#I love the crusty shelf. It's my favorite. But I always feel bad

[twilightarcade]

ok so I was reading then slept 4 like an hour and a half

[authora97writingupdates]

Okay here's the first look at my new Harry Potter series. I'm trying to make it better than the last time.

Privet Drive was a very upscale neighborhood. Or rather, that’s how the homeowners association wanted it to be seen. They had houses of upper-middle-class proper British families. Copy and pasted houses with copy and pasted lawns, and even more copy and pasted families.

Fathers in these houses on Privet Drive often worked traditional 9-to-5 jobs. In the other cases, they worked respectable jobs. Even the retired men yet to move contributed to the community. You know, at the insistence of that community.

The mothers in each house were homebodies. They tended to their gardens. They managed their children into proper British citizens. There was the occasional wild mother that enjoyed a man’s work or disliked gardening. Or the odd father that enjoyed staying home with the children, taking a proper woman’s role in the house.

The community on Privet Drive talked about those houses. A lot. The gossip piled up alongside the letters in their mailboxes about keeping a brighter garden, or in more proper child management. All those lesser families moved out before long. Often they moved to a nearby neighborhood called DimKeep Lane.

DimKeep Lane had very little in terms of real respectable British families. As it was mostly housed by rejected Privet Drive residents, they were not copied and pasted folks. Many parents worked well enough jobs, some even very respectable even by Privet Drive. But the mother did the job, automatically making them questionable. Gardens were not a requirement, children even less so.

48 DimKeep Lane held a very unique family called the Lafayette’s. They had no garden. The family was...

That mother was...

The father Mr Lafayette was...

Oh, but who could forget those twin girls? Twins daughters that were just barely old enough for school. A pair of black-haired babbling girls who were just the cutest! Also most mysterious. At any time, the Lafayette girls were found running and playing outside.

The younger sister, Darcy, was the more bold twin. Always with dirt scrapes on her knees or elbows. Lucky for their mother that Darcy hated wearing dresses, or she would always be washing out the grass stains. Darcy often wore basic shirts and jean shorts with tiny trainers in only the brightest shades. The girl played rough with the boys, unafraid of getting hurt or of hurting others.

That’s where her elder sister came into play. Morgan Lafayette usually played with or around her sister. Morgan looked very similar- their only true outer difference being eye color and hairstyles. Morgan’s amber eyes versus Darcy’s deep indigo, Morgan’s twisted black curls and waves versus Darcy’s iron straightness. Morgan tended to dress in shirts and shorts too, occasionally deciding to wear a darker scheme.

Parents went to that child, telling her about Darcy’s antics, or about fun local parties for the family to bring food. Some parents questioned why they weren’t looking for Mr or Mrs. Lafayette before immediately forgetting that question. How confounding! Morgan pulled Darcy back from all fights, worked out peace, then threw Darcy back. Many parents were impressed at the maturity!

Morgan still got into fights. They were few and far between. Usually involved with children taller than Morgan being- to put it bluntly- assholes. Ah, to be a child again! The parents of DimKeep Lane laughed.

The girls were finally attending school. Specifically St. Grogory’s Primary School for Year 1.

The teachers were happy to accept them. Rather, they barely noticed two more children but they were happy to meet the Lafayette Twins.

Morgan and Darcy went to their first day of school with little fanfare. To be clear, fanfare happened, just not to them. Other children cried and screamed, their parents cried too. None of them wished to part ways with their parents. Some kids cried because school sounded boring.

Dudley Dursley, for example. A fat whale of a child even at age 5. He screamed and yelled about the stupid school. They wouldn’t let him watch the telly or eat candy. Petunia Dursley tried to keep his spirits up with promises of toys and his friends being there, but nothing calmed her little Diddykins down.

Her second child stayed silent just behind her. If you ever called this child her’s, Petunia’s face would shrivel like she’d eaten a bad lemon. This child was not hers nor ever would be. Little better than a freak, her nephew knew his place waiting silently behind proper respectable people.

Said boy was currently 1/10 his cousin’s size, and that’s being generous to his cousin. Clothes hung off his skin, ones that clearly had never been worn by Dudley but belonged in a rubbish bin. The glasses on his head- round and black- were already being held together by tape. His black hair was wilder than the sobbing Dudley, barely covering a giant lightning bolt-shaped scar on his head.

Harry watched the other children, curious. His aunt and uncle told him his parents died, too drunk and worthless to care for him. As he saw other children crying and their parents hugging them, Harry wondered if his parents might have done the same.

Naturally, with so little to do, Harry looked over at the collection of toys out for a distraction. He saw the two children already parted from their parents. Only a pair of twins. One playing happily with big thick building blocks, one reading a book from the shelf.

He walked over to them. Morgan glanced at him from over her book. Darcy kept playing with her blocks. Harry sat beside Morgan, peeking at her book.

“It’s about a place that has raining food.” Morgan explained. Harry tilted his head. “My book. It’s about that.”

“How?” Harry asked.

Morgan hummed, thoughtful.

“Magic.” Darcy pushed another block in place, making something like a castle.

“Or maybe science.” Morgan replied.

“Definitely magic.” Darcy argued. “I wanna have magic food!”

“No way.” Morgan dismissed. “Magic can’t make something out of nothing.”

“Then it uses water! I don’t know.” Darcy huffed. She grabbed another block.

“What do you think?” Morgan asked the new playmate.

Harry stared.

Morgan stared back. Darcy snickered. “About my book.”

“You-” Harry shifted on his spot. “You’re askin’ me?”

“Yeah. What do you think?” Morgan asked again.

Nobody ever asked Harry a question before. Usually, Harry asked the questions. The Dursley’s always yelled at him to shut up. Aunt Petunia loved to tell him to not ask questions. Nobody wanted Harry to talk more. Harry loved the feeling.

“...magic.” Harry answered. He pointed at the odd rain. “That’s spaghetti.”

“It is.” Morgan nodded. “I like spaghetti. Do you?”

“I like bowtie noodles.” Darcy cheered.

Harry shifted again.

“It’s okay to not like spaghetti. I don’t like meatballs.” Morgan assured Harry. “Darcy hates the curly kind.”

“The curly colorful kind!” Darcy corrected. “It’s different colors but not flavors! That’s stupid.”

“I like spaghetti.” Harry pointed at the picture. “Yummy.”

Morgan and Darcy smiled.

The other children stopped crying as they talked. Parents successfully distracted them with the promise of toys or friendship, or even getting one of the teachers to help distract the kindergartener. One child held out, screaming about useless school and wanting to go home.

Petunia bribed him with more sweets- something the teachers discouraged. Still, the candy got Dudley to focus on something else. He enjoyed the treat as Petunia ran off, crying herself. Oh to leave behind her precious baby!

The candy soon vanished. Dudley looked around the play area for something. He saw his best friend. He also saw his favorite person to antagonize and a bunch of toys that would suit his idea.

Morgan turned a page in her book.

“You can read?” Harry asked.

Morgan nodded. Darcy snickered again.

“Morgan reads all the time.” Darcy explained. She moved her block castle to the side, letting her add extensions. “Like a nerd.”

“What’s a nerd?” Harry asked. “Is it like a freak?” He hadn’t understood the word at all. He just knew the tone Darcy used- a disgust like when the Dursleys called him a freak.

Morgan tensed. “I’m not a freak. Reading doesn’t make me a freak, it just makes me smart. Darcy’s mad I don’t wanna play.”

“It’s why we’re here.” Darcy replied.

Morgan glared at her sister. Darcy went back to the blocks.

“No freak?” Harry asked again.

Morgan shook her head. “Do you like to read?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know how.”

“That’s okay.” Morgan started using her finger to follow the words. “The pictures work fine.”

Harry, for one of the first times since coming to Privet Drive, smiled.

Dudley stormed up. Piers Polkiss at his side, sneering at the two ungirly girls and the pathetic orphan boy.

“Do you mind?” Darcy asked. “We’re busy here.”

Dudley kicked the blocks down. Harry watched, frowning at another toy lost to his cousin. Morgan and Darcy stood up, glaring at the fat boy.

“Stupid!” Dudley yelled. “That’s a boy’s toy! Not one for stupid girls!”

Darcy leaned towards her sister. Harry couldn’t hear what was asked, only seeing Morgan shake her head. Darcy rolled her eyes, glaring harder.

“Okay.” Morgan sat back down. She picked up the book, showing it to Harry. “We had spaghetti on Saturday. It had long noodles and red sauce.”

On Saturday, Harry ate old crusty bread that Dudley threw away. Literally. Dudley had thrown it against the wall. Harry ate it, then cleaned up the smudge on the wall.

Darcy sat down, leaning against her sister.

Dudley got annoyed that the other children ignored him. “Hey! Gimme blocks!” He yanked a block up, throwing it at Darcy’s head.

Morgan caught it. She stared at the fat boy and his friend. Somehow, Dudley saw something that Harry did not. Something that made Dudley want to get as far away from Morgan as possible. A latent survival instinct, if you want.

Instead, Dudley grabbed another block to throw at Morgan’s head.

See, as a child, Dudley expected that Morgan would be unable to catch it. She already held another block and a book. Her arms were full. She surely could not take another item.

Morgan dropped the first block. She caught the second. All before anything touched her face.

Darcy snickered, still on Morgan’s shoulder.

Harry watched, awestruck.

Dudley went for a third block. Piers grabbed two, ready to throw at all the black-haired kids. They threw with a force that all children considered lethal.

Morgan raised the book, using its hardcover as a shield for herself and Harry. Darcy ducked behind her sister, two blocks in her hands.

Harry could hear Darcy whispering now.

“Can I do it now?” Darcy hissed.

“No.” Morgan replied another wave of blocks hit the book. “But save it for later.”

Darcy saluted.

Dudley reached over. He snatched the book out of Morgan’s hands. The book pages tore under Dudley’s grip. Dudley threw the book on the ground. For good measure, he stomped on it.

The twins stared. Harry frowned.

Darcy reached forward. She held Morgan’s shoulder, holding the girl back.

Dudley threw another block.

Harry moved, blocking the twins’ body with his own. The block hit him. Harry was horrifically used to it.

By then, the teachers finally noticed the two boys throwing blocks at defenseless children. They rushed to the aid of the smaller ones. Lucky for them, classes need to start anyway.

But that little brave act...To them, it was enough. It may not be clobbering a troll…actually yeah it kinda was- point is, it made a strong friendship between the three children.

[prolestariwrites]

Ten Years On [1]

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai/Seven Deadly Sins Characters: Escanor, Merlin  Warning: Major character death, Angst Rating: T  Part: 1 of 3

My first entry of three for @escalin-week Escalin Weekend 2020. Part 2 and 3 will be published this weekend.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Ten years on, Liones is healed from the Second Holy War. The kingdom is thriving as it welcomes its new king and queen, the losses mourned but not forgotten, the people finding new hope and life in the peace that has settled over all of Britannia. Even Camelot, to the south, is rebuilding and renewing itself, Edinburgh now open and cleaned of death, the Fairy King’s Forest thriving with magic.

Escanor lives a very ordinary life, and for that he is glad. His days had never been ordinary: rather extraordinary, in fact, but he is a simple man who wants simple things and this new life, his third or fourth depending on one’s count, suits him just fine. He has an ordinary wife and an ordinary job and their ordinary home sits in an ordinary town. They are booksellers now, with their own store and everything, paid for by the pensions Meliodas had insisted to give to them for being Holy Knights one or two lifetimes ago.

It had been Merlin’s idea to buy a printing press, and now they publish writings as well. It was a way for her to push him to publish his poems, but she claimed it as selfish so she could put her own work into books. Soon they were well-known publishers of fine fiction and nonfiction, giving them an ordinary but comfortable life in their not-too-big not-too-small town where they raise their daughter.

This life is the easiest so far, his favorite, more so than prince or monster or bartender or knight. It is fitting, he assumes, considering this life was the most painful to create. He had stood on the battlefield, dying, giving his last words to Merlin. She was his sun and his moon, his stars, and he had to tell her, she had to know before he was gone from the world that she was loved. It was all he ever wanted, to love her, to look at her and see that she knew she was loved.

But Merlin had other ideas. It had pained him for quite a while to know she had given up Infinity to save him; after all, what is Merlin without magic? But she waves him away when he opines on the loss she must suffer to this day, telling him that she too always wanted ordinary. They gave up extraordinary together, on that day when she took the power of the gods and used it to sew muscle and skin and bone and breathe into his organs, making him whole.

Whole, and human. Both of them, completely ordinary humans.

They did what humans do: they married. Perhaps the day was just like any other, the ceremony the same, the dress and the cake and the hugs from their friends. Perhaps that night was the same, when they joined the way humans had done since the dawn of time. Perhaps their life is the same, mending socks and buying bread and arguing over whose turn it is to shut the windows. It is an ordinary life, but in its simplicity is something more, more than Escanor could have ever dreamed.

Perhaps there is nothing more ordinary than finding a baby in your arms nine months later. Escanor had cringed a bit at the bright orange hair and brown eyes, having hoped beyond hope that their child would be the image of Merlin; but she had been so pleased, and the moment the baby was laid in his arms he was shocked at the way it stirred something so wonderfully ordinary inside him as love. He had written his best-selling book that very night, hours upon hours of poetry describing the joys of the ordinary.

They had named her Avalon, and the three lived their lives in happiness. Fatherhood was a surprising talent of Escanor’s; he had retained some of the height and strength of the day yet the gentleness of the night, thanks to Merlin’s cleverness with magic. He was the perfect combination of both, a blend of prince and knight and friend. And like any other ordinary human, he thought that it would never end.

Human lives are fragile. Human lives are finite. Unlike the goddesses and demons and fairies and giants who enjoy years unimagined on the earth, whose powers work constantly by soaking up the energy of Briannia and healing all wounds great and small, humans work differently. Their strength is in their mortality, Merlin had told him once; for knowing it all could be gone makes them work harder, care more, invest all. Humans have inherited the earth because they are the only ones who could lose it. Escanor had chuckled at that, only partly understanding, because humans are mortal yet they win over the gods? It was extraordinary.

Today is not ordinary at all. It starts out the same: Escanor rises from the bed, alone, as Merlin often is up with the sun to write or check on an experiment or fill any orders before opening the shop. He washes his face and teeth before checking the kitchen, finding the bread he had left to warm on a little shelf over the hearth and the tea things laid out, his ritual every night so Merlin will have them waiting and ready in the morning.

He stares for a long time at the bread that has grown a bit crusty and the spoon that sits perfectly untouched next to the cup. He does not know how many minutes go by until he shakes himself, deciding to let the little tableau stay for now.

Escanor moves back into the bedroom, his feet quiet on the floor, and begins to dress. Usually he wears a pair of brown breeches and a comfortable linen shirt and a vest over all. Merlin teases him for his plain sense of style, but he reminds her if she wanted to be married to a man who could wear the latest fashions then she ought to have made him a bit shorter and less broad when she rebuilt his body. Of course, Merlin would not change an inch on him, so they leave the bold fashion choices to her.

Today is not ordinary. Today he wears black. Today he does not put on a vest, but a coat, and he does not fumble for the reading glasses he needs now that he is human. Today he must wear a hat.

The shop will not open today, so Escanor sits on his chair, looking out the window. He had spent many days and nights just like this with Avalon in his arms, ignoring Merlin’s warnings he would spoil the child if he did not let the baby sleep. But Escanor didn’t mind, thinking he would carry her forever if needed. 

Where is Avalon now? He frowns for a moment, but remembers she is with Elaine. Yes, Ban and Elaine have the girl, staying with them at the Boar Hat. Ban is the proprietor there now, and even though he would not ordinarily approve of a girl of ten staying at a tavern, it is for the best, for now.

He watches the morning slowly unfold, wondering why the world is so quiet today. Do they know? Perhaps it’s his hearing, and he thinks he ought to see the doctor to check. He is getting on in years, after all.

A knock on the door breaks him from his thoughts. To his surprise, the Grand Master steps inside, but then Escanor remembers. It is a huge honor to be escorted by the Great Holy Knight, and as Howzer’s face turns to him with a sad kindness, Escanor remembers many things.

“Sir Escanor. I am so very sorry.” He strides forward, surety looking well on him. Escanor stands quickly as Howzer takes his hand. “This is a loss unbearable.”

“It’s fine,” he answers.

“Are you ready to go?”

Escanor nods. He lets the knight lead him out, thinking that Howzer will want to take care of him. They ride in the carriage in silence, until it becomes too heavy and Howzer begins to talk of things he remembers, the war they had shared. He is speaking of Istar when they arrive.

“Thank you,” Escanor says.

Howzer nods. “The others are waiting.”

Afterwards, it’s not so bad. Escanor sits at a table in the Great Hall and looks at his teacup. It is not unlike the one back at the house, the one untouched. Only this one has a fine mist rising from inside, and he watches it swirl with some curiosity.

The chair next to him moves and he looks over to see Ban folding himself into it. “You all right?” he asks.

There is a bit of whisky on his breath. Escanor nods. “I suppose I ought to—”

“You ought to do nothing but sit right there,” Ban interrupts. “You don’t do a thing until you’re ready, you hear?”

Escanor nods. “Good,” Ban continues. “I was sent over here to see if you’re hungry, but of course that’s nonsense. So let’s just pretend we are talking to keep the others off our backs, all right? Otherwise you’ll have Elaine and Elizabeth and Diane on top of you, and that’s a punishment you don’t need right now.”

“Of course,” Escanor replies.

Ban nods. He pours himself some tea, and Escanor spies the flask he pulls from his coat. A generous portion goes into the cup before he tops off Escanor’s as well. “There we are. That will help the bite.”

“Thank you.”

Ban drains his cup, but Escanor’s remains untouched. “It’s difficult, isn’t it?” he asks. Escanor glances over as Ban stares downwards. “Being human again, I mean. You and I, we were supposed to live forever. Merlin too, even though whether she was human or not to begin with I never really understood, if I’m being honest.”

It is startling to hear her name, but even more startling is Ban’s honesty. “Yes, it’s strange,” he agrees, not sure what to say.

“Our choices have been made long ago, and I would not take my power back for an instant, because it saved Elaine.” He watches as Ban pours another cup of tea, spiking it again generously before taking a sip. “You must remember that, Escanor. I would never, ever take that power back, even though it made me human. I would give up that immortality a hundred times a hundred to save Elaine.”

The words are registering, but they feel too distant to understand. “I’ll remember,” he says.

“Good.” Ban looks at him now. “We’ll keep Avalon for a while. She and Lancelot get along well, and it’s good for her to be around people. Elaine needs something to do anyway, seeing how the boy can’t stand to be mothered anymore.” He tilts his head a bit. “That all right with you?”

“Yes, yes it’s fine. Good. Avalon… she needs to be around people.”

Ban nods. He pushes to his feet and pats him on the shoulder. “That should keep the vultures at bay a while longer. Sit and stare at your tea, and let Howzer take you home. I’ll send him in a half hour.”

Escanor nods again, thinking in thirty minutes’ time, he’ll need to go home. He’ll go home and retrieve the bread and wash the cup and sweep the kitchen floor in case there are crumbs. He’ll remove his coat and store it away again, and then review the manuscripts waiting on the desk that he has neglected the past week. He will have an ordinary evening at home. 

[tmarie82]

Best Christmas Ever

Pairing: Damien x MC (Camille Park)

Book: Perfect Match (Future)

Word Count: ~2,300

Rating:  PG

Author’s Note:  Camille Park is definitely my spirit animal … the girl loves the holidays, enjoys a good pun and she has excellent taste in Damien men.  This is a little fluffy holiday fic that also documents a very special occasion for Damien and Cami.  I hope you enjoy. 😚

This also is my first submission for @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul’s wonderful idea for Fluffy Friday and fulfills a very old fic request.

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list.  You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“A little to the left … no, too far!” Camille spouted out commands to her live-in boyfriend, eliciting a muffled groan of frustration from Damien as he adjusted the tree on its base in their tiny New York apartment living room.  “Okay, steady … perfect!” Camille bounced up and down excitedly clapping her hands when Damien shifted the tree to just the right angle, centering it perfectly in the corner of their soon-to-be extremely festive room.  “Ah, it looks great, D!”  She sidled up against his side when he finally stood upright to observe his handiwork, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he admired the seven-foot fir tree he’d just lugged up three flights of stairs.  

“Yeah, it doesn’t look half bad.”  He released a long exhale of relief, thankful to finally have a moment to relax after their strenuous morning.  Although it was still November, Camille always insisted on beginning their Christmas preparations on the Saturday following Thanksgiving.  So the pair had woken up at 6am to drive to the Christmas tree lot just outside the city (thankfully making a pit stop at the coffee shop to get caffeine for the extremely groggy non-morning person Damien first), then spent over an hour marching up and down the rows of freshly delivered fir trees until Cami found the “perfect one.”  After trekking back into the city with the tree fastened to the top of Damien’s car Griswold-family-style, carrying it up to their apartment (with little help from the petite Camille, but don’t tell her that!), then twenty minutes of situating the tree in their living room … well, it wasn’t even lunch time yet and Damien was already exhausted.  While he thought Camille’s extreme affinity for the holiday season was adorable, he sometimes missed the days when he had been able to enjoy her holiday spirit as an observer and not a key contributor.  

“Yes, it really does …” Camille beamed up at the lush green tree, a wide smile of childlike awe spread across her face, “just think how gorgeous it’s gonna look after you string the lights on it!”

“Yeah, I bet it will be- wait, what?!?  After I string the lights?”  Damien shook his head in dismay as he realized what Camille had just said.  “Why am I stringing the lights?”

“Well I have to go bake the gingerbread to make the gingerbread house, so … “ Camille gave him a nonchalant look and a shrug, before jutting out a hip and tilting her head defiantly.  “Unless you’d like to do the baking …” she asked in a mocking tone.

Damien grumbled again, his face falling into a scowl. “No … I’ll do it.”  He let out a long sigh, turning to go retrieve the box of twinkling lights from the top shelf in their hall closet.  He returned a few minutes later, arms filled with a worn cardboard box full of Christmas lights, to an empty room.  The sounds of Camille clanking around in the kitchen signaled to him that he was officially on his own in this endeavor.  He sighed before opening the box of lights, begrudgingly pulling out a tangled mass of wires and bulbs.   “Cami?”  He called to the kitchen, studying the jumbled mess with a frown.  She poked her head around the corner as she tied an apron around her waist, eyebrows raised in question.  “Check out this tangled mess!  Do I really have to do the lights today?  I mean, what’s the rush?”  He dangled the ball of wires and chaos in her direction, making his most pathetic pleading face at her.

Camille grunted and stomped over to where her boyfriend was whining, grabbing the lights from him and quickly weaving them untangled with her tiny hands.  After a few short minutes, she handed him back rows of neatly folded string lights with a satisfied look on her face, then cocked her hip and folded her arms across her chest.  “Of course we need to do the lights today, Damien.  You can’t half-ass Christmas!  Now stop complaining and get to work so we can actually enjoy this, you curmudgeon!!!”  

Damien’s eyes widened at his girlfriend’s playful outburst.  “Sorry, a Kermit the wha???”

Cami chuckled, leaning forward while waggling a finger at him before poking him in the chest.  “I said a curmudgeon!  Cur-mudg-eon.” She repeated, exaggeratedly slow.  “You know, a huge grump, a crusty old miser … like the Grinch.  Do you want to be a grinch, D?”  She quirked her brows at him, waiting for his reply with a coy smirk on her lips.

“Uhhhh …” Damien fumbled, dropping his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.  “No, I guess not.”  

“Good.”  Cami replied in a sing-song voice, a smug smile pulling at her lips.  She raised up on her tip-toes and placed a single kiss to his cheek with a loud smack.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go finish this gingerbread while you work on the lights.”  She turned on her heel and skipped back to the kitchen.

Damien watched as the bouncy blonde sashayed away, unable to fight the triumphant smirk tugging the corners of his mouth upwards.  “Curmudgeon, indeed.”  He mumbled with a low chuckle before turning back to the task at hand.

~~~

An hour and a half, two beers and a tuna fish sandwich later, Damien stood back to survey the glistening Christmas tree.  Despite the rocky start, the time had surprisingly flown by quicker than he’d expected.  It definitely helped that Cami had started busting out lyrics to her favorite Christmas tunes, singing along to the music and swaying to the rhythm as she stirred and rolled and then proceed to clean up her gingerbread.  The beer helped too, but the occasional peek of his giddy holiday-loving girlfriend in the kitchen gave him a happy sense of pride in his work.  Damn if that woman didn’t bring out the goofy side of him … and make him enjoy it along the way.

He heard the clatter of a pan and slamming of the oven door in the background before the soft footsteps approached.  “Oh wow …” he heard Camille murmur as she came up behind him, tucking her arm into his as she stared at the tree.  “Great job, Detective … are you ready to decorate now?”

Damien groaned audibly, glancing over his shoulder to the couch calling his name.  “I’m guessing that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Damien …” Camille’s voice dipped as she gave him a look.  The look.

“Alright, alright … I kind of figured.”  He exhaled a long sigh.  “I went ahead and grabbed all the ornaments anyway, just in case.”  

“See, you know the routine.  But nice try anyway.”  Camille gave him a quick peck on the cheek and a wink before she started digging through the boxes of ornaments sitting on the coffee table.  

“You know, I think I’m gonna need another beer for this.”  Damien tried to escape to the kitchen swiftly, but was caught by a hand on his forearm before he could make it.

“Absolutely not … I got us some egg nog.  You can’t drink beer while you trim the Christmas tree.”

“But Cami-“ Damien started to argue.

“And I got you a big bottle of spiced rum to go with it.”  Camille gave him a knowing grin.  

Damien chuckled deep in his throat, nodding his head in assent.  “Fine, deal … it’s almost like you know me or something.”

The pair worked together to hang all their ornaments, Camille continuing to sing along to the Christmas carols and both of them drinking several glasses of egg nog along the way.  By the end of their decorating, they were both feeling the holiday spirit in more ways than one.  After hanging the last ornament, Camille took a step back and nestled into Damien’s arms as they gave their finished product a once-over.  She let out a breath slowly, her jaw opened wide in amazement.  “D, it looks amazing!”

Damien grinned proudly as he glanced over to her beside him, his heart warming at the sight of her eyes sparkling as they reflected the lights.  “Yeah … not bad if I do say so myself.  But I think we can do better.”

Cami furrowed her brow in confusion and looked over to him.  “What?  What are you talking about?  It looks great.”

He gave her an amused look, gesturing towards the top of the tree, bare and unadorned.  “You forgot the best part, didn’t you?”  

Her mouth formed a tight “O” as it dawned on her.  “Of course, the star!  Will you help me put it on?”  She scurried over to the last remaining box, Damien’s eyes following intently as she delicately unwrapped the layers of tissue paper.  When she reached the last layer and tugged it away, delving her hand into the box- “Hhh!”  she gasped, tugging her hand away quickly as if frightened.  She stood still for a moment, her gaze never leaving the contents hidden in the shadows of the box.  Finally, she dipped her hand back in and curled her fingers around the tiny blue velvet box, holding it precariously in the palm of her hand as she swiveled to face him.  “Damien?”  Her eyes, filled with hope and shock and a joy unlike anything he’d ever seen before, flitted upwards to meet his.

Damien stepped forward nervously, his heart beating loudly in his chest.  He had pictured this moment so many times in his mind, never a doubt in his mind since the first moment his lips had met hers almost two years ago … but now that it was here, now that it was actually happening, it was more intense than he could have imagined.  “I hope you like it.”  That was all he could think to say as he reached into her hand to grip the small box, prying open the lid to expose a modest engagement ring.  

Camille didn’t respond, just exhaled softly while she processed the gravity of this moment.  She studied the ring, a simple princess cut solitaire on a white gold band embedded with tiny diamonds along the sides … perfectly classic, perfectly her, perfectly them.  “Damien, I … I …” she shook her head, trying to focus her fleeting thoughts until one obscure thought nestled into her conscious mind.  “But, you were being such a grump today?” She asked quizzically, still unsure how this day had taken such a turn.  

Damien’s head fell back as he laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that made Camille giggle in return.  “Yes, well … I had to keep you on your toes, you know.  I wanted this to be a surprise.”  He grinned wide, relieved to see a relaxed smile on her face.

“You definitely surprised me!” She chuckled, nudging him roughly on the shoulder.  “And here I was giving you shit about being a curmudgeon!”

Damien caught her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his other arm around her lower back.  “Well I guess now you’ll just have to call me Curmudgeon Claus …” he smirked and dipped his head, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.  Camille snaked one hand around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair as the other one held tightly to the blue velvet box nestled between them.

Damien stopped mid-kiss, arching his neck to peer down at her face.  “So was that a yes?”

Camille giggled happily, pulling him down to press his forehead against hers, her eyes closed as she basked in the beauty of this moment.  “I don’t think I ever heard a question.”

Damien guffawed, stepping back with an embarrassed smile on his face as he ran his hand across his jaw.  “Right, you’re right.”  He reached down to grasp the box from her hand, retrieving the ring between his thumb and index finger before tucking the box in his pocket.  He stepped forward and held the ring directly in front of her face, ducking his head to gaze into her eyes and tracing her cheekbone softly with the thumb of his other hand.  “Camille Park, I never in a million years thought I’d be lucky enough to find one person I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.  But when I met you, I knew I had met my match and I never wanted to let you go.  Will you do me the great honor of being my wife?”  

Camille placed her hand on top of his, nuzzling her face against the palm of his hand as the happy tears began welling in her eyes.  “Damien Nazario, there is nothing in this world that would make me happier than being your wife.”  She let out a gleeful sob and felt the tears begin falling down her cheeks as Damien released a relieved laugh.  They both watched in awe as he slid the ring onto her left hand, beaming at each other before he reached down to wrap his arms tightly around her in a warm embrace.  He picked her up and twirled her around, the joyous sound of their laughter mingling with the chords of “White Christmas” playing in the background.

When he finally set her down, after tucking a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear and gently pressing his lips to her temple, he leaned back to observe her basking in the afterglow.  “So what now?”

Camille shrugged, her light eyes dancing with glee.  “I don’t know, honestly. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.  But for now … “ she nodded towards the empty treetop, “I think you owe me a star and a boost.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Damien said with a wink.  It may still only be November, but this was already the best Christmas ever.

END

~~~~~~~~~~

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[recentanimenews]

Off the Shelf: Not entirely unanticipated

MELINDA: Heeeeey, look at this, it’s been less than two months and we’re already back again. That’s a huge improvement on our recent record, no?

MICHELLE: Considering that there was a two-year gap before our last column, I’d certainly say so!

MELINDA: Heard any good jokes lately?

MICHELLE: Hmm.. Here’s one! Why did the old lady fall in the well?

MELINDA: Wow, I don’t know! Why did the old lady fall in the well?

MICHELLE: She didn’t see that well.

MELINDA: Hey, that was actually pretty funny!

MICHELLE: Your reaction was unanticipated!

MELINDA: Speaking of “unanticipated”… no, wait, this is totally anticipated. Wanna talk about some manga?

MICHELLE: Sure! I’ve just finished the third volume of Hiroaki Samura’s Wave, Listen to Me!, a Kodansha digital exclusive.

It’s the story of Minare Koda, a waitress with a gift of fluency that catches the attention of a local radio producer, Mato. After secretly recording her drunken rant about her thieving ex and playing it over the air, he eventually takes the chance of giving her her own weekly show in a late-night time spot where she has the freedom to do some really kooky things. The first episode, for example, is a surreal audio drama about murdering said ex, Mitsuo. The next week, it’s time to bury the body on Mt. Fuji!

In this volume, Koda finds that going through those crazy plotlines has actually helped her set aside her bitterness about how Mitsuo done her wrong, and she must think about what she wants the show to be going forward. I really like the scenes wherein Mato mentors her about radio and the relationship between host and linstener. “TV viewers are guests. Radio listeners are participants,” he says at one point. This proves to be true when one of her listeners sends a fax that leads ultimately to the discovery of… well, perhaps I’ll play coy about its exact nature, but it definitely proves that reality is sometimes stranger than the occult.

Minare is a fascinating character. Full of energy and charisma, capable of selfish acts that she’s later thoroughly horrified by… She finally found a goal in life and she’s going for it, but doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing. I like her very much.

MELINDA: Okay, I gotta admit this sounds fantastic. It reminds me a little of a time when I played a lot of Quake so that I could imagine I was repeatedly blowing up my ex, only much more creative and generally productive. Is this series as delightful as it sounds?

MICHELLE: It’s delightful, but it’s also really a genius concept, since letting Minare do many things in many genres allows Samura the same liberty. So, on top of watching Minare’s skills and career progress, there are also wacky happenings to enjoy, too. I very heartily recommend it.

MELINDA: It’s hard for me to resist a Michelle recommendation, especially when it is something so obviously up my alley. You especially got me at “reality is sometimes stranger than the occult.” I mean… I have to know more. I just have to.

MICHELLE: Oh, that reminds me of another fun aspect… because Samura has already drawn out a couple of the audio dramas as if they’re actually happening, when strange things start to happen, it made me question whether he might have started another one without telling us. This is the sort of manga that would totally do that.

Anyway! What have you been reading lately?

MELINDA: I’ve been reading the first volume of Gengoroh Tagame’s My Brother’s Husband, just released by Pantheon Books. If, like me, you’re primarily familiar with Tagame’s work as a bara artist, this slice-of-life seinen manga is certainly a departure, but it feels so natural in his hands, you’d never know that it wasn’t a genre he’s always drawn.

Yaichi is a single dad, earnestly raising his young daughter, Kana, whose life is upended by the arrival of Canadian visitor, Mike, husband to Yaichi’s estranged twin brother, Ryoji, who has just passed away. Yaichi greets Mike with awkwardness and not just a little homophobia, but is forced to invite him to stay after Kana, blissfully unaware of her father’s discomfort, insists that he must be welcomed into their home. Mike, stricken with grief, but anxious to connect with Ryoji’s family and childhood, gratefully accepts Yaichi’s grudging hospitality and settles into Ryoji’s old room.

As the manga continues, we watch Yaichi confront his preconceptions about Mike (and gay people in general), with considerable nudging from Kana, who adores their new houseguest. It’s rough going at first, but as Yaichi gets to know the man who so deeply loved his brother, he is increasingly able to see past his prejudices, to the point that, by the end of the volume, he’s defending Mike’s snoring problem to Kana and fighting the desire to rage at a neighbor who declines to let her child visit Kana’s house, fearing “negative influence.”

True to expectation, this is a pretty moving manga, made all the more poignant by its quiet, slice-of-life atmosphere, The artwork and visual storytelling are downright adorable, as somehow Tagame has managed to create something that wouldn’t look out of place on the shelf alongside, say, Yotsuba&!, without sacrificing his own artistic sensibility. But, of course, it’s not the artwork that makes this book so important.

As a westerner, I’m always wary of imposing my own cultural expectations on books like this, and I’m very much aware that queer culture in Japan is as different from what I’m accustomed to here as is Japanese culture in general, and with that in mind, it’s pretty great to know that a series like this was run in Monthly Action, which, despite its “indie” aspirations, is clearly aimed mainly towards straight men (so many boobs, my friends, so many). Perhaps because of that, it was difficult for me to warm to Yaichi, who is obviously intended as the stand-in for the reader, in all his discomfort over the concept of gay people and how he’s supposed to interact with one. Watching Yaichi’s progress is painful and, yes, eventually heartwarming, but what is most striking to me, as a reader, is Mike’s patience, kindness, and general agreeability throughout. Watching this sweet, hulking man smile with gratitude in every moment, even when he’s being treated with barely-concealed suspicion, is just… heart-wrenching. I can only imagine how this must read for someone who has experienced the same.

MICHELLE: Oh, man. I knew the general premise of this but not that Yaichi would be quite so awful at the outset. And it’s bad enough that Mike’s being treated this way, but when he’s grieving and so desperate for any scrap of his beloved that he’ll take it. From how you describe him, it doesn’t sound as if Mike tries to stand up for himself at any point.

MELINDA: I feel like I should rephrase, perhaps… I mean, yes, from my perspective Yaichi is being awful, but that’s where my western perception is failing me, I think. I think we can all agree, however, that’s astonishing and awesome about Mike (also a westerner), though, is that he seems to be naturally accounting for differences in culture, and is just ceaselessly kind and giving. And when Yaichi becomes moved by that, it is what really changes his perspective, perhaps even more than Kana’s influence.

There’s obviously a lot more here, too, than just Yaichi overcoming homophobia. We find out a little about his estrangement from his twin brother and also about how his own marriage broke down, and I think in the end they are going to be strong healing influences for each other, and probably also for Kana, who didn’t even know she had an uncle!

MICHELLE: That does sound reassuring. I’m about to begin reading My Brother’s Husband this evening, in fact, so I’ll do my best not to get too riled up. Especially since I’m so very grateful that Pantheon has brought it to us!

MELINDA: Oh, go ahead and get riled up! But I really think you’ll love it in the end. It’s one of my favorite manga I’ve read so far this year.

So, we also have a mutual read this week… do you want to do the honors?

MICHELLE: Sure!

From Rei Toma, whose Dawn of the Arcana I liked and also featured a protagonist whose unusual red hair is viewed with suspicion, comes The Water Dragon’s Bride.

Asahi is spending a pleasant afternoon with her parents and she’s just about to go in and have some cookies when the backyard pond reaches out and ensares her, transporting her to another world. There, she meets a friendly boy named Subaru who unfortunately has some very ruthless parents, who immediately decide to offer Asahi to the water dragon god to obtain prosperity.

Asahi meets the dragon god who is, of course, a bishounen. He decides she’ll do for entertainment and shows off various tricks, but she’s unimpressed and protests so much that he steals her voice, promising to return it when she becomes his bride. Subaru mounts a valiant rescue, but the villagers prove to be just as crappy the second time around and the god decides to intervene.

How’s that?

MELINDA: That’s about the size of it! So. Okay. Honestly, I’m having a hard time coming up with a lot to say about this series so far. It’s definitely kind of adorable. Asahi is a spunky, likable heroine. Subaru, the obvious love interest, is sweetly earnest, and the bishounen water dragon god is pleasantly crusty. But man… haven’t we read this book before? Like a thousand times? Am I too much of a bitter, old schoolgirl-in-another-land fogey to enjoy this… again?

MICHELLE: It was certainly a very lightweight volume! I do think there’s potential, especially in the character of the water god. He’s cold, distant, and uncaring. At one point he simply watches as she wastes away in starvation. And he only intervenes at the end to preserve his entertainment. I’m sure he’ll feel love eventually, since that sort of thing always happens, but he’s definitely the most interesting character so far. Too, at least with the fish imagery and the pond, I had a little bit of Moon Child feels, and that’s always welcome.

MELINDA: I hadn’t thought about Moon Child, but I can see where you’re coming from, though the artwork isn’t nearly as beautiful as Shimizu’s, nor does it hold up well to what was the obvious comparison for me, Yun Mi-kyung’s Bride of the Water God, which, whatever you think of the series in general, I think is objectively visually stunning. Of course Bride of the Water God is a much more serious take on the sacrificial maiden theme, and Moon Child is weird and darkly whimsical like no other manga I’ve ever read. So it’s not really fair to hold this sweet little volume to either of those standards.

That said, I agree that the bishounen god has some possibilities (even if the long hair and excessive lounging just made me wish we were getting a new volume of Loveless anytime soon), and I expect there will be more substance as we go forward. But I kinda hope it hurries.

MICHELLE: Me, too! I did think of Bride of the Water God, but I although I did collect the volumes for a while, I never actually read them.

MELINDA: Well, perhaps this little manga will fare better on your shelves! I guess time will tell!

MICHELLE: I will least give it a few volumes to see how it fares. But it won’t assuage my sorrow that volume four of Wave, Listen to Me! is not even out in Japan yet.

MELINDA: That is a tragedy, indeed.

By: Melinda Beasi