amir’s. “Get it, honey!” a man in a leopard-print robe cheers, waving the newspaper he’d been reading. You and Aemond unravel from each other, laughing hysterically.

“Okay,” you tell him, still panting. “Bad plan. We are clearly not accustomed to city life.”

“Tonight,” Aemond says, low and commanding. He returns to you, kissing the side of your face: temple, cheekbone, the curve of your jaw. His voice is dark, jagged glass; his lips are soft like kind dreams. “On the futon, on the floor, anywhere.”

You want it too, but you know the game. “No.”

He pins you to the wall again, powerful, irresistible, his hardness grinding against you through his jeans, everything about him—voice, flesh, rhythm, soul—promising you the peace only he has ever given you, proving that being at the right person’s mercy can make you free. “I’m in charge now. Let me take care of you.” And for a split second you almost beg: Just do it, Aemond, right now, please touch me again, I don’t care if a stranger sees. I want you now, I want you forever.

Instead you smile up at him, the whirls of your fingerprints skating harmlessly over his scarred left cheek as you answer: “Yes sir.”

[willowser]

okay haven't stopped thinking about this since the self-ship game but. on-again-off-again with touya is so heart-breaking.

he's always had his own shitty one-bedroom, but he stayed with you more often than not. claimed it was because you were closer to his job at the bar, but the drive is similar if not a smidge closer. you don't personally think it's worth it, but he does. or did, once.

you're looking at the two boxes of his things that are sitting by the door: a near-drawer full of clothes, bags of random jewelry, two pairs of his shoes, the dish towels he keeps "accidentally" stealing from work, as well as a few of their nicer glasses. photos you don't want to look at. even his shampoo and body-wash is packed away, because you can't stand to smell it anymore.

that's when your phone rings.

it's much too late for you to be awake, but you are, and the number coming across your screen isn't necessarily touya's but it is the number for the bar, so you hesitate in answering. watching and waiting, as it rings in your hand, before deciding to indulge in whatever heart-break he's got ready for you tonight.

—but it's keigo: "hey, i need you to come pick up touya."

you frown at that, and then deeper at the noise in the background. "what? where's his car?"

"he—" a heavy sigh scratches over the line, and his voice is strained, like he's struggling to hold something heavy in his arms. he's always been very friendly, charming; you've never heard him so stressed. "he can't drive. i just need you to come get him."

worry is a weighted stone in your stomach. "what do you mean he can't drive?"

touya's been sober for 16 months, something he's admittedly been very proud of. his longest stint yet, he'll tell you, and he's gone through hell not to break the streak. no matter how hard it was, no matter how tempting giving in sounded. he's turned back into his addictions in the past when you two have split, but you had faith in him this time. you really, really did.

"he just can't, alright? please?"

of course you go. and when you pull up in the parking lot, they're both standing outside, keigo with a half-empty bottle of water in his hands and a frown marring his pretty face. touya's back is to you, and he would almost look normal, if not for the swaying. you don't realize how bad it is until takami is throwing touya's arm over his shoulder and near dragging him across the pavement.

you only watch on, heart heavy, as he's shuffled into your car like a child, mumbling to himself as keigo buckles his searbelt. the car is immediately flooded with the sharp, bitter smell of alcohol and too many cigarettes, and you knew what the truth was, you knew, but you'd hoped for another answer, some bullshit excuse as to why he couldn't drive.

the reality burns; behind your eyes, deep in your nose, the back of your throat.

"call me tomorrow," keigo tells him, too-serious. "and we can figure out your car and stuff." he huffs at the ghost of a smile on touya's pale face, before looking across the seats to you. "i'm sorry, i really am, but his sister would fucking flip if i called her."

"no," touya mumbles again, voice scratchy like he's been yelling. "why the fuck would you call my sister, you perv?"

keigo only shakes his head before sighing again, and then he's leaning back and closing the car door without another word. you've never seen him so—annoyed; you can only imagine what touya's been up to tonight, to make him so.

alone, neither of you say anything, for a while. that haunting smile is still playing on his lips, as his head lolls back and forth with every speed bump you crawl over, and occasionally you can feel him watching you from across the console.

there are—one-thousand and one things you could say, but he wouldn't remember a single one. and so you don't bother.

he does, though, eventually, grin blooming in full. "know you fuckin' miss me."

you shake your head in an attempt to get rid of the tears, swallowing the frog sitting in your throat. he won't remember this. he won't. "of course i miss you, touya."

he laughs once, a small, airy sound, before he's turning to look out the window. your honesty has always caught him off guard. "yeah," he murmurs, smile drooping as reality burns him, in return. "miss you, too."

[piratefishmama]

For One Night Only | Part 3

“Steve?!”

“Nance!” The reunion was abrupt, two bodies colliding in the middle of the room amidst makeup artists and stylists in a tight hug that wound up with Steve being lifted off of the floor by little miss badass herself, Nancy Wheeler. “Jeez! Hitting the gym much?” He laughed as she set his whole 5’10 stocky mass back down on the carpet.

“Only on the weekends, running around after these idiots is great cardio, keeps me in tip top shape, what’re you doing here?”

“Munson needed a date to this fancy award thing, I got the invite, you know me, love being pampered and showered with attention. I thought you and Barb were in Cali with the Byers?” Even though she and Jonathan weren't dating anymore, both realising they found their best friends way more compatible with themselves than each other, they still had plenty of love for each other, enough to spend a week just getting baked on the beach together once every few months.

“That’s next month after the events season is up, still running ragged this month. These lot have got radio shows tomorrow afternoon and evening, and they’re invited to a premier next weekend for something that used one of their songs in the soundtrack, it’s… hectic. God it’s been…what—”

“Few years since face to face" they'd kept up the catch up phone calls though, their "babies first love" hadn't worked out but they made excellent friends. "You look good Nance…”

“I feel good… less stressed. Weirdly enough.” She didn’t have to deal with asshole bosses and sexism in the workplace, she just had to deal with nerds, and the nerds respected her. “Did Eddie tell you about the whole journalism thing?”

“That you finally told them to go suck several severely unwashed dicks? Not in those exact words but I’m proud of you Nance, I know it’s what you wanted to do but—”

“Sometimes we don’t know what we want until we’ve tried it and it sucks. Barb walked out with me flipping the whole office off, it was glorious.” She finished as he nodded, smiling brightly at the knowledge that Barb had stuck by her in that too, because of course she had, when had Barb ever not stuck by her? “So I see this whole thing is still working out nicely for you” She motioned to the entirety of him as he flourished his hands in a tadah motion. “You look good, it’s a good look on you, this job.” He got paid handsomely for doing something he genuinely enjoyed, he dressed well, he smelled good, he looked like he was worth a lot of money.

“Not to parrot you but, god Nance I feel good too, I’ve been seeing this funny old woman lately, she’s hilarious and her cookie recipe is to die for, if you ever get a moment, you should come with me one day she’ll talk your ear off about the most ridiculous shit.” He adored Gladys, she deserved the world, she was a welcome switch up to the occasional sexual hire he’d get, some people needed a damn good release, others needed to just talk to someone who’d listen.

He enjoyed both kinds of people.

“Okay so is someone going to explain what the hell Steve Harrington is doing in our room?” Gareth finally decided to break the baffled silence that’d fallen over the rest of the Corroded Coffin members as Nancy and Steve caught up like little old ladies meeting for a senior special at the local cafe.

“He’s my date!” Eddie chirped, tone dripping in smug with a grin to match. He’d parked his rear back into his own chair, allowing the stylists they hired to fuss a little more over his hair.

“No really.” Gareth deadpanned “What’s Steve Harrington doing in our room?”

“I just told you!” Eddie squawked indignantly, almost offended at how little Gareth believed in him. “I hired him, yes, but he’s still my date.”

Steve smiled and stepped forward in his defence though, “No he’s right… I am his date for the evening, and I really hope I can start fresh with you guys too, I know I wasn’t the best person in Hawkins, I don’t remember much of it, my memory isn’t great, but Eddie tells me I let some shit happen that I definitely should have put a stop to—” Tommy pushing Jeff into a locker, for example “so, i’m sorry for everything, I am, truly, I really hope you can forgive me.” The last thing he wanted was a tense night around the band.

He wanted to get along with them, not just for the sake of his job, but also because he actually was hitting it off with Eddie, he liked Eddie, Eddie was sweet, and prettier than he remembered any boy in Hawkins ever being.

That being said he really didn’t remember much.

“Okay so. It looks like Steve Harrington, it has Steve Harrington’s voice, and yet it says magical things that couldn’t possibly come from Steve Harringt-ow!” Eddie, thankfully the closest sat next to him, thumped Jeff in the arm “what the hell man?”

“We’re not dumb kids anymore, dude. Everyone’s grown here. Let’s keep the past where it belongs, yeah?”

“Would you say the same shit about Hargrove too?” Now Steve did remember Billy Hargrove, hard to forget a man like Hargrove, giant douchebag, hadn’t thought about him in years though, had no idea where he ended up and didn’t care to think about it. Just knew Nancy’s brother Mike was friends with the guys sister, Max.

Steve actually found himself frowning deeply at the idea that they associated the memory of high school him with Hargrove of all people.

“Ew no, but Steve never actually physically did anything to you, he just kinda… watched it happen, and he only did that once, sure it was still shitty but it ain’t the same and you know it ain’t the same.”

“Listen… I don’t expect forgiveness after a single apology out of nowhere, I didn’t reach out and I don’t even remember what happened, it’s all by sheer coincidence that I’m even here with the opportunity to apologise, but I do have a job to do here, and I intend to do it so I’d really appreciate it if we could at least put that past behind us for tonight, and if you want to hold a grudge, just save it for after the cameras finish rolling, okay? Not for my sake, but for your own. Do you really want the press to spin some bullshit Yoko story about how your front man is spending time with a guy you all hate? How it’s pulling you apart?”

The big one was the first to speak after that, Steve couldn’t remember his name either, but he knew it began with Fr… His brain supplied ‘Freak’ but that probably wasn’t it. “You know about Yoko?”

“I don’t live under a rock.”

“Nah just in a fancy penthouse apartment with a bitchy little Pomeranian and a walkin closet bigger than… than… uh— okay I was gonna say my apartment but I’m rich now so—” Eddie sniggered as Jeff floundered trying to be witty.

“First of all, I have a cat, her name is Mocha and she’s a queen” a severely pampered colourpoint ragdoll currently being fawned over by her usual cat sitters Robin and Vickie “and second this job requires a walk in closet bigger than some houses, do you think a rich client wants to see the same outfit twice? Man I have a whole section dedicated solely to lingerie.” Eddie nearly choked on his own saliva.

Steve in lingerie Steve in lingerie Steve in lingerie Steve in lingerie Steve in lingerie— shit he was still talking.

“Now, are we going to get our stories straight, or are we going to continue wasting time discussing my adolescent character flaws?”

Gareth finally piped up “Man, do you really have a whole closet section dedicated to lingerie?” And Steve just sighed.

[hobaworld7]

I loved your shinee post! Do you think you could write something for them with a s/o who has anxiety? If that's something you're not comfortable with I totally understand. Thanks either way!

SHINee REACTIONS - You have anxiety; a panic attack

Pairing : shinee x reader (except JongHyun as respect for him, I won't write on him)

genre : you have anxiety and your boyfriend try to calm you the best he can

warning : anxiety, panic attack

a/n : honestly, just seeing a request for a SHINee literally made my day. i love them so much and I am like so proud to see fans interested in my writing with SHINee. i wrote it more as panic attack reaction but i hope you love it!!

disclaimer : shinee doesn't belong to me, that's an imagine and just how i think they would react. pictures are from pinterest as usual

ENJOY AND SEND A LOT OF LOVE SO I CAN WRITE MORE ABOUT OUR KING THANKYOU!

_ _ _

JINKI

I feel that as a leader, he knows how to handle crisis

he would definitely use the 'tell me 5 things you see, 5 things you feel and 5 things you hear' to distract your mind

he would keep his hand on your back or slowly stroke your hair

he would try to make you laugh to change your ideas

all about distracting your anxious thoughts

offering you to go out so the sun and wind can help you calm down

never leaving your side

he would assure that you feel good every day

and doesn't hesitate when you struggle a bit to cancel your plan and stay with you at home

KIBUM

kibum always has been the mom of the group

i feel like he would understand how you feel

he would sit on your legs (pressure therapy is insane okay)

taking your face in his hands

slowly talking to you

''babe, you're safe.'' ''tell me what is happening''

''okay, shhh, deep breath my love''

stroking your hair and helping you calm down as much time as you need

he would stay with you until you are fully feeling better

and when he knows you are okay he would prepare a bath and a warm towel for you

staying by your side all night

he would tell you to text him how you feel when you felt trigger

your text messages would look like an emotion journal

basically he would be your psy

MINHO

''hey babe, you're safe here'' ''do you really think I would let something happen to my precious girl?''

hug you like there is no tomorrow

no words, a lot of actions and cuddles

he would leave any social gathering if that what is making you anxious

he would then treat you to your favorite snack

or a cuddle and movie night

never letting you go of his arms

would put your favorite song so you can relax listening to it

on a daily basis, he would be really good too

remembering to take your anxiety meds and supports you when you struggle

TAEMIN

he would be a little lost after your first panic attack

but he would talk to his hyung to understand how to help you better

and now he's a pro

he would know your triggers and be ready if you start to show sign of a panic attack

he would bring you to a calm space and hug you

if you are at home, the ice method would be his favorite

i feel like he would distract you with kisses on your neck and shoulder too

he would reassure you every day as much as he could so it doesn't get out of hand

___

If you want to read more, here is the link of my masterlist : https://www.tumblr.com/kimtaehyung-taetae-writing/710423978560421888/masterlist?source=share

thank you army!

[fwacchi]

first of all i wanted to say that i am very thankful that you write for all of nijisanji and not just the en boys or chronoir (not discrediting those writers though, but it’s so hard to find blogs with Kaida, akina, the girls, etc. content).

i want to request a headcanon scenario where the reader is a tsundere and accidentally says or does something a little too honestly affectionate (we stan gap moe in this house) and their reaction and subsequent teasing to this? Maybe for Selen, Kaida, Nina, and Toya? (platonic or romantic relationship is up to you)

thank you so much!! your words mean a lot to me, really.

This was a little hard for me to write ngl,,maybe because i've never actually dealt with a tsundere irl? But i tried my best!! Hope you enjoy it (This can be read as both romantic and platonic as it's not really specified)

THEIR TSUNDERE S/O SAYING SOMETHING OVERLY AFFECTIONATE

genre: fluff

pairings: Selen Tatsuki, Nina Kosaka, Kaida Haru, Kenmochi Tōya x gn!reader

Scenario:

Let’s say they reached a certain amount of subscribers on their youtube channel. Instead of being your usual tsundere self, you have accidentally said “Congratulations!! I’m so proud of you!” out loud.

[why does this scenario sound cringy]

Selen Tatsuki

Out of everyone, she’s a real menace.

As soon as she realizes what you said, she’s teasing the heck out of you.

She laughs and teases you so much that you’re pretty much traumatized and make a note to never say such a thing to her ever again.

But she never really goes too far with her teasing and would stop to apologize before you get really mad.

She would encourage you to be more affectionate again in the future but would you bravely do so after she literally laughed in your face?

Nina Kosaka

She would go all “awww” with puppy eyes.

Would ask you in a baby voice to repeat what you just said as if you’re a baby.

Sorry but she’s not leaving you alone until you repeat your words because hearing it once isn’t enough for her.

But if you’re genuinely uncomfortable then she wouldn’t pester you anymore.

You can catch her randomly smiling for the rest of the day while reminiscing what you said earlier.

Kaida Haru

You’re the one who said something like that out of the blue so how come he’s the one even more embarrassed than you?

He wouldn’t tease you about it immediately, but would comment something about this after a few days.

Both of you could just be eating and he’ll randomly go like

“do you remember that one time you said–” stuffs food in his mouth.

Note: that won’t stop him. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

Kenmochi Toya

He would act as if he’s weirded out by it, but truthfully, he’s internally simping.

“Did you just say that?” “Where’s my real (your name)?” “That is disgusting.”

Don’t take his words to heart tho, because obviously, he’s just joking.

Similar to Kaida, he will bring it up in the future because he loves to see you suffering from your embarrassing moments.

Silently hopes that this would happen again sometime in the future.

[snelbz]

Starting Over {Three}

Collab with @theladyofdeath.

Summary: Elide Lochan thought she had met the love of her life only to find out that he was not the man she thought he was. After her world starts falling down around her, she makes a move back to her childhood home in hopes of starting over. Although it’s the last thing she expected, she meets a man the exact opposite of her ex. With his help and that of her best friend, Aelin, she learns how to stand on her own two feet and take control of her life.

Starting Over Masterlist

Elide was on her way to Rowan’s gym for her interview when the panic settled in, but only because she was running late. Not by the world’s standards. Oh no, Elide went by the motto that to arrive early was to be on time, and to be on time was to be late. She had hoped to arrive with ten minutes to spare, but she was cutting it close as she rounded the corner of First Street and Havilliard Ave. 

She had applied to a few jobs in the past two weeks since her arrival, but none of them had excited her as much as this one. When Rowan claimed that his gym was looking for a personal trainer, Elide had been hesitant at first, but after seeing her other options, she decided that this one came closest to her passion. She had graduated with her degree in sports medicine a couple of years before and had yet to do anything with it. She wasn’t sure what her end career goal was, not yet, but this would be a start. 

She hoped and prayed to the gods that she got the job, although she was feeling pretty good about it. She had worked on her resume, with Aelin’s help, and went through possible interview questions over and over again the night before.

Her resume.

With a curse, Elide reached over to her passenger seat and threw her bag on the ground. For a second, she thought she had left it sitting on the counter and would have been pissed to have to turn around. The breath she had been holding left her body, though, as she flipped open the red folder and saw her resume inside.

As she looked back up at the road, another curse - much more foul - flew out of her mouth as she slammed on her breaks. 

One second too late.

Her car slid to a halt but not before her bumper collided with the car in front of her’s. 

A car, which had blue lights on top and the familiar black and blue paint of Orynth PD.

Elide cursed, a word so filthy that Aelin would have been proud of her, and let her forehead fall against her steering wheel.

She heard the door of the vehicle in front of her open and close, thankful he didn’t bother to turn on the lights or siren. This would be mortifying as it was. Steeling herself, Elide took a deep breath and opened her own door.

The man inspecting the rear bumper of his car was tall, really tall. Most people were tall to Elide, considering she was a mere five foot one, but he towered over the other people passing on the sidewalk.

As she approached, Elide said, “I am so, so sorry,” but froze as she was taking a step.

He was…so handsome.

Not in the traditional sort, with the long hair tied in a knot at the back of his head or the scar slashing through his left eyebrow, but he was…rugged in a way that Elide had never found particularly attractive.

Until this exact moment.

She swallowed and remembered how to speak. “I’m so sorry, I should have been paying closer attention.”

He looked from her to his bumper then back at her again. “You dented my bumper.”

Elide blinked, hesitated. “I can pay to have it fixed.” 

The rugged, handsome cop looked over Elide’s shoulder at her car before meeting her gaze, once again. “Can you?”

Elide’s cheeks heated. Sure, she didn’t have the nicest car in town, but it got her from point A to point B. She opened her mouth to tell him what’s what when he chuckled.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The question was so genuinely asked that Elide hesitated, once more. “Neck sore? Back?”

Elide shook her head.

“Might be tomorrow,” he said, simply, and walked closer to the front of her car. “Looks like you’re off easy. A little scratch is all.” 

Elide blinked, unsure of how to react. “I’m sorry, should I give you my insurance information?”

The side of the cop's mouth ticked up and she got the feeling he was suppressing a grin. “Would you like to give me your insurance information?”

Elide did not. She didn’t tell him that, though.

“Let’s start with you telling me why you weren’t paying attention to the road,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the back of his patrol car.

“I’m on my way to a job interview,” Elide said, the words tumbling out of her. “I thought I forgot my resume at home. I was checking I had it.”

“Hitting a cop on the way to a job interview doesn’t bode well for that, does it?” He asked and Elide genuinely wasn’t sure if he was messing with her or not.

“No?”

He laughed and asked, “Where’s your interview?”

“Relentless Gym.” She was starting to worry she might be late, and added, “At ten o’clock.”

He glanced down at his watch and said, “You better hurry then. Only a few minutes to spare.”

He turned, heading back to his car and if Elide was smarter, she would have let it go, would have let him get back in his car and get in hers and hope to the gods she wasn’t late for her interview.

But she’d never considered herself very smart.

“Am I…not in trouble?”

He had reached his door and opened it, leaning an arm on the roof. Again, he threw her question back to her. “Would you like to be in trouble?”

“No, I—” She released a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I just don’t understand why you aren’t at least writing me a ticket. I…hit you.”

He shut the door and came back to stand in front of her. “You seem like you’re having a rough morning and I don’t see a reason to add to that.” He gave her a slight smile and added, “On top of that, my shift ends in about three minutes and writing you a ticket for a fender bender would give me way more paperwork than I feel like doing. Plus, it’s not actually my car. It’s the department’s. If you hit my car, I’m sure I’d be much more upset.”

She stared at the man, unsure of what to think. She was grateful, sure, absolutely, but usually her luck didn’t quite play out like this.

Ever.

He lifted a dark, humored brow. “You’re going to be late.”

Elide stilled. “What?”

He chuckled. “For your interview.”

“Oh!” Elide gasped, reaching out to shake the cop’s hand. He looked at her hand for a second before shaking it, and she was sure he thought it was weird because as it was happening, Elide also thought it was weird. But, it was either a weird handshake or throwing her arms around a stranger for a hug and she just wasn’t up for that amount of awkwardness today. “Thank you. Really.”

He nodded, muttering, “You’re welcome,” and that was it before he got in his car and drove away. 

Elide fell behind the wheel of her own care, careful to look every direction before putting her car back into drive.

She arrived at the gym right on time.

—————————

Elide had never expected to get hired on the spot, but Sellene, the gym’s owner, had asked her to start the very next day. She wouldn’t have any of her own clients yet, but she would work one on one with the one of the trainers that’d been there for years.

She was back the next morning, thankfully not having crashed into any attractive police officers on the way. Sellene introduced her to each of the staff one by one and showed her the facility.

As they topped the stairs to the administrative offices, Elide halted. “Rowan?”

He turned from where he’d been looking through some paperwork and smiled, walking over to them. “Surprise?”

She laughed and shook her head. “When Aelin said your gym, I just thought she meant you worked out here.”

“Well, I do work out here, but my family owns it,” he replied, nodding to the woman beside her. “Sellene is my cousin.”

“And Rowan is my best trainer,” Sellene smiled, coming up behind them. She looked at Elide as she winked and added, “For now.”

Elide laughed quietly as she looked at Rowan. “I hope there was no bias in the decision to hire me.”

“You’re more than qualified,” Rowan promised.

“Ro will train you this week, show you the ropes. You’ll shadow him, just see how we do things. Next week you can start building a clientele of your own,” Sellene explained. “How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” Elide said, clapping her hands together. “Starting now?”

“I’m ready if you’re ready,” Rowan said, and they parted their ways with Sellene.

Rowan was a good teacher. It wasn’t because the position was difficult, but Elide liked watching how he interacted with his clients. He was always respectful, always patient, always listening to what they needed. Elide hadn't had anything against Rowan thus far, had been grateful to stay with him and Aelin, but watching the love and care he put into his job only made her respect him more. 

It made the week pass by quickly.

By the time Friday came, Rowan kept joking that Elide was going to steal all of his clients. 

Aelin had told her that morning that they were going out to celebrate the successful end of her first week.

At first, she’d frozen, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She’d done her best not to think of Roland the past few weeks. She’d had to change her number after he’d started calling and texting her about a week after she left. She hadn’t heard from him since, but no matter the silence, she didn’t believe he’d let her go that easily.

On top of that, a night out had been the cause of this whole situation. It shouldn’t have been her first thought, but it was. Had she just gone out with Roland that night, none of that would have happened—

But it would have, she reminded herself. It didn’t matter what the catalyst was. Something at some point would have made him snap. Elide wouldn’t have been able to avoid his hidden wrath forever.

She was just thankful she’d been able to get out.

And she wasn’t going to let him steal the joy she’d started to find in Orynth.

“Aedion can’t wait to see you,” Aelin went on, her back to Elide as she made her coffee, “and his fiancée, Lysandra? You’re going to love her. And Rowan’s best friend, Lorcan, is coming. He’s always cranky, so don’t let him intimidate you. He isn’t nearly as scary as he thinks he is.”

Elide finished her bite of cereal before asking, “But he is kind of scary?”

“He’s massive, like unnecessarily tall,” Aelin explained, sitting across from her. “And he’s a bit of an asshole. But he’s been Rowan’s best friend since elementary school, so I’m stuck with him.”

Elide chuckled. Whoever this guy was, he couldn’t be horrible to be Rowan’s lifelong best friend. Rowan was a good man and a good judge of character. Even if Aelin did think she would find the man intimidating.

There must’ve been hesitation showing because Aelin’s shoulders relaxed, her demeanor softening. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. If you’re not ready, I understand.”

It was kind of Aelin to say so, but it was also kind of her to create a night that she would be celebrated. Besides, she had been thinking of starting to meet some of Aelin’s beloved friends and it had been years since she had seen her cousin. It would be nice to see Aedion and catch up.

So there she was, clocking out on Friday at six. She grabbed her bag and went into the staff bathroom to change from her workout gear to her jeans and tee that she deemed sufficient for a night out. She didn’t have much in the way of clothes, yet. Only what she had in the work out bag she’d had in the trunk of her car and what Aelin let her borrow.

Rowan had to stay another half hour to get some paperwork done but told her to go ahead, that Aelin was already on her way to the bar.

The bar was about ten minutes from the gym, right between it and the apartment. Charlie’s was their go-to, Aelin told her, thanks to Rowan and Lorcan’s long standing friendship with the owner. After pulling into a parking spot, she checked her phone, finding a text from Aelin that said she was inside and had a large, corner booth reserved in the back.

Flipping down the visor, Elide checked out her makeup one last time. She wasn’t one to usually wear more than some powder and a swipe or two of mascara, but she would be meeting people tonight, people she knew could become important to her.

Thankfully, the bulk of her injuries had healed completely. The only thing that still remained was a small cut on the side of her mouth, but even it was unlikely to be noticed in a dark bar. With a deep breath, Elide opened her door and headed into the bar.

It was a Friday night so the place was bustling with people, even though it was smaller in size. Aelin was exactly where she said she would be, though, waving at Elide from a corner booth. She already had a pitcher on the table and a tray of shots.

She wasn’t alone, either. Aedion was there with his fiancé, Lysandra, and Elide couldn’t help but gawk at her beauty.

The second she sat down, Elide was asking Aedion and Lysandra a million questions about their upcoming wedding, hoping to keep the conversation on their lives and not so much Elide’s. It seemed to be working just fine until Lysandra went to the bar to order a cocktail.

“Ace tells me you’re working with Rowan at the gym,” Aedion began, filling his glass. “Personal trainer?”

Elide nodded. “And massage therapist. It comes with benefits so I’m pretty excited.”

Aedion opened his mouth to reply but, to Elide’s delight, Aelin interrupted and changed the subject. “There’s Ro now.” She waved at him across the room. 

Elide followed her line of sight and froze. Not at the sight of Rowan, of course, but because of the familiar man that stood next to him with his hands shoved into his pockets.

Elide wouldn’t forget that handsome, rugged face anywhere.

Or his size.

“That’s Lorcan?” Elide whispered. “Rowan’s friend?”

“In the flesh,” Aelin said, rolling her eyes. “Like I said, unnecessarily huge.”

Her use of unnecessarily made as little sense now as it had the morning of her interview yet somehow, Elide knew she was right. Just for an altogether different reason.

Her next question was truly what was unnecessary, since she already knew the answer, but she asked regardless. “He’s…not a cop, is he?”

Two sets of gold-ringed eyes turned to her. Aedion was the one who answered. “Yeah, he is.”

Elide reached for one of the shots on the table in front of her and tossed it back.

Gripping her wrist before she could grab another, Aelin asked, “Do you know him? Is everything okay?”

“I sort of crashed into him earlier this week,” Elide cringed, refusing to look over her shoulder to where the two men approached. “On the way to my interview.”

Aelin’s hysterical and sudden laughter was the reason Elide reached for a second shot to follow the first.

“Do I even want to know what’s so funny?”

Rowan asked, glancing between Aelin and Elide, with Aedion snickering on the other side of the booth.

Elide knew she should turn around, knew she should just get this over with, but it seemed she was rooted to her seat, watching Aelin recover herself.

It took a moment, but by the time Aelin was done laughing, Elide was certain her face was bright red.

“Elide, this is Lorcan. Lorcan, Elide.” Aelin’s smile only grew wider as she made the introductions. 

Elide didn’t have to turn around because Rowan had slid into the booth beside Aelin and Lorcan stepped forward.

And halted.

He stared at Elide for a moment before a light sparked in his eyes. He didn’t exactly smile, but his lips grew softer as he asked, “Run into anyone else this week? Or, was that honor mine alone?”

Elide groaned, wishing she had a wall to hide behind.

Or another tray of shots.

Out of all the men in Orynth, this was the guy who was best friends with Rowan. It seems that Fate did have a sense of humor.

Lysandra returned then and looked from an embarrassed Elide to Lorcan, still standing at the head of the table.

“You just got here and you’re already causing problems?” She asked, sliding into the booth beside Aedion, careful not to spill her drink. “Sounds right. Brute.”

“I’m not the one causing issues,” Lorcan said, and now he was smiling, just a little bit. “It just seems me and Elide here…go way back.”

“Way back being Monday,” Elide said, words muffled by her hands, which were now cradling her face. 

Chuckling, Lorcan grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table and sat it at the end where he stood. “Heard you got the job,” he said, gesturing to Rowan as he poured himself a beer. “Congratulations.”

She was in the middle of the curved booth, having ended up between Aedion and Aelin. That meant he was directly across from her. Her cheeks were still on fire and she was wishing she had on a cute top like Aelin and Lysandra did. Suddenly, her tee and jeans didn’t feel as great as they had when she was getting ready in the gym locker room.

“Thank you,” she finally answered. “I made it on time, too, in case you wondered.”

“Good to know.” That smile was still there, hiding behind his glass as he took a drink. “Didn’t speed, did you?”

She could tell he was teasing her, thanks to the tilt of his lips and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, but Rowan shoved his best friend’s arm.

“That’s enough, Officer Salvaterre,” he interjected before Elide could answer, chuckling. “You’re off duty.”

Throwing up his hands, Lorcan shrugged. “I was making sure she got there safely.”

There were many more jokes made at Elide’s expense, but as the night went on, she realized just how comfortable she felt with them. She barely even noticed Roland’s presence in the back of her mind, not bothering to spare him a second thought.

Or she tried.

She had been staring at Rowan’s half empty glass, watching a droplet of condensation roll down the side, when she felt a light touch to her arm. “Elide?”

Aelin and Lysandra stood at the end of the table, where Lorcan’s empty chair sat. She had a feeling that wasn’t the first time Aelin had said her name. Rowan and Aedion were a few feet back, on the edge of the small dance floor.

“We’re going to dance,” Lysandra offered, with a smile. “You want to join us?”

Elide used to love to dance, but she’d never been allowed to dance with anyone but Roland, not even her friends. “No, I’m… I’m okay.” She forced a smile she knew was almost believable. “The people watching here is amazing.”

Aelin outright laughed while Lysandra’s chuckle was more subdued and was accompanied by a shake of her head.

“If you change your mind, come find us,” Aelin smiled and Elide nodded.

The crowd swallowed them up and Elide reached for the fruity, pink drink Lysandra had ordered for her. It was sweet, but it was strong.

And she was on her third of the night.

“You run everyone off?”

Elide’s head snapped up as Lorcan returned, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Apparently,” Elide said, trying to keep her voice light, laughing softly. “You don’t dance?”

Lorcan looked over his shoulder at those dancing in the middle of the floor. It was a small bar. There weren't a ton of people, but still quite the mob had gathered.

Instead of answering, Lorcan asked, “You don’t dance?”

“No,” Elide lied, deciding it was the easiest answer.

He nodded and gestured to the booth. “Mind if I sit?”

She didn’t own the seat. He didn’t have to ask, but Elide liked that he did. She nodded. “Of course.”

Lorcan slid in the booth, keeping himself a couple of feet away. 

There was a calm quiet between the two, despite the music playing around them. It wasn’t deafening, like the clubs in Perranth that Roland had taken her to. It was just…nice background noise.

Lorcan set his glass on the table and turned towards her. “Look, you know I’m a cop. I’m sure you also know that Ro has told me about your situation.” A chill ran down Elide’s spine, but she said nothing. He continued, “Not in full detail, but enough. I know you don’t know me, but if you need anything, I’m here. Both on duty and off.”

Elide watched him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was being genuine or not. He sounded genuine. Embarrassment flooded her, her cheeks burning, and she wasn’t sure why. She had done nothing wrong, It wasn’t her fault what had happened. Yet, she wasn’t sure how she felt about Rowan sharing her situation with anyone. She knew he didn’t mean any disrespect by it and, as his closest friend, she was sure he told Lorcan everything. Elide had kind of dropped into their lives out of nowhere. She was sure that Rowan had needed an outlet, someone to talk to about it all.

She did not blame him for sharing.

“Thank you,” she said, at last, and she meant it although she wasn’t sure that she deserved this stranger’s help.

His smile was gone now but there was a passion, an attentiveness in his eye that told Elide that the offer was real.

She didn’t know what it was, but something about Lorcan thrilled her, made her feel safe and protected. Like he really did mean that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She couldn’t figure out why that scared the hell out of her at the same time.

[hyunjinspark]

i read the new chapter n jade..... my heart burned so badly, everything seems to be crumbling down all over n to think this has been yns long wished for dream that turned out a nightmare.. i have a few annotates to make!! ill out them below, its my first time so i rlly hope its not messy >.<

“Of course not” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, continuing to add details to his little map, right now he was adding the 7/11 between your house and Aera’s.

hyun thinking of yn neighborhood so fondly n cherishing the scenery sm let alone remember it to add to his painting was so heart wrenching in a good way.. it made me smile

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to be possible Jinnie. And…you’re probably gonna have to get the flowers tomorrow” Chan suddenly said, filling up the blender with ingredients.

i knew exactly where this was going n for some reason it made me rlly sulky.... hyuns hectic life ;—;

“No, but my girlfr-“ Hyunjin stopped in his sentence, clearing his throat, and he could feel Chan’s gaze burn curiously into him, “Um…one of my friends is. He’s her favourite artist in the world”

i was blushing so hard here, i got so flustered, i hope yn finds out abt this, the subconsciously calling her his girlfriend, its so!!!!!!! god!!!!!!

He saw your eyes widen, and a deep emotion overwhelmed you. He didn’t see you react more, and he wondered what this meant to you, what he meant to you right now, even so far away. You didn't say anything back. You must be holding it all in, just like him. Maybe you didn’t know how to put your thoughts into words. He couldn't blame you. Even after reading all the poems in the world, Hyunjin didn’t have the words either. Not enough anyway.

i loved seeing more of hyuns heart during such conversations!!!!! we havent gotten much of it so i cherish it all dearly n feeling hyuns sincerity towards yn from such insights, he better tell her sooner or later, poor yns heart deserves to know ;—; especially after the mess going on for a while now

I want you here with me at this party. Fuck, it’s so dull without you. If you were here, we could just sneak off and…I would kiss you. Positively. My manager is here, the scary one, but he doesn’t have to know. Earlier, I was reading a book and there was an English word in it that reminded me of you. Saudade. I looked it up because I was so curious and it said it’s a state of melancholy for a beloved someone or something. I think that explains this ridiculous feeling I have when I think of you. I have it even when I’m not thinking of you. Like last week, when we were recording this one song. It’s like you’re here with me in everything. I guess what I’m saying is, I just want to kiss you really really badly and fuck I’m really drunk so I’m sorry for how this may sound but I just really need to feel you—

this was one of the hottest things ive read through slwy..... the words rnt coming out, but, the desperation n need in his words here melt me.. i am yet again nothing but a woman it seems, this was genuinely so hot. i cant say it enough. i kind of wish he wasnt cut off at the end.....

Suddenly the expensive bracelets he was wearing felt like shackles around Hyunjin’s wrists. 

When he got home that night, he realised the hydrangeas in his room had withered away completely.

the poetry/metaphors in these lines were beautiful jade :(

At your question, Hyunjin’s grip on the wheel tightened. His shoulders tensed up.

You'd struck a nerve.

Good.

yn getting some revenge this way was so satisfying to read. yes u struck a nerve n yes its good that u did!!!

hey. i was just talking with minho and man, i miss you

I know you’ve likely forgotten all about me but call me later please…I think ill die here without you

yongbok is so sweet, i do miss him n i didnt realize how much i did until reading his texts here

“She’s a really good artist” Hyunjin suddenly interrupted you.

proud boyfriend behavior. i dont know if u understand but this was so proud boyfriend!

He’d gotten so much better in your absence. You’d only gotten worse in his.

this just hurt. bc yes. :( hyun come back :(

“No, I’m not done talking. After losing you, moving to the city was the hardest thing I ever did. Leaving Daejon behind, all my friends…the only life I knew, and this place where I don’t really fit perfectly, but I’m trying so hard to. It is so hard. The only thing I love…I can’t even love that anymore because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you when I’m painting! It’s not fair. You had a choice, Hyunjin. I didn’t” Your voice broke.

hearing it all pour out of her is so heartbreaking bc it feels like theres so much more she wants to say but cant bc of how overwhelming it is, my chest felt heavy hearing her like this :(

“I…couldn’t leave you at the party. It’s not safe…of course I had to drive you home. I would go insane if something happened to you”

something happened to her when u disappeared, dummy..... u should go insane over that instead bc yn did. so did i. hyun come back!!!!! ;—;

Raindrops slowly trickled down, tracing the ruined paper in your palm. The only memory left of you and Hyunjin was now gone.

heart ripped off my chest. im v sentimental even w materials so this.... it rlly hurt.

“Fine” You heard it being passed around and then his voice came in, “Love. I’m here”

i had these copy pasted in my notes but i just got to send u this ask so im unsure if this was bbok or lino... im thinking bbok, hes so comforting amongst the chaos he seems to be the constant yn needs

Draped in a beige trench coat, cheeks red from the cold, Hyunjin stood at the bottom of your staircase.

nothing n i repeat NOTHING couldve prepared me for this. i did not expect it at all, everything was so fast i was ready to take in a deep calming breath n read along w yns quick decision to go back but now theres....... hyun. hyun is here n i cant wait to know the reason, what hell say or do, how yn feels n how it plays out.. im so nervous n once again looking forward to the next chapter >.<

u once again worded everything so beautifully n im sorry its getting repetitive by now but i love ur writing n the depth to it. i hold it dear to me, this story. thanku so much for writing it w so much love, jade<3

-🤍

idk how i missed answering this !! this is so sweet, i cherished reading every line and i absolutely LOVE when you annotate, it makes me feel appreciated and fuzzy and warm inside. thank you for pointing out your favorite parts 🥺

im glad you thought hyun’s text was hot, the desperation is really there haha. and thank you for appreciating all the little flower metaphors i sprinkled in there ! i loved reading this. thank you for loving this story so much, you make me happy.

[wallcrawld]

REPOST & LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

ㅤㅤKEEP THE RAIN by searows ----- i don't know what steps to take / i do the easy ones until it helps / little acts of conversation / i don't think i really like myself / am i comfortable in silence? / or is it eating me alive? / nothing's ever really quiet / when you need distraction to survive

ㅤㅤFUNERAL by phoebe bridgers ----- i'm singin' at a funeral tomorrow / for a kid a year older than me / and I've been talkin' to his dad / it makes me so sad when i think too much about it, i can't breathe / jesus christ, i'm so blue all the time / and that's just how i feel / i have a friend i call when I've bored myself to tears / and we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves / but then we laugh until it disappears

ㅤㅤMARS by sleeping at last ----- we laid our names to rest / along the dotted line / we left our date of birth and our history behind / we were full of life we could barely hold it in / we were amateurs at war, strangers to suffering / we made our families proud but scared at the same time / we promised we'd be safe / another lie from the front lines / our nights have grown so long / now we beg for sound advice / let the brokenness be felt 'til you reach the other side / there is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has / now we're young enough to try to build a better life

ㅤㅤPLEASE, PLEASE, LET ME GET WHAT I WANT by the smiths ---good times for a change / see, the luck i've had can make a good man turn bad / so please, please, please / let me, let me, let me / let me get what i want / this time / haven't had a dream in a long time / see, the life i've had / can make a good man bad / so for once in my life / let me get what i want / lord knows, it would be the first time

ㅤㅤBE NICE TO ME by the front bottoms ----- i got boulders on my shoulders / collar bones begin to crack / there is very little left of me and it's never coming back / there are certain things you ask of me / and there are certain things I'll lack / what's it matter anymore ? / if you believe the lies i tell / there's no meaning to the words / but we still sing these songs well / we are running out of time / we are running, we are running / but you're a killer and i'm your best friend / think it's unfair, your situation / i try to write you poems, but the words they don't make sense / the hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are too tense

ㅤㅤFOREST FIRE by brighton ----- when you were young you used to dream about fires / and scream into the night / to find me standing barefoot at your side / i used to whisper it will be alright / and how was i to know i'm not strong / i should have saved you and i hope you know that you're my home / but now i'm lost / now i'm the one left screaming through the night / i'm gonna carry your bones / i'm gonna carry them all / i'm gonna carry you home / i'm gonna bury these bones / i'm gonna write it in stone / that you were my home

BONUS SONG : BLITZKRIEG BOP — THE RAMONES

& 6 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

⊹ ❝ i offer to you my bones and my veins. that parts that break and spill ❞ — mary kate teske ⊹ ❝ we leave doors open for people who'll never knock again. stubborn human heart. living, for the maybes and what ifs. hoping, until the day it dies ❞ — mollie adler ⊹ ❝ the worst thing in the world can happen, but the next day the sun will come up. you will eat your toast. and you will drink your tea. ❞ — rhian ellis ⊹ ❝ you remember too much, my mother said to me recently. why hold onto all that ? and i said, where do i put down ? ❞ — anne carson ⊹ ❝ the tragic hero is complete. you can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. for an instant he is something like divine. and then he dies, because there's nothing left to do. ❞ — michael kinnucan ⊹ ❝ and when i turned to face grief, i saw that it was just love in a heavy coat. ❞ — shannon barry

BONUS QUOTES : ❝ we're not just our failures. as much as they hurt, we learn from them. then we go out there and do our best to make up for them — even though we never will. we save people. we save as many as we can to make up for the ones we couldn't. that's all we do. ❞ — the boy himself ):

and of course,

❝ with great power, comes great responsibility. ❞

tagged by: @spidersiren THANK YOU BELOVED tagging: @gardiennes, @spinxeret, @arachnidiots, @proditeur, @kryptonfuture, @timewound, @magitanna, @gobleir, @loetise, @eideticspider, and you !!

[rix8824]

Idk

Since schools are about to start and some of them have already started school

Advice you've probably heard thousands of times

And by relying on my experience, since I am on the verge of reaching the finish line and running on a new path

The idea of putting your family or other people in your sights and making them proud of you or being afraid of them and blah blah blah It is of no great value

What you really need is complete conviction that you are making the effort here for yourself

In order to make others need you To achieve self-sufficiency, financial stability, etc

Stop worrying about the future What is written will happen. . I finish

By overthinking this, you think it is good so that you will not be surprised when all the bad things you expected happen

You're just ruining it more…

to stop No one cares about this idiot bullshit except you and me

What you should really focus on is the current time and the amount of effort you are putting into it Is it sufficient for what you want to achieve in your opinion? No, it is not enough. It was not and will not be as long as you are in this state

Oh yeah, you might tell me you don't want to get to anything

okay then

Don't reach anything I stay like this Make your life a waste Spend it thinking and dreaming aimlessly

I continue . . In wasting time

This is annoying and disgusting

It is enough ! Let's stop living in a circle of damned illusions

Aren't you tired of this stupidity yet?

No one will stop to extend a helping hand to you and fix the rest of your path

It's like a snake If the head is corrupted, the rest of the body is corrupted

And you are still at the head Do not spoil it with temporary ideas, illusions and expectations

“My surroundings do not suit me My environment is not good My life is not elegant enough to satisfy my standards "talk talk talk talk"

Stop making excuses

You don't need a great environment to get the best result

You may not be lucky to be born into a better home and have an easy life like those children

Think of it as maybe it's better to be more experienced To create yourself So that no one can say that what you are now is because of him

Leave playing now Leave everything aside When you reach the finish line and cross it successfully thanks to your hard work You will find that all those things you left behind It wasn't important from the beginning

Avoid asking for help as much as possible on your way to the end of the challenge

This way you will be able to leave with a clear conscience No debts to pay to anyone

You work for yourself You are responsible for what you will be in the future Life is not something given to you It's something you have to move forward to find And you are the one who will choose whether you will be happy or miserable

As you develop yourself, you will see the number of smart people decrease over time until they reach zero

Work hard until you reach the stage of “uniqueness” on your own In complete secrecy and complete silence Without anyone realizing it Convince them that you are not aiming for anything and when you finally finish packing your bags Leave . .

In the end, this may just be passing words from a stranger But I hope you remember it and take it seriously for a while No matter who I am and who you are

All advice, no matter how simple and silly If only you took it seriously It will work for you in a fantastic way

People are just keeping up with the times of stupidity and indifference

Now that you know this, take advantage and build yourself for yourself, you only have one life to live As I said before, we are not in a video game It would be miserable to die and you did not enjoy it well because of several people around you or other reasons

And remember well If not today, not tomorrow. .

[chelleinyy]

Late Night Letters

-Leopold contemplates his family while writing letters to his sons

TW: mentions of @bu$3, family problems

It was already late. Leopold was awake even though it was late. At the moment, he was in his study, and his appearance was less formal than the formal attire he generally wears in public. His suit jacket was hung over the chair he was seated in, and his neckerchief was untied.

Leopold was waiting for his fiancée to return from the Swan Lake premiere. Minerva had said her goodbyes earlier that evening and promised to return late. For the time being, he was penning letters to his sons, Rockley and Larry, as he waited for her return. He had begun writing the letters hours before. However, due to his responsibilities, he had to set those aside. He was continuing them now as it had been a while since he had spoken to his sons.

Rockley was the bank's current head. Leopold had just appointed his eldest son as bank manager a few days before. He made the choice and made the arrangements for Rockley. His niece, Clarissa, had died unexpectedly, leaving the bank in disarray for some time. It wasn't until he understood that his son could improve Concordia's economy and restore the family's prestige that he realized.

Clarissa's demise was not the only reason he persuaded Rockley to accept the position. The chance was also a teaching moment for his son. When Leopold went to his son's factory, he found himself scolding Rockley. His son had been squandering his wealth, and he could not have been more unhappy.

The words he remembers distinctly coming out of his mouth were: "What were you thinking?! Have you not learned anything from your younger brother? Throwing your fortune about for pointless things is such a waste Rockley! Really, a year's income for a stamp?! It's utterly irresponsible! This ends now!" Leopold came to the conclusion that it was best to cut Rockley’s funds for a while.

Naturally, his son was dismayed by his father's interference. Rockley was reluctant to leave his factory, but Leopold couldn't let him continue to be careless with his business and its finances. He remembered the disagreement they had a few days before, with Rockley again and again pointing out, "Dad, I just don't think I'm cut out for the job of bank manager! An innovator like myself and a career like this simply don't mix. I’m not Clarissa!"

But Leopold was steadfast in his decision for his son. "I hoped you'd be more sensible than your brother, Rockley. I'm worried you'll go down the same path he did," Leopold had said. Rockley had sulked for days as a result of it. The photographs of him in the Concordian Gazette reflected his reactions.

"I shall be coming over to the bank to see on how you are currently running it," Leopold wrote at the end of his letter. “I am so proud of you for accepting this responsibility. "Wait for my arrival; I'll see you soon."

He set down his pen and picked up the letter, rereading it several times before sealing it in an envelope and addressing it to Rockley. Leopold will pay him a visit tomorrow. Hopefully, his son was just doing fine.

Yawning, he picked up the unfinished letter to his other son, Larry. Leopold's heart always went heavy when he thought of him. This time, that heaviness came again.

Oh, that terrible night, when his elation at being released quickly turned to terror. He couldn't accept the truth that his son, his son...became impertinent, self-centered, and murderous. A killer!

When he thought about Larry, all he could think of was his son in prison, most likely never regretting what he had done. And that horrible memory...Leopold never saw his son, but the news traumatized him. Sleeping for a long period of time was difficult because of it.

Leopold soothed himself by running his fingers through his hair. After a few seconds, readjusting his monocle, he resumed writing to his son with a heavy sigh and heart.

"I hope you are well. It has been quite some time since I last wrote to you. I just wanted to let you know that your brother has now taken the position that was once your late cousin's. I made an effort to try and see you, but Justin Lawson’s orders has forbidden me to speak to you.”

It was true. Leopold had been attempting to pay a visit to his son, whom he missed. However, Lawson made it clear to Chief Wright that no Rochester could speak to Larry.

Pausing for a moment to think, he returned to writing. In the letter, he wrote to Larry about what was going on in the family, how he disapproved of it, and tried to persuade him that his relatives' wild ambition would lead to their destruction. Eventually, Leopold had reached the conclusion of the letter.

“Allow this to be a tremendous lesson for you. I am shocked that we are all implicated in these scandals. I didn't want to get involved in the first place, yet here we are. I never wanted anyone in Concordia see our family as dishonest crooks. Our family is set to fall, and I am in fear that any of us could get harmed.”

Leopold's thoughts were an unintelligible muddle at this point. He was involved in so many matters. His rising dread that one of his loved ones may get into greater difficulty or, worse, be hurt. The Rochester name had become significantly tarnished as a result of the repulsive behaviors and decisions made by certain members of the family, and the shame of it all was awful. If only he could invent something that would put an end to all of this.

With Archie's attempts to woo Vittorio Capecchi's daughter, his recent discovery of Malcolm's decadence, Horatio's misdeeds, the plans for the Rochester Republic that Malcolm and Horatio devised, and one of his sons committing a horrid crime, this family was doomed. Leopold ended his letter with a deep sigh.

“Larry, wherever you are, I am still worrying about you and your older brother. Take responsibility for your words and actions. I'll write to you again soon."

Leopold put down his pen once again. He rubbed his eyes and removed his monocle. Unlike when he picked up his letter to Rockley in order to reread it, Leopold merely looked blankly at the letter intended for his younger son.

Leopold was fatigued in every way… it felt as though nothing could solace him during these times. Why, his life appears to be spiraling out of control with each passing day. Just like when small cracks appear on an old statue.

He was apprehensive about his family's future. Malcolm's Rochester Republic was something he didn't want to be a part of, and his plans to place his son Archie as Lawson's personal assistant at city hall were just another indication of their insane thirst for power. Are they still not satisfied? It appears that they already had Concordia in their possession!

It seems as if...he was the only one who could put a stop to this madness. But he has tried several times before. His brother's reactions were quite frightening. Leopold remembered trying to negotiate with Horatio, but it escalated into a furious dispute, with his elder brother seizing his collar and pushing him dangerously close to whisper a threat.

Horatio's warning still haunts him.

“Do you remember my darling wife who was once in the asylum? The one who disgraced us? I believe it would be a suitable punishment if someone like her met the same fate. I would do anything to keep this family's name alive, Leo.

"But if my 'family,' and I mean EVER, turns against me, after everything I've done to make them feared and adored, I'll make sure they gradually suffer the repercussions of their actions. Do you understand?”

The fight ended with Horatio letting go of Leopold and walking out of the room, leaving his younger brother with shock that lasted till the next day, unable to grasp what had transpired.

Leopold had not noticed the tears streaming from his eyes after recalling the unpleasant experience. Taking off his monocle, he covered his face with his hands, weeping silently in his study.

He could no longer hold out hope that his family might be mended.

[iviarellereads]

Harrow the Ninth, Chapter 29

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Third House icon) In which a dinner party is planned.

August holds to his promise to gild Ianthe's arm. Mercy is curious-skeptical of Harrow's mental abilities when she can't even get Duty’s name right, even though Harrow obviously DOES get the name right because she says Ortus, never mind the headaches and nosebleed-feeling when Mercy says it and touches Harrow's head.(1) Mercy declares that she lives "in the worst of all possible worlds."(2)

They lay in Ianthe's bed, not laying together but simply staying together for mutual protection. Harrow asks why Ianthe keeps all the scandalous paintings of the Third House founders in her room, and Ianthe says "It is the type of energy I wish to take into my future".(3)

They discuss the mission to kill the Saint of Duty. Ianthe says if it were up to her he'd already be dead, which Harrow doubts privately.

"The real problem is Teacher. I'm not sure you can kill Ortus quickly enough to avoid Teacher bursting through the wall with a merry, 'Not on my watch!' and bringing him back from a deathblow."(4)

Thus, she relays to Harrow that at her request, Augustine has agreed to distract God so they can kill the Saint of Duty. Harrow is surprised that Augustine would agree to helping kill his brother in arms, but Augustine doesn't particularly like Ortus, and with Ianthe at full function, they can totally take on RB 7. So, Harrow will have an hour after dinner, tomorrow.

They lay down to sleep. Harrow feels overwhelmed by all the pillows, the satin texture of the sheets(5), the breath of anyone else beside her. Ianthe expresses that she hopes Corona is sleeping well, as until Canaan House, they spent only three nights apart, and on one of those, Corona cried so hard she vomited. Harrow says she's never slept with anyone in her life, always alone in the cot in her cell. Ianthe says she'd forgotten that Harrow was a proper nun, and asks how old she really is, given Mercy's exaggerations of her youth. Harrow answers, eighteen. Ianthe says she remembers being eighteen. Harrow reminds her that she's only twenty-two.

Ianthe asks if Harrow still carries all those letters from her former self, and Harrow responds affirmatively, cataloguing the location of each in hollow spaces in her exoskeleton. Ianthe asks if Harrow has any regrets, and Harrow answers no. Ianthe says Harrow was more farsighted than herself, and Harrow thinks that's the highest compliment Ianthe's ever spoken.

Before closing her eyes to sleep, Harrow takes another look at a painting of Cyrus the First's cavalier, and realizes the woman would have died at Canaan House, and Cyrus must have brought these paintings on purpose, to remember her by. Her own cavalier doesn't plague her much, except as a headache in the temples, or in words stuck in her head. She mentally recites some of Ortus's Noniad to herself.

Warrior proud of the Third House! Ride forth now as my sister! Ride we to death, and the proving! Ride we with heads held high; we shall bloody our blades in the foe's heart; death shall we bring the foul ones-- Death shall we win for ourselves, as the prize for our high deeds done on the ash-choked plains of the ravens!

And then she falls asleep.

The next morning, they receive an invitation (on real paper!) to dinner, from Augustine. There's a parody of a makeover montage with Ianthe, during which Ianthe says Naberius was a dab hand at sewing, and she wishes that killing him gave her his needlepoint skill along with his sword.

The worst part was your sudden resemblance to your mother. "I am very satisfied," pronounced Ianthe. You said drearily, "I look like am imbecile." "You look just good enough that I'm proud of my handiwork, but not so good that I'll be consumed with lust and ravish you over the nut bowl," she said. "I walked a fine line, and I walked it admirably. Go and fix your paint; your skull's dribbly."

As an act of protest, Harrow applies the least aesthetically pleasing skull in the canon of Ninth face paint. Ianthe wears a gown that looks like a few layers of gauze, with her Canaanite robe over.

They go to Augustine's quarters for dinner. He reminisces about the old days, when Ulysses was a madman (affectionate and complimentary), and Cassiopeia couldn't hold her drink. Harrow asks him why he agreed to help her kill Ortus. Augustine admits that his brother occasionally forms obsessions from which he cannot be dissuaded, and in just the last forty years(6) he's caused Augustine no end of pain. He says not to worry, Duty will leave first and go to the training room, and Harrow and Ianthe will leave at the signal that they will absolutely recognize but he will not tell them first lest they give away that they're waiting for it. He adds that when he wants Ortus to leave, "he'll be giddy-gone" which doesn't make sense to Harrow.(7)

Mercy arrives next, and August asks if she accepts the terms of the offer. Mercy will accept if he swears on the sword, so he raises up his rapier and says "I swear by the sword of Alfred Quinque, best of men and cavaliers, that the details of your, ahem, business will not be told by me, or revealed by me, or let fall from the lips of my mouth nor the pads of my fingers - even though I think it will be the death of us," then bids her accept. She accepts, and demands to know the plan.

"Once you hear it, whatever you do to me, don't do it below the neck. None of my other shirts are pressed." "Stop drawing this out! Tell me!" He cleared his throat and said: "Dios apate, minor." You had a front row seat to Mercymorn's dreamy eyes going quiet; the eye of the tempest, before she reared back and punched him full in the face.(8) There was not much force in that blow, which barely snapped his head back, but he whitened as though her fist had been a battering ram. He gagged, doubled over his washstand, and ejected a mouthful of teeth--a tumbling, plinking bowlful; he held his hand over his red and dripping mouth and closed his eyes, and after a few moments straightened back up, a trifle greyer, running his tongue over his regrown incisors.

He repeats "minor" a few times, she says he's lost his mind, then they exchange information in their wordless shorthand of facial expressions, which seems to placate her. She says she's not wearing the right dress for this, but he says she's perfect. Ianthe looks at Harrow and quirks an eyebrow in a way Harrow recognizes to mean "Who knows?" Harrow worries that, in a myriad, she'll have the same facial shorthand with Ianthe that the olds have.

In the end, Mercy makes disgusted noises, and anxiously complains "White wine!" August takes the young women, one on each arm, and warns them that whatever happens, they are absolutely not to get involved. Ianthe looks smugly at Harrow behind August's back.

The plan moves forth.

=====

(1) Do you have it yet? I think it's safe to say by now that you can guess at least part of the answer to these nosebleeds and headaches and people's lips moving the wrong way for pronouncing "Ortus" when talking about either Harrow's cavalier or the Saint of Duty. Muir makes a mystery of it, not a secret. (2) I wouldn't precisely put money on it, but I would hazard a guess that this is a reference to "the darkest timeline". The TV show Community, which has not aged very well, had an episode where a d6 was rolled to determine who at a gathering would leave and get pizza. One particular roll resulted in several accidents and fires, a lost limb, and other horrible things. This became a meme for the remainder of the show, and in our hearts, the darkest timeline. Where all the bad things that can happen, will happen. (3) I'm not sure how common this sort of vibe is outside my circles, but this felt like a VERY common sort of thing on Tumblr circa… 2013-2015? Especially at the New Year season. (4) Kool-Aid Man reference, almost definitely. Bursting through walls, just casting anti-death magic instead of saying "OH YEAH!" (5) Fun fact a lot of people don't know: satin is a weave (or, really, a family of similar weaves) that can be done with most fabric making materials, not a fabric itself. Silk, polyester, cotton, even linen satins exist. (6) There's that time frame again. (7) But it can make sense to us! Giddy-gone may be a reference to the game Dragon's Lair, which has a room populated with Giddy Goons, and an achievement called Giddy Gone for navigating it a certain way. (8) What in the world could THAT mean? Well, Dios means "god", as derived from Latin "deus", and Apate was a Greek goddess of deceit. And, well, they are deceiving Jod to give Harrow an hour… but why would Mercy punch August like that for these words?

[frogs-in3-hills]

oki oki a short reflection on dgs case one because i like doing these and recording my initial thoughts so i can look back on them

this was a pretty solid 1st case! ryuunosuke had a really satisfying little miniarc of becoming more assertive and i am very proud of him ^_^ he is soooo autistic btw. he struggles to get the right words out because he’s trying to conform to societal conventions that he doesn’t actually understand?? check. he’s constantly asking clarifying questions like “what do you mean by that?” when people try to imply stuff or otherwise not say exactly what they mean?? check. and a little cliche but that photographic memory though. hmm. am i projecting or is this real

the pacing wasn’t stellar imo, i thought a lot could have been expedited/cut out and it would still be satisfying, and as a traditional mystery i thought it was on the weaker side, i didn’t feel like the trial really flowed from point to point, instead it just kind of tangented and tangented until it reached some semblance of a point that didn’t seem to disprove ryuunosuke’s guilt at all until the very last minute. ultimately though i still enjoyed it and quite a few story beats really caught my eye and are making me really excited to see what comes next!!

first of all asougi is a delight and i love him, he’s is definitely servings some “lawful paladin type chooses the path of self-destruction” vibes especially with the stuff about how his sword guides him, is the spirit of his clan, he will use it to cut through any opposition, etc…. not to mention he’s obviously very ambitious. not gonna lie he’s kinda wearing the shirt though….. he feels very mia fey to me and then he offered to go out to get food with ryuunosuke just like mia offered to get drinks w/ nick……… hi hello do u remember what happened to mia after that. SHE GOT BONKED. i’m just saying IT COULD HAPPEN he seems like a sweet friend though i can’t wait to see what kind of emotional crisis he will be having in this game <3

liking the specific setting and implied cultural influences a lot!! can’t quite say what i think is going to happen with that bc i honestly have no clue, but i do love some political intrigue so i really hope we see more of this kind of stuff in the story! ik the mainline second trilogy likes to tackle themes of systemic change and stuff which would be awesome if they could just stick the landing, so hopefully those kind of thing will be handled in a more interesting way/it doesn’t fall flat in this game

i have never hated the animation in the 3ds titles but i think i like the general look of this game more than like, dual destinies, the way dgs plays with camera angles seems more natural than it did in dd, which kind of made it feel like they were throwing in new angles just because they could even though they didn’t look that great. though i would like to see more characters and sprites that take advantage of the increased capabilities of 3d models etc etc, since that was something i thought dd did really well.

also is ryuunosuke going to get accused of something again?? because i saw like a screenshot in the trailer of susato watching him and he’s wearing handcuffs which i was expecting to happen in the first case. but it did not. so hopefully we will not have to defend ourselves again acsjhdj i do like the concept as a story beat but i think aai-2 poisoned me against that one a little (despite this is still think athena should have defended herself in turnabout for tomorrow but whateverrr whatever. whatever)

probably not going to get too far but yeagh i think im gonna continue to the next case and see what’s up. cheers

[melody-everbelle]

Santa Tell Me (Nathan Chen x Reader)

Title: Santa Tell Me

Pairing: Nathan Chen x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1,526

Warning(s): Paranoia, past mentions of Y/N’s ex and cheating, and fluff :3

Summary: All you ever want for Christmas is someone to love you all year long... and you know just the right person for it.

Author's Note: This isn’t my best story, so I’m not too proud of this one. I did my best to make the story as faithful to the song that inspired it as possible, though.

Also, spot some song lyric references throughout this fanfic!

***

Santa, tell me if you're really there

Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year

Santa, tell me if he really cares

'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year

Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

***

December 24

You were attending a Christmas party at your friend's house, with people around your age chatting and laughing, all while Let It Snow was playing ominously. You sat alone in the kitchen, sipping your mug of hot chocolate while watching the other partygoers. Today was Christmas Eve, and you were dreading over the fact that you weren't going to get together with your crush, the one and only Nathan Chen, by tomorrow, let alone next year.  You even made a promise to yourself that you wouldn't fall in love ever again if you and Nathan broke up within a year. You eventually lost your train of thought when you saw that Nathan was attending the party as well. Your negative feelings and thoughts vanished as you saw him enter the kitchen.

"Hey, Y/N," Nathan greeted. "You okay in here?"

"Um, yeah," you grinned, trying not to spill your feelings in front of him. "Just excited for tomorrow, that's all," your cheeks glowed a pinkish red as you spoke.

"I can totally see that," he agreed, sitting next to you. Your heart fluttered as he did this. After a moment of silence, Nathan asked, "So, anything you want that day?"

Your eyes flickered as you gazed into his. Should I tell him how I feel? You thought. Moreover, is this love or just a friendship? Questions like these gave you butterflies, but you did your best to answer his question without brushing your feelings off. "So you see," you answered, "all I want for tomorrow is someone who genuinely loves me."

"Okay," Nathan nodded, listening along.

"I just want a lover who accepts and respects me for who I am, and a relationship that'll last all... year... long," as you brought your face closer to Nathan's, you gasped and turned away from him, your entire face red with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," your voice muffled as you covered your face with your hands. "I didn't mean to..."

"Hey, it's okay," Nathan reassured, his hand on your back as a way of comforting you. "I get why you want someone to love you since what happened last year."

You suddenly remembered last year's Christmas. On that day, you fell in love with your ex and even shared your first kiss with him under the mistletoe. Your relationship with your ex lasted until New Year's Day, when he wasn't by your side. You thought he went missing until you found him with another lover. This ultimately broke your heart, and because of that, it made you hesitant to go out with someone again. You even told Nathan about it, who witnessed the whole ordeal. But now that a year has passed, and Nathan was there for you even in your darkest times throughout this year, things were changing, but it was hard to tell if he loved you or saw you as a friend.

"Yeah, I know," you said, trying not to tear up over what you remembered and blinking the tears away. "But I hope that won't happen again," you smiled with determination. Despite your heartbreak, you decided not to give up, and hearing Nathan's story of how he persevered on the ice for four years was what inspired you to keep going. But like him, you couldn't face it alone. You got up to leave the kitchen, with Nathan following you from behind, when you looked up to find a mistletoe in the doorway to the living room. You blushed as you turned to Nathan, who blushed in return.

"Um, I'm not sure I like where this is going," he stuttered.

"You know what?" You suggested, examining the mistletoe. "How about we avoid it? Besides, there's more to a mistletoe than just kissing under it," you giggled.

"You're right," Nathan commented, laughing along.

You and Nathan spent the rest of the party, having a good time and feeling Christmas all around. The Christmas spirit was enough to distract you from your paranoia that you and Nathan wouldn't end up together.

***

December 25

You woke up to the sound of bells jingling from outside. That meant today was Christmas Day, and it was about time you and Nathan got together. You even remembered writing a letter to Santa Claus that you wanted a lasting relationship and placing it next to the milk and cookies on a small table besides the fireplace the previous night. Promptly, you climbed out of the bed and headed downstairs to the living room, only to find nothing. However, you turned to the table next to the fireplace. To your surprise, the plate of cookies and glass of milk were empty, and the note was nowhere to be found. You turned around to hear grunting noises and a shadow emerge from the hallway. You froze in shock, thinking it was Santa, only to find that it was Nathan instead. You suddenly remembered letting him stay over at your house the night before due to the chilly and snowy weather. You both blushed at the sight of each other.

"So Nathan," you grinned, "I just want to say, Merry Christmas."

"Thanks, Y/N," he replied. "And I love you."

You both gasped simultaneously, with Nathan covering his mouth with his hand. You couldn't believe it! Nathan just confessed his feelings for you! But you couldn't tell if he was being genuine or he was joking.

After a moment of pause, you cleared your throat and spoke, "Um, yeah, about that, Nathan..." you walked closer to him, and whispered, "I love you too."

You and Nathan embraced each other, your cheeks rosy red. For once, the love was real, and Nathan was the fire in your cold, banishing your paranoia once and for all.

***

Epilogue

Throughout Christmas Day, you sat by the fireplace, all while gathering your thoughts about Nathan confessing his feelings for you. You knew he loved you all along, and you loved him as well, but you weren't expecting this relationship to happen, especially considering what happened in your previous relationship. However, Nathan was one of your best friends, so how could something like that happen again? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a figure sit beside you and wrap its arm around you. To your relief, you turned to find that it was Nathan.

As the two of you watched the fireplace, you spoke, "So, Nathan, I've been wanting to ask you something."

"What is it?" he questioned.

After a moment of deep breathing, you continued, "Did you really mean it when you said that you loved me?"

"To be honest, Y/N," Nathan paused before nodding, "I did."

"For real?"

"Yeah," he continued. "Believe it or not, I really liked you since the day I met you, even before that jerk of your ex cheated on you. Being the good friend that I was, I was there for you whenever you needed me, and throughout this year, it made me realize... that I was in love with you."

You listened, your cheeks feeling warm.

"But of course, I didn't want to express it right away," Nathan said, "out of fear that you wouldn't take it too well. However, you told me yesterday that you wanted someone to love you all year long..."

"... And that someone," you finished, "was you. Of course you loved me throughout this year! Why didn't I see that?" You grinned, feeling a wave of relief over some much-needed closure. As it turns out, you and Nathan fell in love with each other within this year. "And you know, Nathan," you confessed, "I've had the biggest crush on you ever since I've heard you won the Gold Medal at the Winter Olympics." You smiled, your cheeks still red.

"Really?" Nathan blushed in return.

"Yeah," you nodded, "but it took me quite a while to accept these feelings, and our friendship really helped with that." You snuggled up with him and looked up the ceiling, only to find a mistletoe on there. "Uh, are we supposed to do this?"

"I mean," Nathan chuckled, "anywhere besides the lips would be fine, if that's what you want."

You nodded, consenting to his suggestion, and he planted a soft kiss on your forehead shortly after. You giggled as he did this and eagerly kissed him on the cheek in return.

"Well, looks like I have Santa to thank for this one," you commented, noting the flames flickering in the fireplace.

"Hey, what about me?" Nathan teased. "You might want to thank me as well."

"So that explains the milk and cookies that Santa was supposed to have?" You teased back, pointing out the empty plate and glass still on the table.

"And the missing note!" Nathan laughed. "C'mon, Y/N, I couldn't help it! I was hungry that night!"

"And curious," you added, shaking your head in amusement over the assumption that he read your note. "Oh Nathan, you know how much I love you. Merry Christmas."

The both of you burst out laughing. You were happy knowing that you finally got together with your best friend, therefore redeeming your Christmas and making your wish come true. ❤

[beerecordings]

Okay, it's 3:55am uh tomorrow, if I can, I'll make that catalogue and send it to you

Damnit I'm always too late to fandoms

I hope that you've enjoyed my never ending asks

You have changed the way I view fanfiction

I 1000% will have to make a dedicationary work for this

I also spoiled the very end of chapter 5 for myself?? what the hell, it's 3:57 already

The warning for permacharacter death was like a shock and I was so sure you were going to take someone our and I'm praying you'll have mercy in this last chapter

no, but also, on a more deeply personal note than overdone shaky apologies and incoherent screaming, a lot of what you wrote brought me great comfort and happiness, as someone who did not get a chance to escape the one who was hurting them for a long time

this meant a lot to me, the journey, the failures, the pain and the love, the way that the askers tried their very best and the way your writing wrapped everything up so beautifully

between the major set changes for every chapter (norway house, peru or lima (i don't remember, sorry) house, split up, new house, and hopefully, for chapter five, somehwere they can call home)

to the character consistency, the way you wrote healing and trying was deeply realistic, there were so many scenes that just made me so happy and proud for these fictional characters, so excited and exasperated and admirin your askers, and you bought it all together with characters that had natural progressions

your representation was very good, and your nuance in characters was also very good

it's been an absolute honour to go on this journey with you, and hopefully now you'll never have to open your tumblr to find an overwhelming amount of content ever again- until chapter 5, maybe then ill be back

and im not even really on this journey, am I, I'm just someone who came after, right? I'm retracing the old path you paved, through the darkeness, and that's also beautiful, how this can be revisited over and over, story shared in awe and grief and amazement

i have had a funky, funky time for a while, so thank you for helping me find a new line to live by:

getting better. hope, hope hope

<3/p

thanks so much for your kind words!! i means a lot to me that you enjoyed it and even more that it was comforting to you. I hope one of the messages of MBC is that there's still value and love and progress within situations that seem hopeless, even if they lost a long time, or you backtrack, or even if an attempt to get away fails. i'm not a believer in 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' - sometimes the painful times are just painful, and might even leave you hurting long-term. but that doesn't mean there wasn't value to surviving them. it was valuable because of the way they held each other through it, or the way they kept on going even if they were completely alone and hopeless. even the times when they lost all stamina for survival, there was still value and importance to their lives.

[soufsidesiren]

blog entry 10

happy 404 day!

i'm baaack. it's been a minute since I felt inspired (i don't know if that exactly the word but its good enough for now) to really take the time to write out my life lately, but i hope if you have been watching you've enjoyed the visual journey to spring. i'm listening to my discover weekly intentionally for the first time in a minute. i really like the song that was just played [at the door by ILYICH and Takuya Nakamura]. i have been fighting for my life over the past few days. going toe to toe with something that was not quite covid and not quite the flu but it definitely sat in my body and forced me to care for it very deeply all the same. the first few days i spent on the threshold of sleep and waking which is much harder as the days grow longer. today is the first day that my mind has been awake enough to really even begin to tackle the mountain of tasks i had set out for my first week off in what feels like months.

it scares me sometime. how quickly i lose myself in the heat of all the work i can bury myself in. someone recently reassured me that in those moments i actually become so much more certain of who i am. that perspective shift has defintiely helped. march was truly a marathon. i hosted my first black clay meetup. vended my first market of the season. went to my first nceca and meet so many incredible potters. started a new job as a dance instructor. got a slot in my first art show and almost missed the art drop off because the acceptance email ended up in my trash somehow. my bestie flew in for a wild 56hr stint. we saw amaarae. she took one of my wheels classes. we frolicked around fayetteville and then she was gone. leaving behind a sore throat and aching body to remember her lol.

[update absolutely hating my discover weekly fuckkk lol]

honestly after reflecting on march. i know that i should been really proud of all that i've accomplished. i am finally getting my art up on walls. have started preliminary conversations with so many clay folks that I am excited to continue to expand, but i can't help but feel overwhelmed by the multitude of options and the simultaneous lack of current funds.

[discovery weekly currently on redemption arc.. what a rollercoaster. jk it was short lived. i think its pissing me off bc it feels like a bunch of white folks making black music so immediately its just wack to me lol}

anywho back to life lately. i ebb and flow between patience and impatience in my process. working on relying on community and not just building. allowing the folks around me to really show up and shine as well.

just binge read octavia bulters kindred today. like i deadass read almost all it today. i could not put it down. nobody really compells me to read quite like octavia. i never tire of the way she puts words together. i quite literally could not stop until i was done. i love the way that i can escape into a book but seldom dedicate the time to escape into the literary space because digital space just comes at such a greater convenience. i have been trying to make an honest effort to read way more. i am three books down for the year and i think its a reasonable goal to finish a book a month. so far i've literally only read octavia butler but its been a minute since ive been so obsessed with an author. i dabble into a bit of james baldwin. i love how full and wandering his sentences are. but honestly my next read will probably just be another octavia read because why stop a good thing.

i don't really have more to say so until tomorrow

[tad-aima]

twenty six and a half

twenty six twenty six twenty six.

this age feels like not real? I don't know how to put it into words properly, but more than once i have answered I'm 25 years old. it's like I'm denying my real age that is 26. (or I'm just being forgetful).

so the pandemic is very much over, no? we don't have to wear masks outside most of the times and pcr or swab tests are not required for travelling anymore. the funny thing about not wearing masks, after like 3 years of wearing it every time I leave the house, is how conscious I am about my face, especially my mouth. the first time I left home without a mask, I was almost embarrassed? like I really didn't remember how it feels like to show my face to others. it took me like one or two weeks, to get used to not wearing mask. human is amazing in the way that we really just get used to things and also forget things that we used to do, and learning it again as if it was a new thing. I don't know what I'm saying.

there were some internet posts that go like "the age when a lot of people your age getting married, having a child, or getting a divorce". and I think, I'm at that age? my instagram stories are almost filled with weddings or engagement parties on the weekends. (baby posts are more sporadically, sometimes it's on wednesdays, sometimes it's on fridays. because you know people don't just have their kids on weekends. once you have kids, you have them every day.) and recently I just learned that someone my age was getting a divorce. some friends are going abroad for postgraduate school. some friends are completing marathons. some friends started building business. that made me realize that, unlike school years when most people have almost predictable life progress, life after school is really different for each person. I really need to remind myself a lot these days that I should not be comparing myself to others. each of us has different paths and different obstacles. that however is easier said than done. I think I've compared myself with others a lot these days and I did it unconsciously. it was so easy for me to feel not enough and anxious. it is only recently that I managed to get back to my old self (although that statement alone is confusing, which old self version of me that I'm trying to be? but that's a story for another day). my efforts of getting myself back include meeting up with some friends whose company I enjoy, reading books that I enjoy, listening to songs that I enjoy, and trying to completely savoring moments that I enjoy, feeling my soft pillows and listening to the sounds produced by the birds and the leaves. I think that's why it's important for us to know ourselves, so we can take care of ourselves and we can find ourselves whenever it felt like we are about to lost ourselves. that sounds like it makes sense now. we'll see whether next year-me will think the same.

other changes that happened to me is that I go to the gym more frequently now that they're open until 9 pm. some days when I feel like I have enough energy, I go to the gym after work on weekdays. I mostly use treadmill, but it's actually a progress that I go there more often hahaha. I still haven't shed the weight put on since I start living back at home, but let's not focus on that yet. all that matters is now I'm moving my body more frequently. my younger self will find this fascinating. to be honest, my current self actually feel very proud whenever I do go the the gym. I wasn't really an active person and really did have weak stamina (sometimes I feel like I still have weak stamina). the fact that I'm exercising regularly is just something my younger self wouldn't have expected.

a year is long and also not long, it depends on how we see it I guess. cheers to being 26!

this year's song: Banda Neira - Kau Keluhkan, because I sigh and complain a lot this age. and a little tmi: this blog name is inspired from this song. esok pasti jumpa. esok, tomorrow. tomorrow sounds hopeful. esok pasti jumpa