#as soon as i saw social media edits were an option i knew i had to do these two

[newtedison]

sonyarriet - instagram edition

[kikis-writing-world]

Pregnancy Announcement HCs

Drabbles under the cut for how Pedro boys would react to your pregnancy, and how you’d share the news. Trigger/content warnings: Pregnancy (both planned and surprise,) mention of abortions as an option, talk of contraception, smut (including cum play, cock warming,) mentions of PTSD and past drug addiction, mentions of dead former partners, blood, periods, doctors/obgyns, single parent/father not wanting to actively participate. If I missed anything, please let me know! Lack of editing as usual... 

Pics are for inspiration, not always an exact replica. All take place in a sort of modern AU where there might be a social media to post pictures to.

Dave York

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dave already has a family and he made it very clear that he wasn’t leaving them for you. When you found out, you were terrified he would demand you terminate the pregnancy - heck, you considered it briefly yourself. You thought long and hard about your options even before telling Dave.

His first reaction was about as bad as it could get: he said nothing, got up and left. He returned a few hours later when you had already cried yourself hoarse. He held you in his arms as he spoke clearly and carefully. He asked if you wanted to keep the baby, and when he said yes he almost seemed torn. You don’t know if it was wishful thinking that he was excited to have another child, but you swore you saw a sparkle in his eye… of course, it wasn’t that simple.

He told you it wouldn’t be easy for you since he would never be with you like that - you were just the nanny he was fucking. If you wanted to go it alone, he would help financially and support you as much as he could, but he couldn’t claim the baby as his and risk losing his daughters.

You were going to have to go the single mother route, and if anyone asked you’d have to either say it was a fling or the father wasn’t interested in being in the picture.

Din Djarin

In all honesty, you were surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Din loved to cum inside of you. He’d lay with you, his softening cock still inside you to make sure nothing slipped out. When he finally did, he’d watch with amazement as your body twitched as it adjusted to emptiness. Gently, he’d push any dripping cum back into your fluttering hole. His deep, gruff voice was laced with exhaustion and lust as he would talk about filling your pretty pussy, not wasting a drop…

When you started getting ill, you at first thought it was just a passing bug. It was inevitable with all the travel that you would fall under the weather. Two weeks into the churning stomach, you realized you missed a period. 

When you brought it up to Din, he changed all travel plans - the bounties could wait, he had to get you to the nearest clinic ASAP. The test coming back positive had him glowing with pride. It was hard to convince him to wait until further along to announce the pregnancy, knowing anything could happen in these early stages. As soon as you gave him the all-clear, he did everything but shout it from the rooftops. By the time the picture was posted -your headgear, his helmet, and a tiny helmet between - everyone already knew anyway.

Ezra

It was a surprise, but not a shock. You and Ezra, although you tried to be safe, definitely had a habit of being caught up in the moment and forgetting certain precautions. A walk through the forest that led to a beautiful field of flowers, a picnic on a moonlit beach - there were times Ezra was so overwhelmed by your beauty and the beauty around him that he just got swept up. It was hard not to get swept up with him.

He was ecstatic when you told him you thought you might be pregnant. He could hardly wait for you to take a test. His knee bounced anxiously as you waited the 2 minutes, holding your hand tightly in his. The positive result brought tears to his eyes as he embraced you close but gently, already scared of hurting the baby. He saw it as nothing less than a blessing. He dropped to his knees as soon as he let you go, already talking to the bundle of cells, calling them his little shining star. The nickname sticks throughout the pregnancy, leading to a beautiful space-themed nursery and all events leading up to the birth, including the announcement.

Frankie Morales

You’re absolutely terrified to tell Frankie. You knew he wanted to be a father, but the two of you had talked so much about the fears you shared about being parents. Mental health, substance abuse, financial stability - it made the concept of “starting a family” overwhelming.

Your stomach rolled the whole time you waited for him to get home from work, little plastic test taunting you from the table. What if it set him off? He’d been sober for years, but you knew every day was a new battle. You were so consumed by your own thoughts, playing out how he might react in your head, that you didn’t even hear him come in.

“Are you…” He half-asked the question, eyes darting between you and the test. You couldn’t find your voice, only nod. The facial change in him was immediate: broad smile and wonder in his eyes as he laughed, scooping you into his arms. You clung to him just as tightly as he started laughing, too much joy coursing through him. As he started crying “holy shit, I’m going to be a papa,” how could you have possibly doubted he’d be anything but ecstatic?

You each tell your closest friends and your families, but you manage to keep it under wraps for the first months until posting your announcement and shocking everyone. Toes in the sand at the beach of your favorite camping spot, imagining the sandcastles and other games you’d be playing in the near future - it was everything you could ever want.

Jack Daniels

The two of you were religiously careful. You had talked about a family, but had agreed that until Jack was ready - which may or may not happen - you were going to prevent it. But life finds a way…

You find out much later than you would have liked - nearly 3 months in, you missed the whole first trimester. Looking back, there were obvious signs of pregnancy but you just didn’t think it was possible. You and Jack find out together at a doctor’s appointment. You leave the office shell shocked with a stack of pamphlets to consider your options and an appointment for next week. When you get home, Jack doesn’t even talk about it. You try to bring it up a few hours later, but he ignores you.

Finally, 3 days later, you can’t take it anymore. You feel like you’re in this completely alone at this point as you yell at him “ignoring it won’t make it go away!” Jack breaks down and tells you he’s so damn scared. He cries in a way you’ve never seen him cry, talking about how he wants a family with you but he can’t go through that kind of loss a second time. It nearly killed him the first time and he wouldn’t be able to handle it again. You talk long into the night about all of it - both of your fears, worries, dreams, thoughts - nothing is off limits as you talk about all the possibilities lying in front of you. Even through the fear and trauma, one thing is clear: you both want this.

It’s not easy, but your doctor helps relieve some worries. She speaks frankly to you about the development of the baby along the way and suggests a therapist that might be able to help, as well as classes you can take on parenting. It doesn’t take long for the worried “what ifs” to be paired with excited “whens.”

Javier Peña

When Javier Peña walked into your small town police station, you thought you were dreaming. Sent to help with a case that your rural forces didn’t have the experience to handle, he was only supposed to be in town as long as the case took. You never imagined you, just a lowly admin, would catch his eye.

It didn’t take long for you to tumble into the bed of his hotel room. And your bed at home. And your car. And his truck. And just about any possible surface in between. What you thought was a one night stand turned to three, then four, and soon into a full fledged fling. You knew the expiry date hanging above your heads, so you kept your feelings for the charming (if a little gruff around the edges) agent locked deep away. The case took about two months, and then he was gone just as suddenly as he arrived.

A month after his departure, when you found out you were pregnant, you didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even left you his number, so you were sure he had no plans to see you ever again. Should you track him down and let him know, or just carry on with this on your own? You spent night after night talking to the growing baby, asking what you should do.

Javier ended up answering the question for you, when he unexpectedly walked into the station once more. He asked to speak with you privately before admitting he had missed you. He told you about trying to forget you, only to spend most of his evenings telling his father about you. Eventually you cut him off with a kiss, telling him you’re glad he came back. You take his hand, placing it on your stomach when you tell him you had been thinking about him too.

Javi helps you secure a transfer to Laredo and even though you technically have your own place, you’re spending practically every night with him anyway. If anyone wondered why the move, well the recognizable mustache on your announcement answered their questions.

Marcus Moreno

Marcus doesn’t believe you the first time you tell him “I think I’m pregnant.” He remembers his wife’s pregnancy with Missy, and you haven’t shown any of those signs. You roll your eyes and tell him that every woman and every pregnancy is different, but he still doesn't believe you. It isn’t until he’s staring down at three tests, all positive, that it clicks in his head he’s having a second child.

He’s excited, but he admits he’s scared. He’s older now, what if he can’t keep up with a baby? More than that, he’s worried about Missy.

You both know you don’t want Missy to feel left out or replaced by a new sibling. The two of you have a good relationship, but of course there were speed bumps to get there. She understood you weren’t trying to replace her mother. Would she be as understanding, knowing that you weren’t trying to replace her?

You and Marcus sit her down and tell her together. Before you can even start on your planned spiel about how the family is growing and no one is getting replaced, she is talking a mile a minute about having a little sister. You and Marcus share a relieved breath and lock eyes before you have to remind her that it might be a little brother. This seems to dampen her mood a little bit, but overall she’s still excited… even if she is adamant she isn’t touching any stinky diapers.

Another way you make sure to include her, is how you announce it to your friends and family. You’re sure, with Marcus’ status, it will get out to the public eventually, but you start by sending close friends and family a picture of Missy wearing a shirt calling her a “Big Sister.” She loves the photoshoot, making all kinds of faces as you snap away on your phone. Happy, sad, pouting, crazy… they all go in the baby book.

Marcus Pike

It was only a few months after your wedding that you and Marcus were ready to start a family. You didn’t “start trying” as much as you “stopped preventing.” There were a few false starts when your period would be late or the time you caught the stomach flu, but a few weeks short of your first wedding anniversary, you were pregnant.

Marcus spent many nights laying next to you in bed, hand on your stomach as he just stared at you - to the point where you actually started to get annoyed by it. He was amazed at your body changing, at the growing child inside of you, that he was finally getting the “happy ever after” he’d been looking for all his life.

The announcement was hilarious to shoot. Marcus and you were covered in paint splotches, laughing with love shining in your eyes. You held a palette Marcus knelt in front of you with a paintbrush, painting “Masterpiece coming soon” on your stomach where the bump had just started showing with the right angle.

Max Phillips

Max knew before you did, even if he didn’t put it all together. He started complaining that you tasted different, smelled different. Not just your blood, but as he spent hours trapped between your thighs. His keen senses had him identifying a change, but neither of you knew what change it was. After all, as far as you knew, a vampire couldn’t get a human pregnant.

Max whined when your period was late - he loved your time of the month. “Best of both worlds” he would say as he feasted on you for as long as you could stand it. It had happened before, your period being late due to stress or illness, but this time it wasn’t just a day or two. A few weeks later nothing had happened. A quick trip to your gynecologist confirmed it.

“I thought you said there was no way you could be pregnant,” she teased as she showed you the results.

Max was shocked, scared, and then proud as a pig in shit. He was terrified to be a father, but he hid that behind a swagger and a “yeah, I knocked her up. Not even death can stop these swimmers.”

Even if you did try to hide it for much longer, the vampires he worked with could smell the change in you too. Put together with Max’s protectiveness over you being ramped up even more than it had been… it was easy to figure out.

You took the picture as a joke - it was supposed to be a compromise that if you took this photo, he’d take the cheesy ones you wanted - but damn if it wasn’t your favorite of the bunch.

Maxwell Lord

You know that Maxwell had a bad history with family. First his parents weren’t as supportive as they could have been, and then his ex-wife had all but used Alistair against him anytime she could. You knew he may be nervous when you shared the news, but you didn’t expect him to turn into Maxwell Lord, television personality instead of your Max.

The first question out of his mouth was “is it mine?” Which broke your heart and set a fire in your gut. You threw anything you could get your hands on at him screaming at him for accusing you of cheating on him. You had just started to calm down when he mentioned lawyers and set you off again. You knew his past, but you truly thought he loved you and that you were his future.

You left, booking yourself in at a hotel. You didn’t leave the room - not only had you not packed anything and knew the paparazzi would devour a picture of you looking so disheveled, but you just couldn’t find it in you to go anywhere. You stayed in the room, ordering room service, watching TV, and crying. In a fit of rage, you had thrown the bottles from the mini bar across the room, needing to channel your anger and knowing you couldn’t drink your sorrows away anyway. 

He showed up a few days later, having followed the credit card charges to the hotel, looking remorseful. He apologized for the way he reacted, and you heard him out despite still being upset. There was a long talk in which you reminded him that you’re not his ex or his mother. You’re not trying to screw him over or get anything from him by having his child. It takes him a long time and a lot of groveling for you to truly forgive him, but you go back home that night.

A few months later, as the two of you take a picture on his yacht, both of your hands holding your growing bump, you can hardly tell the fight had happened at all.

Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand

Ellaria noticed before you did. A mother herself, she picked up on the glow in your skin, the change in your body, and the complaining about aches in your back or your breasts. When she pulled you aside and suggested you were pregnant, all you could do was blink. The three of you didn’t use protection with each other, only when others were invited into your bed. You’d never gone out of your way to prevent pregnancy, so while it shouldn’t have been shocking, it still caught you off guard. Ellaria brought you to her doctor, sitting with you while you found out for sure.

You were nothing but excited to share your news with Oberyn. You knew how he felt about you, about love and passion, about the children he already had. You had no doubt that he would love your child just as much as the rest of his daughters. The night you told him was spent making love while he waxed poetic about you, your body, your child... If you hadn’t already been pregnant, you’re sure you would have been at the end of the night.

With sand snakes spread across Dorne, you struggled for a way to tell them all. Sending letters didn’t seem to do the moment justice. This may be Oberyn’s 9th child, but it was your first and you wanted an extravagant way to share the news. 

Ellaria helped you to plan gathering all the children together. It wasn’t easy, but a month and a half after finding out, you had the whole, huge family together. You posed them all for a picture with you, Oberyn and Ellaria front and centre. You were handed a sign to hold for the picture - supposedly showing the family crest. However as soon as the picture was taken, you turned to show them.

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​ ​ @din-damn-djarin​​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @kesskirata​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @dihra-vesa​  @vonschweetz​ ​ @insideafictionaluniverse​​ @driedgreentomatoes​​ @computeringturtle​​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @thottiewinemom​ @mrschiltoncat​ @anaaaispunk​

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Crown For Two {1}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, 

Words: 6.1k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.  

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”  

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated. 

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.  

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride begins. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a note, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Chapter One

“You were supposed to be on your way home.”

 You rolled your eyes as you scoffed. You’d mentioned nights ago that you thought you should just go home, but then you went to your next destination. It was a moment of weakness or it could have been loneliness. Your schedule took a lot out of you. No one saw it because it was all behind the scenes. All anyone ever saw were the incredible places you went to, the fun things you experienced, and the culture you soaked up. What they grasped was whatever you posted in your pictures.

 “You know I can’t. I started this series, and it’s gotten the eye of a lot of sponsors, and one of them is even talking about some really big ideas at the end of it if it goes really well. that could be incredible for my brand,” you explained.

 Anika sighed loudly. You knew she was annoyed with you right now, especially it being December.

 “I know you’re disappointed. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

 “Whatever.”

 “Attention, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It looks like we’re headed right into a storm. We’ll be experiencing a little turbulence as we veer off course a little bit as we try to evade this thing. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

 You sighed while buckling your seatbelt, preparing for what was coming.

 “What’s happening?”

 “Going through some turbulence. It should be fine,” you assured your sister.

 “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to hang up.”

 You nodded to the flight attendant and promptly ended the call promising your sister that you’d call her back when you landed in Sandvell. As soon as you hung up, the turbulence began. It started out with slight bumps, that you could sip your drink through. Then graduated to bigger bumps that had you gripping the elbow rests. When the entire plane started to shake, your heart leaped into your throat. One minute passed, then two, and after five minutes or so, the speaker came back on.

 “Ladies and gentleman, your captain again. We’re going to be landing shortly. This storm is not one to be messed with. I apologize for the inconvenience, folks, but on this airline, we choose safety above all else.”

 You weren’t going to argue with him. You definitely didn’t want to risk your life over getting to your next destination. What was a one or two day delay? Once the pilot got to a lower altitude, the majority of the turbulence subsided. It was another ten minutes before the plane landed, but when it did, all you could see from the window was white overcast with darkness.

 When you had your belongings gathered and began walking off the plane along with the other fifty or so passengers, you tried to find cell service, but you had zero bars.

 “Excuse me, where are we?”

 “Uh—I’m actually not sure, ma’am. Patricia, where are we?”

 The two flight attendants looked puzzled. The second asked a third, and that third asked another. None of them seemed to know. That was not a good sign, you thought. Once you’d walked down the long corridor that served as the connection between the airport and the plane, you found yourself in one of the classiest airports you’d ever been in, and you’d been inside quite a few as a travel blogger. As far as the eye could see, it was class, with the exception of the floor.

You looked around you and marveled at the detail in the design that was around you. Where most airports were mainly logically designed without lavishness. This one looked like lavishness was the first priority. The floors looked to be made from the finest paonazzetto marble. You remembered the name because of the substantial time you’d spent in Italy trying to capture architecture through your camera lens. Reaching for your camera around your neck, you began snapping a few frames of the floor. Getting lost in picture taking, you found yourself at one of the many glass windows snapping pictures of the airplanes on the tarmac.

 Hearing the commotion of raised voices behind you, you looked back and saw the passengers of the plane you’d just disembarked from gathered in a huddle. You walked back toward them in time to catch a question from a concerned passenger.

 “How long are we delayed? When will we get back in the air? I have to get to Sandvell.”

 A man wearing a mixture of royal blue and white colors cleared his throat then spoke. “I apologize, ladies and gentlemen, for the delay. There is a storm heading right for us on the path to Sandvell. Continuing through it would be lunacy. Our only viable option is to wait it out.”

 No one seemed to like that answer. All the questions flew out at once. All their voices overlapped, and you could tell that the gentleman was overwhelmed by not only the volume of questions but also their voices.

 “According to our team here, we’re expecting possibly a twenty-four to thirty-six-hour delay.”

 Everyone groaned in unison, everyone but you. You’d traveled enough to always expect the unexpected. Things like this didn’t bother you so much now, three years into your career. The only thing that bothered you now was that you’d have to rearrange your hotel plans as well as finding somewhere to sleep tonight.

 “You said here,” you began with all eyes trained to you. “Where exactly is here?”

 The gentleman cleared his throat again. “Brexendor.”

 The crowd murmured as they looked at each other. Clearly, no one had ever heard of Brexendor. Some even pulled out their travel map to scour it for the country.

 “So what are we supposed to do now? Where do we stay?”

 “We are in the process of arranging accommodations at one of the inns within the capital. If you all would work with us so we have your names to get your luggage to you in a timely fashion so you can be shuttled over to the Inn, that would be appreciated.”

 Everyone filed into a line in front of one of the four airport staff, hoping to hurry matters along while you searched your phone for any information on where you were. When you typed in Brexendor into the search engine, the first thing that popped up was a map of the country. Apparently, it was next door to Sandvell. They were considered sister countries.

 “Population three million, run as a monarchy, considered one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Average life expectancy one hundred and ten years. Well, damn.”

 Someone clearing their throat brought your attention up in front of you. You were next in line.

 “Sorry.”

 The woman with brown eyes and blonde hair smiled warmly. “It’s all right, Ms--.”

 “Uh, Thornton, Xari Thornton.” You handed her your passport and boarding pass and waited as she scrolled through her tablet.

 “Ah yes, Ms. Thornton. Here is your paperwork. On it, you will find where you can retrieve your luggage and the shuttle number that will be taking you to the Inn. Once at the Inn, just provide your name, and you will find everything has been taken care of. On behalf of Brexendor Aviation, we humbly apologize for this snafu.”

 Her customer service training was on point, you thought. Her smile was warm, as if she really meant the words she’d just said. Finding it refreshing, you took the paperwork and proceeded to where she was motioning. Everyone you passed as you walked the fancy halls had a warm smile plastered to their face and even warmer words of welcome. You felt as if you’d stepped through into some alternate universe. You made a voice note about everything you encountered. You wanted to make sure you captured your authentic feelings and reactions in real-time. It made writing about your experience on the blog page easier. You’d even found that readers and supporters liked the play by play with your added thoughts. They commented it added personality.

Once you’d made it to the baggage claim area, your jaw dropped at the change in décor. There were Christmas trees that sparsely decorated the space, and they were all lit with the same blue, silver, and white theme. It contrasted with the latte color of the leather seats and the cream offset tables. The design gave the space an elegant but also comfortable vibe. When you slipped into one of the chairs, you released an audible moan. It was like sitting on a cloud.

 After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions through a hall lined with Christmas trees, stopping every so often to take a few pictures before you made it to the front of the airport. As you stepped outside, your eyebrows shot up seeing the fresh snow cascading from the sky. The bite in the air had you bundling your jacket tighter, but it did not stop you from snapping a few pictures. One turned to ten and ten to fifteen until another person clearing their throat brought you back to reality and to the waiting bus ahead of you.

You took a break from pictures and called the hotel in Sandvell, hoping to alter the dates of your stay. What you expected to be a hassle and a long drawn out process ending in them saying they were booked and nothing could be done, turned out to be quick, easy, and painless. The Luxembourg Hotel assured you that your room would still be available and there would be no charge for the altered dates. You made another note on your phone, a point you had to stress when you wrote your piece.

 You continued snapping pictures from the window of the bus with an easy mind. Everything you passed seemed like it didn’t belong. It all looked so old fashioned but so modern all at the same time. The buildings looked to have been standing since the beginning of time in the materials they’d been built in, but the displays were from the twenty-first century. It was the most exciting contradiction. The only word you could think to describe it was—quaint.

 When the bus drove over a bridge, you got a semi-bird’s eye view of the town across the water, and your jaw nearly dropped.

 “Brexendor? What the hell?”

 The entire drive had you widening your eyes like a child seeing an insane amount of presents on Christmas morning. Buildings were decked out in Christmas lights, and every door had a wreath with blue and silver Christmas ornaments. Almost every few feet, the sidewalks were decorated with poinsettia trees that were half the average human’s height, and the way the freshly fallen snow-dusted their tops only made it even more perfect.

 By the time the bus stopped, you’d taken so many pictures, and part of you was dreading having to go through them to choose the ones that would make the cut. You knew it was going to be a next to impossible decision. As you stepped off the bus, you felt like you’d walked right into a snow globe.

“Holy shit!”

 You spun, taking in a full three-sixty view of your surroundings. all the glistening lights and the falling snow only made it feel even more magical. You didn’t know where the hell Brexendor was or why the hell they rolled like this, but you were excited to see more. When you stopped spinning, you realized several other people were snapping pictures and looking just as marveled as you were. After gathering your luggage, you followed instructions and walked across the street to the building that a friendly looking man with slightly greying hair was standing before beckoning you inside.

 For the second time that night, you felt as if you’d stepped into a Christmas movie set. The interior was set so cozy. It felt like a Christmas cottage, and you loved it. Instinct had you reaching for your camera and taking a few shots of the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace and the plaid decorations on the leather couch. Even the pictures on the walls got a snap.

 “Miss?”

 Looking back to the owner, you smiled and approached the desk.

 “Hi, I’m so sorry. This place is so gorgeous.”

 “Thank you. I wish I could take the credit, but it is all my wife.”

 Just then, a beautiful brunette came out wearing a bright red sweater and one of those spoof reindeer antler headbands that bounced with every move.

 “Hi, there darling. Welcome to The Beaux. I’m Anita, and this is my husband, Borik. I heard all about your ordeal. I’m so sorry.”

 You shrugged but kept your smile plastered on your face.

 “It’s all right. Can’t control the weather, right?”

 Anita smiled and nodded. “Definitely not in Brexendor.”

 “I have never heard of this place before, and I am lost how. Everything is gorgeous and so quaint. How have you stayed under the radar?”

 Anita and Borik looked at each other with an all-knowing look that you wanted in on.

 “Guess it’s just happened,” Anita cheerfully said.

 You knew they knew something. Staying this under the radar, including from America, didn’t just happen. This took work. You wondered who in charge in their right mind would make a stupid decision like that.

 “Okay, what’s your name, darling?”

 “Uh, Xari Thornton.”

 “Ah-ha, I told you, Borik. Once we were contacted with a list of names that would be checking in, and I saw your name, I told him I just know she’s gorgeous and look. You are a vision.”

 You couldn’t help but smile widely while trying to keep your head under proper proportions.

 “Thank you.”

 “You must have quite the many suitors where you’re from,” Anita continued.

 You snorted and shook your head. The reality was you were as single as the number one with no prospects.

 “No suitors here.”

 Both Borik and Anita looked shocked, as if you’d said the most appalling thing.

 “That can’t be true. Borik. She’s single and at twenty-eight. Even our Kennedy was at least engaged by the time she turned twenty-seven. Here that is unheard of. A woman is usually married by twenty-four, especially if she’s a looker.”

 You pinched your lips, trying to keep your laughter in. this was not the first time you’d been called an old maid. Hell, your mother said it often, especially since you flat out turned down Maurice’s proposal three months ago. She was livid.

 Anita must have sensed the awkwardness of the moment because she cleared her throat and brought all her attention back to the reservation.

 “Well, your room is prepared. I took the liberty of giving you one of our prettiest rooms. Would you like Borik to carry your bags up?”

 “Uh—no, I’m sure I can manage,” you began.

 Borik stood, shook his head, and came around to you.

 “I won’t hear a thing about it. I’ll happily carry your luggage up. Follow me.”

 “That’s my Borik, ever the gentleman,” Anita filled in with an enamored smile before Borik walked off, leaving her to check in a few of the other passengers from the plane.

 You listened to Borik tell the story of the Inn and how it got its name. You kept one ear on his story while you took in every detail around you. The wood looked so rustic, and you guessed that was what gave the place such a warm and welcoming feeling. The higher you climbed, the more you saw, and the more you saw, the more you liked. You followed Borik down a hall, noticing that all the doors you passed had mini wreaths decked out in the same blue and silver ornaments like at the airport and throughout the streets.

 “Ah-ha, here we are,” Borik said before he put the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Once he did, the scent of cinnamon and pine hit you in the face. It was like the hand of Christmas came out and smacked you.

 “My wife loves the smell,” Borik explained as you stepped inside. You smiled and thanked him for his help.

 “If you get hungry, you have a few options. There are plenty of places nearby you can eat some authentic Brexendorian food, but also my wife cooks every night, and dinner usually is at eight o’clock, but tonight Anette has agreed to keep some heated for anyone who would like some. It’s stew, rabbit.”

 “Oh, thumper. Wonderful.”

 Borik laughed loudly with that one. “I know that one, Bambi, the children’s cartoon. Good one Ms. Thornton.”

 You smiled. “You can call me Xari, Borik.”

 “Well, have a good night,” he said before he walked out.

 Finally alone, the first thing you did was text your sister to let her know not to worry and give her an update on what was happening. After you let Anika know what was happening, it didn’t take long for your phone to ring. The next ten or so minutes were spent talking to Anika and telling her how amazing the things you’d seen so far were. You could not shut up about the decorations, the way the snow looked to have been groomed to lay on things perfectly. It was that damn picturesque. Since you couldn’t stop talking about it, Anika was the one to suggest you go out and enjoy it before you got back on the plane. It was a suggestion you fully intended on listening to.

 Fifteen minutes later, you were back downstairs bundled with your camera and your purse, ready to explore. When you told Anita your intention, she gave you a map of the city and highlighted places to look at but cautioned you to hurry because stores would be closing soon, and nights during Brexendor winters could be brutal. You promised you’d be quick and careful, then stepped out, ready to explore like Dora.

 Your first stop was a block down, a children’s toy store. It was decked out with all the latest toys along with some traditional things that Santa would have brought specially made from his workshop. While you were snapping pictures outside the window, a kid ran up to the window and pressed his nose to it. His eyes were wide, and his mouth matched their size. You asked the adult with him if you could take a picture. When they approved, you got one or two from a few different angles before they walked off.

 As you walked through the city, enjoying the scenery, you took pictures of everything that caught your eye, ornaments, trees, people, stores, even pets. Christmas wasn’t your favorite holiday, but it was your second favorite, and being here really as inching it higher on the list.

 When you felt a strong wind hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It was strong enough to have you stagger backward a little, allowing a chill to sweep through you. You looked around and saw a few feet away was some sort of bar, and behind it was swirling snow that looked like a tornado. You hurried toward the building, being careful not to slip on any ice that may be hiding underneath the snow. Once to the door, you walked inside, and the sound of Christmas carols filled your ears.

 “Jesus.”

 If the scent of the Inn felt like Christmas slapped you in the face, the look and sound of this place was the one two-hitter that settled that you were in a whole nother world here. You looked around and found a coat rack along the left wall. After placing your jacket and scarf on the hook, you walked to the bar and slid onto a stool. As you waited for the bartender to come over, you looked around. Here it didn’t smell like cinnamon, but the pine was present, along with the smell of alcohol and licorice.

There were several small dark wooden tables around the bar with chairs and even booths that decorated the walls. The floors matched the tables, and those matched the walls. This place looked like somewhere you’d find in the middle of nowhere. The window to the back of the establishment showed the dark woods with tall snow-covered trees and that howling snow tornado.

 When you turned back to the back, the huge elk head above the wall lined with alcohol bottles had you gasping.

 “Jeez,” you said as you snapped two of three pictures of the creepy looking thing.

 “That is Hogan’s prized possession.”

You looked beside you where the voice came from to see a very attractive man there. When you’d sat down, you didn’t notice anyone beside you, so to see his piercing blue eyes boring holes into you. Your eyes traveled lower to his awkwardly shaped nose. It looked like it had been broken once or twice and never quite went back to normal. You didn’t mind it, though. Who liked a perfect face, especially when looking at him, seemed like that was about the only thing that was not absolutely perfect. His jaw was carved to precision like he was specially crafted and not born. When your eyes fell to his lips, you purposely forced yourself to look away.

 “Is—is that right?”

 “Yes. I bet you cannot guess why,” the stranger said in a crisp European accent that was very close to British. You weren’t one hundred percent sure if it was or not, he just sounded proper as hell, and it was actually a bit of a turn on.

 You shrugged while looking at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. “Enlighten me.”

 Just then, a large man with blond hair in a man bun walked over. He had to have been over six feet tall, and if this were America, he’d definitely be a shopper at the store Big & Tall. The man looked to the one seated beside you, ready to speak but suddenly closed his mouth.

 “Hogan, Ms--,” the stranger began waiting for you to fill in your name.

 He thought he was so smooth; you thought as you smiled to yourself.

 “Xari.”

 His eyebrow shot up, and he smiled sweetly. “Wow, what a beautiful name.”

 You smiled, and as you felt it widening, you bit onto your bottom lip to stop it. “Thanks.”

 “Ms. Xari would like to know why Shandoe is your most prized possession.”

 “Shandoe?”

 Hogan looked behind him at the Elk’s head then smiled. “It’s been in my family for generations. It was the first thing my great-great-great-great-great grandfather ever killed for himself to feed his family. They ate everything but the head and decided to keep it as a reminder of where we came from.”

 You were expecting some weird manly story but what you got was a wholesome and heartwarming tale. You smiled, raised your camera, and snapped Hogan, and as he stared at the Elk’s head with such a loving look on his face that was such a contradiction for his large frame.

 “Are you a reporter?”

 “No, no. Not at all. I’m a travel influencer and blogger. I go around and soak up what the world has to offer while taking pictures and writing about it on my blog for others to read about.”

 The man beside you nodded, then raised his glass to his head.

 “What can I get you?”

 “Uh—what is he drinking?”

 “The Mistletoe Bomb.”

 You snorted, unable to contain yourself any longer. “What in the world is that?”

 “You laugh now, but it is a blend he makes special for me. It is not for the faint of heart,” the man beside you informed.

 “Oh no, well looks like I’ll be having one of those.”

 Hogan looked to him, then back to you. “It is all right, Hogan. Give the lady what she wants. I am assuming fell strength is also what you require?”

 “Yes, full strength. I want all the mistletoe and all the bomb.”

 Hogan went to work, making the drink while you continued looking around.

 “Em, I’m Henry.”

 You looked to him to find his hand outstretched to you, waiting for you to place yours in it. When you did, you repeated your name as you noted how soft his hands were. It felt like he’d never done a day’s work with them. Henry rose your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It was one small action, but that action had butterflies flitting in your belly and your cheeks heating as if a heater was aimed directly at your face.

 “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Henry uttered while looking into your eyes.

 “Same,” you whispered.

 Henry released your hand and turned back to his drink at the same time Hogan placed a mug before you.

 “One Mistletoe Bomb for the lady.”

 You looked at the large mug then to Hogan, who waited expectantly. When your eyes drifted to Henry beside you, he too was watching and waiting. No matter how much you felt like this was a setup, you persisted, not wanting to back down. When you took your first full mouthful of the drink, your eyes immediately bugged. Your tongue was on fire in seconds, and it seemed the longer you held the liquid in your mouth, the worse the burn was. You gulped it down and instantly knew the mistake. Not only was your mouth on fire, but now your throat and chest as it burned a fiery path to your belly.

 “Holy fucking shit!”

 The two men boisterously laughed, the sounds booming off the wooden walls before filling the entire room. You looked around, noticing for the first time it was completely empty.

 “What the hell is that?”

 “Something that will put hair on your chest,” Hogan teased.

 “No, shit.”

 Henry seemed to like that response; he laughed again then finished his mug.

 “How can you drink this?”

 He shrugged, then turned his body to you. You gave him a well-paced once over, taking in his furry winter boots, dark pants, and dark sweater to match the pants. Underneath the sweater, though, you saw peeks of a crisp white shirt. He dressed like he had money, you thought.

 “I have done it for half my life. I do not even feel the burn anymore. Do you know why he calls it Mistletoe Bomb now?”

 You giggled and nodded, pushing the mug away. If you drank that, you’d need to be carried out of here. As Hogan appeared to take the mug away, Henry reached for it, insisting he’d finish it while Hogan placed a beer bottle in front of you.

 “Would you like a straw?”

 You looked at Hogan as if he were crazy. Who drank beer with a straw? You shook your head and raised the bottle to your lips to take a swig. This was more your speed, not pure petrol.

 “So you are new in town,” Henry began.”

 “Kind of. My plane had to detour because of the storm, so here I am in a place I’ve never heard of and cannot figure out why.”

 “Is it strange to never have heard of every place in the world?”

 You thought about it for a moment as you took another mouthful of beer then nodded.

 “Yes. I’m from America,” you began.

 “Ah, American. Let me guess. Everything has to be discovered, and if it is not, then either it doe not exist, or it is being hidden.”

 You snapped your mouth shut. He’d guessed American thinking in one try. “Well, that’s not fun,” you added. Henry laughed and took his mouthful of fire.

 “I am sorry. I know America well,” Henry informed.

 “Oh, so you’ve been?”

 “No. I do not need to. I have spent my entire life learning it.”

 You looked back at him, confused by what he meant.

 “Every country gives lessons on other countries of the word, especially powerhouse countries,” he explained.

 “Well, your studies have paid off.”

 “Do you really believe that everything has to be discovered?”

 “No. where is the fun in that? I believe that the world has to have some mystery.”

 “Then welcome to Brexendor,” Henry said with a smile.

 “Brexendor. What’s it’s deal?”

 You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the wood of the bar as you watched him.

 “Deal? I am afraid I do not understand.”

 “What I mean is, the people are nice. Everyone I have encountered, including at the airport, is nice. You know airport staff can be so mean, but not here. The people who own the Inn I am staying at are so sweet. Even strangers I bump into don’t;’ seem to mind. Not to mention, this place has the whole snow globe effect down. It’s incredible. What is the deal? Is the president some fantastic guy who pays everyone well and gives them ample vacation time for them to be so happy?”

 Henry smiled, dipped his head lower, then rubbed the back of his neck.

 “Would that be unusual?”

 “Yes. Compared to what America has going on—highly unusual.”

 “Well, the first thing to know about Brexendor is, a president does not run it,” Henry clarified.

 “Ah right, it is a monarchy. So does that mean there is a king, and queen, lords, dukes,” you began, then gasped, remembering more. “Princesses?”

 Henry smirked, gulped his drink, then nodded. “Yes.” He continued to take another swig from his mug.

 His words slowly resonated. “What!? You’re serious?”

 He nodded, then placed the glass onto the bar.

 “Wow. How interesting. So this King and Queen are they the good kind?”

 Henry’s smile turned somber before it disappeared altogether.

 “Did I say something wrong?”

 “No, no. Yes, the King and Queen are the best kind,” he filled in before he took the last mouthful of his drink. “They would like you.”

 You laughed loudly and shook your head. “Me? I doubt that. While all the mothers of my boyfriends have loved me, I don’t think the King and Queen would care for me.”

 “Boyfriend, so uh—you’re involved,” Henry said as he avoided your eyes.

 His words sounded like a statement rather than a question, so you remained quiet. After a few moments, he looked at you expectantly. You pinched your lips before you finished your beer.

 “Are you involved?”

 Henry took a deep breath looked forward to the bottles at the bar as a pained and confused expression washed over his features.

 “I’ll take that as a yes,” you replied.

 “I am not—involved,” he answered.

 “You said it like you weren’t sure.”

 “It is complicated.”

 “Well, I am a stranger in a bar—an empty bar. You’ll most likely never see me again, and I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

 Henry smiled then turned back to you, resting his elbow on the bar mimicking your stance.

 “You have not answered my inquiry.”

 “Inquiry?”

 Henry smiled again, then bit his bottom lip. That is where your eyes went to. He had nice lips, you thought.

 “On if you are involved,” he clarified.

 “I am not involved with anyone. If you ask my mother, she will tell you I’m an old maid with no prospects.”

 “I do not believe that. You are funny, intelligent, fun to be around, and quite beautiful. There is no way you have no admirers.”

 You smiled and began toying with your necklace.

 “I’m sure you say that to all the girls you meet in deserted bars during a snow storm.”

 He snorted, and you felt his breath across your cheek. It was then you realized how close the two of you were to each other.

 “To be honest, I have never found myself alone with a woman in a bar. You are my first.”

 You bit your bottom lip feeling more flirtatious than usual as you gazed into his hypnotizing eyes. He was gorgeous and becoming even more so with every passing minute. The two of you ordered more drinks, then drifted off to one of the booths on the wall that was more hidden and even more comfortable. You talked about nearly everything and nothing at the same time. He spoke a lot about philosophy and astronomy and the sciences that motivated a lot of the earlier theories. It was fascinating just listening to him speak. There was something about his mouth and the properness of the words he used. Never once did he use slang or even a contraction. You’d never met anyone who didn’t use contractions. The longer you sat there, the more you felt like never getting up.

 “There is something about you that is so comfortable and easy,” Henry began.

 “You too.”

 “I feel like I can talk to you about anything. I even want to.”

 You smiled, “You too.”

 Your eyes lingered, and you saw him sway forward, but then he stopped only to do it again and again. With your faces were centimeters from one another, it was then you noticed the slight speck of brown in his left eye. You felt Henry’s hand gently cup your cheek; then, his thumb slowly stroked your skin. The heat from his palm seared your cheek, and every stroke of his thumb send heat tendrils down your jaw to your lips, making them tingle and yearn for his.

 This had never happened to you in your entire life. You’d known this man a few hours and were ready to possibly bring him back to the Inn with you. Henry didn’t move. It was like he was giving you the last few centimeters to make a decision, but you didn’t make it. A phone went off, but you both ignored it until the sound went off. You raised your hand to rest on top of his. Once your skin touched his, Henry lightly sighed out. Before either of you could make another move, a phone rang again. This time Henry groaned before he looked away just as you did.

 You cleared your throat and slid from his body as he checked his phone.

 “I have to go,” he announced.

 Frozen, you sat there trying to understand if you’d read this entire thing wrong.

 “I am sorry, something—urgent has come up.”

 You snapped out of it, then nodded. “It’s fine. I should probably get back to the Inn anyway. They say a storm is brewing.”

 Both of you stood from the booth while straightening your clothes.

 “I really enjoyed tonight,” Henry added.

 You smiled and nodded. “Me too. It was—nice.”

 Your eyes lingered again, and your bodies drifted closer. It was you who looked away first and stepped back. You reached for your purse, but Henry stopped you.

 “It has been taken care of. Let us call it a tourist special, right Hogan.”

 “Right your--,” Hogan began before Henry looked at him, cutting him off.

 Henry ushered you to the coat rack on the wall by the door then helped you into your jacket.

 “Can I drive you back to the Inn?”

 “No, please. I am more than capable of getting back,” you assured.”

 “Are you sure?”

 You nodded then turned to walk out, but Henry pulled you to him. “I want to see you again.”

 “I don’t see how. I leave tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.”

 Henry looked to be thinking before he sighed. “I guess it was not meant to be,” you whispered, a tinge of sadness filling you as reality set in.

 “In another life,” Henry softly said.

 He came closer then placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek before he released you. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, and in those moments, anything felt possible. When you faced that anything could have been possible but not for you, you sighed. A few seconds later, you turned and walked out of the bar.

Once outside, the rough wind caught you off guard. You took a few moments to bundle yourself, then continued walking back to the Inn. The swirling snow in the air made it a little challenging to see, but you tried the best you could. Several times, the wind picked up and shoved you where it wanted, forcing you to grab on to something to hold until it passed.

 Suddenly a big gust of wind blew you to the right and knocking you off your feet to roll for several feet. When the wind slowed, you rolled over onto your back to spit out the mouthful of snow that you’d managed to ingest. It took you several tries to stand, but when you did, you tried to see where you were and what direction you needed to walk in. That was when the wind picked up again, making you scream. When you turned, you saw two headlights coming right at you, then all you felt was pain before you were out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

two years too late, chapter t h r e e 

You were sitting at your desk on Monday morning when the message came through. Alyssa’s name lit up your screen, the house emoji sat beside the small letters as your hand jerked forward to grab it out of habit. 

Alyssa (10:21am): THERE’S A PHOTO OF US AND HARRY

Alyssa (10:21am): Can’t see our faces tho don’t worry

Alyssa (10:22am): Just the back of your head and my ear, really

Shit, shit, shit. 

She’d attached the picture and sent it: your arm, your hand, your hair. Alyssa’s ear and jaw, Erica’s leather jacket and unmistakably, Harry’s shoulders and back. You looked it over again, studying the image as you pinched it to zoom in. 

You couldn’t tell that was you. No way. Unless your mother or sister was looking, Jessie and Bryn might not even be able to tell. It was dark and the quality of the picture was poor but you could definitely see that you had a drink in your hand. You could also see that you were stood remarkably close to Harry. 

Fuck. 

You took a deep breath, hoping to steady your pulse and ignore the way your vision was blurry in the corners. 

“Question!” 

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, looking up quickly to see a startled Whitney with her hand on her chest--just as alarmed by your reaction as you’d been by her presence. “Sorry, hi.” You dropped your phone quickly, letting it crash down to your desk. 

“Sorry, oh my god,” she let out a big breath, rebounding from the adrenaline as a laugh escaped her lips. “I was just hoping we could meet later. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“No, m’sorry--you just--proper scared me,” you said, leaning back in your chair and blinking a few times--your heart still catching up with your brain.

“Your performance review is overdue,” she said. “We were supposed to do it at the six month mark, but you know how things are,” she waved a hand to dismiss the timeline. 

“Sure, yeah. After lunch?”

“Two-thirty? We can meet in my office.”

“I’ll come to you,” you nodded, offering confirmation before she turned to walk away. 

You picked up your phone again quickly, new messages from Alyssa coming in faster than you could read them. 

Alyssa (10:24am): OKAY just kidding there’s one of your face. Blurry though!!!!

Alyssa (10:24am): From down below. Someone must have taken it looking up to the balcony where we were?

Alyssa (10:25am): You would never know that was you

She was trying to reassure you, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest as all of the thoughts flooded through your brain like a tsunami, waves quick and forceful. 

Okay, so it wasn’t like knowing Harry was the end of the world. You’d been doing that for nearly 13 years and you’d managed fine enough. The problem, as you saw it, was more along the lines that your employer and coworkers had no clue that someone your website wrote about frequently was recently spending his nights on your couch with a glass of wine in hand. 

Something about that sounded weird, and you were sure that Whitney wouldn’t go for it. 

You pulled up the new photo, holding the screen uncomfortably close to your face to study the grainy pixels. Of course--the one moment that he slung his arm around your shoulders was the one this person had chosen to capture. 

Y/N L/N (10:26am): Where are these? Can we get the person to take them down?

Alyssa (10:26am): They came up on my instagram explore tab. Random fan accounts. 

Y/N L/N (10:27am): Fuck. 

Alyssa (10:27am): I don’t think you should worry. They’re so blurry you can’t even tell if you’re a man or woman. 

Y/N L/N (10:28am): Great even better!

You dropped your phone into your desk drawer after telling Alyssa to keep an eye on the photos. She was right: they were blurry. You were hoping with everything in your soul that Carly was too busy to even check the internet today (unlikely, seeing as your job relied on that), or if she did, that she’d be too excited about the new gossip to even pause and consider the fact that the hair in the photo looked an awful lot like yours.

So you waited. You contemplated sneaking out to meet Alyssa for lunch, taking a look for yourself at the accounts that had uploaded the photos. You decided against it, though, when you realized that your absence might make you look even more suspicious. Flying under the radar as much as possible seemed like a good option. 

You kept your head in your work: a list about the funniest memes about Christmas, a quick round up of the weekend’s best celebrity tweets. You heated up your lunch and ate at your desk, hoping to avoid Carly at all costs.

You were successful up until you slipped into the kitchen on your floor to fill up your water bottle, hoping to blend in to the late-lunch crowd. Carly stood with her back to you, but soon turned around, her festive red sweater made her hard to miss. Upon meeting eyes with her, you looked down to your watch, pretending as if you’d suddenly remembered a meeting you were late for. 

You weren’t one to shy away from confrontation, but this one didn’t feel totally work appropriate. 

“Haven’t seen you all day,” she said, pulling her lunch from the microwave before offering a smile. “Busy or what?”

“Swamped,” you lied, pushing your water bottle up to the cooler in defeat, the bracelets on your wrist clinking together. “Ate at my desk, been pretty productive, so s’all good.”

“Feels busy around here in general. Christmas and shit,” she shrugged. “There was breaking news this morning that Harry went out on a date this weekend. I don’t know if you saw it--pictures and everything,” she wiggled her eyebrows as if you’d bite at the bait. 

You licked at your dry lips, a heat rising to your cheeks. “Really?”

She nodded, grabbing a napkin from the counter. “Can’t even tell who it is, probably some random model or something. I doubt it’s hard to find someone to sleep with when you’re Harry Styles, though, so--” she turned to head back towards her desk, calling over her shoulder. “Come find me later, we’ll grab a coffee and do edits together!”

You promised you would, thankful for the fact that she was an hour behind her target for the day and still hadn’t eaten. It gave you time to gain composure as you wove through cubes and conversations to make your way to Whitney’s corner office with sweeping city views. 

A sunny and cold day on the other side of the glass windows reminded you that winter was here--the small amount of snow left reflected sunlight like a broken mirror on the ground. Whitney had a folder on her desk and waved you in when you knocked, cell phone up to her ear.

She ended the call and thanked you for making the time, telling you to shut the door behind you, affording privacy to your conversation about your numbers and pay and overall transition into The Scoop. 

You told Whitney that you thought it was going well--you felt up to speed with the platform the website used, felt like you were staying on top of your category (even if it wasn’t your favorite). She complimented you on your ability to use humor in your stories and on social media platforms to enhance the mission of the website, she even said you’d been the second top writer for this quarter. 

“Rarely happens with someone so new,” she smiled, leaning back in her chair as she crossed her legs. “But be real with me--are you liking it? What do you wish was different? Any big fears?”

You bit at your lip, contemplating whether or not to disclose your desire to cover more news. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful or entitled, but you also trusted Whitney to handle any feedback you threw her way. “I mean, I guess I’d be interested in doing some more long form stories. Editorials or something.”

She nodded, waiting to see if you had more to say. When you let your lips press back together in a thin line, she offered a small smile. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” she told you, her tone made it sound like she was letting you down easy. “Gabrielle does most of the editorial pieces and Carly handles a lot of the pop culture news stuff that comes up for the entertainment department.”

You nodded--you knew the hierarchy. Gabrielle had been here longer than both you and Carly combined. She was only a step or two below Whitney and she seemed to sniff out good stories like it was second nature. She almost never wrote a flop. 

“Yeah, no, sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” you said, already regretting the words that you’d let slip.

“You’re not ungrateful,” Whitney said. “You’re looking for more growth. I like that. I’ll certainly keep it in mind, Y/N.”

“I do have a random question,” you said suddenly, the four walls of Whitney’s office feeling like a safe enough place to play out a scenario of what ifs. 

“Yeah?”

Whitney--as hip as she was--likely wasn’t paying attention to every waking detail of Harry’s life. You doubted she saw the photos and you figured you could be vague enough in your question. 

“Has anyone here ever had a conflict of interest issue?”

“Conflict of interest?” Whitney spoke the phrase like she didn’t know what it meant. You knew she did, so you gave an example. 

“Yeah, like, has anyone ever used their own tweets in a story or promoted a friend’s band or--I dunno, been friends with a celebrity that we cover?”

She let out a laugh, as if all of the examples were far fetched and unlikely. “I mean,” she shrugged. “Candace from beauty one time got in trouble downstairs for doing a whole write up on a makeup brand her sister was COO of,” she clenched her jaw and grimaced. “But no one up here--you’re all smarter than that.”                    

Right. Okay. So there was that.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just curious,” you waved a hand in the air, letting a forced laugh out as you looked out the window. “Sounds like a shit show.”

“Yeah--I mean, she got in trouble, but they figured it out. Anything else? I’ve got all of your stuff to proof before I head out early for yoga.”

“Nope, all good on this end.” You stood and gathered your water bottle and notebook. 

Whitney reopened her laptop and checked her phone. “Thanks for meeting with me, Y/N. We love you here and you’ve been a rockstar.”

You offered her a smile, appreciative of the praise and encouragement. Once she let her eyes fall back to her computer, you hurried over to your desk, reaching for your phone and praying that the photo hadn’t traveled any father. 

You composed a quick message to Harry. 

Y/N (3:17pm): Coming to yours when I’m out of work. We need to talk. 

**

The one problem about going to Harry’s after work was that he wasn’t home. So instead of storming into his apartment like you’d imagined, you had to wait patiently in a strange hallway in a big office building in Midtown. 

You checked your watch obsessively. You’d only been there for seven minutes so far, but it still felt like too long. You were rehearsing the words in your head, tiny fragments of an argument playing out before you even had the chance to tell him about the photos or the anxiety that came with them. 

You had no clue where you were. He’d sent another pin of his location and told you to text him when you arrived. A man at the front desk swiped a card for you to enter and instructed you to head to the 49th floor. So here, in another indistinguishable hallway (this time without a neon green wall), you waited. 

“Hi, hey,” his voice sounded from a doorway behind you, your body instinctively moving in the direction of his voice before you even locked eyes. “Everything okay, what’s wrong?”

His arms tried to envelope you, but before they could, you put a hand up to his chest. “We have to talk.”

“Okay,” he drew the syllables out, his head dipping to the side as he looked past your shoulder. “Come with me,” he took your hand and pulled you back towards where he came. Through a doorway, past a few people. A fitting, you realized. He was at some sort of wardrobe fitting. 

People stirred at tables beside you, yellow measuring tapes draped around their necks and white chalk stained their fingertips. He offered a smile to one woman in particular, one who seemed to be more interested in your presence than the others. He pulled you towards the other side of the room, your palm sweaty from the touch of his skin and the swirling desire in your head--the kind you tried (but failed) to ignore. 

Eventually you were in a back stairwell--one that was similar to the hiding spot you’d found last week at work. The door shut behind you, and Harry leaned his head out to ensure that no one was around to eavesdrop, he turned to offer you his full attention. “Alright, go.”

“Did you see the pictures of us?”

“Pictures?”

“Pictures.”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your phone in your pocket, pulling up Alyssa’s message and opening the two attachments she’d sent. “These.” You flipped it around to let his eyes scan over them.

He hummed and took the phone in his hand, the other reaching to rub the back of his neck. “I take it you’re not happy about it.”

His eyes raised to meet yours, your voice faltering as you spoke. “I--no, I just--I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to work where I work and be photographed with you.”

“Because of your friend?”

Carly--he meant Carly.

“No, not because of Carly. Because of me. It’s a conflict of interest, Harry. I can’t be your friend and potentially have to write a list about the ten funniest things you’ve ever said in interviews!”

He cracked a smile at this, but it faded altogether when you squinted up at him. 

“Alright,” he cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s blurry,” he brought your phone back to his face and inspected it more. “You can barely tell that’s you. If I didn’t know what you look like, I wouldn’t even guess.”

You swallowed, wondering if he ever studied your features like you did his. The dip in his top lip, the way his eyes crinkled at the sides when he laughed. 

“What’s the big deal, anyway? We’ve been friends forever, a lot of people do know that, you know.”

You couldn’t help but pull a face at his words. Friends forever? You corrected him. “Friends who haven’t had regular contact for the last, like, six years. Haven’t spoken at all in the last two.”

He let a breath out, one that told you he was bothered or angry or something. “Because I thought that’s what you wanted!”

You took a step back from him, suddenly overwhelmed as a thousand questions burrowed their way into your mind. “Whatever--I don’t even want to,” you cut yourself off. You weren’t ready to dig up the details of December 29th or launch into a conversation regarding the untethering of your friend group. “I just--I can’t fuck this job up, it’s a really good job.” 

“You’re not going to fuck it up, Smalls!” His words were harsh now despite the use of your nickname, his eyes wider than before as he tried to reassure you. “It’s just a photo. No one will know that’s you. We’ll just be careful.”

It didn’t feel that easy. 

“I mean, it might get you more reads, y’know.” A laugh tumbled out of his mouth with ease, a complete lack of awareness of the weight his words held. You pulled your eyes up to look at him, a heat in your chest present that he hadn’t ever ignited before. At least, not in the angry sense. 

“Are you implying that being friends with you will further my career and that I should be thankful for that?”

“No, I didn’t--I just mean that people love to read your stuff anyway. S’hilarious. If people knew that we were friends, that would make people really interested in you--more than they already are,” he tried to soften his words, flatten out the intention as if he hadn’t meant what he said. 

You shook your head, your gaze on the cement floor as you wondered why you even answered his text four days prior. Now, as the sun tried to peek through the dirty sliver of a window in the stairwell, answering felt like it was a bad choice. 

“I--okay, Harry--I’ll see you around,” you turned on one foot, hand on the doorknob before he could get in front of you. 

**

Monday, December 11th

Harry S (11:34pm): I’m sorry about today. I wasn’t trying to be a dick. 

Harry S (11:46pm): Sleep well

Tuesday, December 12th

Harry S (10:19am): What are you up to after work?

Friday, December 15th

Harry S (1:15pm): Alright. You’re mad. I get it. I was a dick.

Harry S (1:15pm): Can we please talk?

You always wished you were strong willed. You could be, in a lot of ways. Like the time you and Jessie took a painting class and you were complete shit. You spent hours researching the right brushes for the right types of paint and eventually, you figured it out. The summer heat back home turned sticky as you’d paint in your bedroom at night, a fan blowing sweet relief until you’d climb into cool sheets. 

Or even the time you’d decided to stand up to Holly McAdams in Year 3 when she told everyone that you had cooties. The playground went silent when you called her a liar and told her to put her energy towards good instead of evil. 

But when it came to Harry--you’d never been so lucky. He always had a charm about him that seemed to seep into your brain and turn it all to mush, tiny roots that wrapped around your neurons and seemed to rewire you entirely. Which is why, on Friday afternoon, you finally broke and called him on your commute home.

“Hi,” you said into the phone, holding onto the handrail in your subway car as it rounded a corner. The reception was shitty underground, but you committed yourself to the phone call and would recognize a dropped signal as a sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be. 

“Hi,” he said. 

You waited, unsure if he’d launch into an apology or let you take the first step. Silence.

“Sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I was busy at work and I fucked up a list and Whitney has been out sick--” you realized you were doing it. You were apologizing when you hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been the one to fuck up and now you were apologizing? You back tracked. “And yeah, I mean, you were a dick, so.”

He laughed, the sound immediately easing some of the tension between you. “I get that. I’m sorry--I should have known that you’re not,” he paused. A woman beside you sneezed into her elbow, you inched away from her to avoid contamination, sandwiched between strangers. “You’re not impressed by the fame,” he spoke dramatically, your lips involuntarily twitching towards the sky--or, in your current situation, the ground above.

“I’m sure not. Never have been, never will be.”

“Are you out of work now?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You let out a sigh, you’d been dreaming about it all day. “Nothing--I’m going to sit on my couch and eat a bowl of cereal and pray that I don’t catch whatever is going around the office. I already kind of have a sore throat and I’m not trying to be sick for Christmas.”

“Well,” he laughed. “I wish you the best with that, then.”

A tangle of disappointment in your gut when he didn’t ask you to hang out. 

“Thanks. I’ll--uh--talk to you later?”

“Yeah, Smalls, talk to you later.”

You hung up, sliding your phone back into your pocket and shrinking into your coat for the remainder of the ride. When you climbed the twenty three steps to ground level at your stop, the sun had already sunk below the skyline, traces of light sneaking between the buildings on your block. 

Alyssa had worked from home for the day, turning the living room into an office as she sat sprawled out on the couch. She’d also been coming down with something--her nose red and dry from all of her tissue use. 

“Hi,” she greeted, pulling out her headphones and looking up at you when you came through the door, the room once again lit with the glow of Christmas lights. “How was work?”

“Fine, long, T-G-I-F,” you laughed. “How do you feel?”

“Somewhat better. Still crappy, though. How’s your throat?”

You dropped your purse to the floor and hung up your coat. “Worse than this morning. I talked to Harry though.”

She pulled her earbuds out and grinned up at you. “Was he so apologetic? I feel like he’d feel so guilty knowing he upset you--”

You shot her one of those looks: the kind that told her she was getting too wrapped up in his charm and fame and good looks. 

She cleared her throat. “But he was a dick so he should feel guilty.”

You kicked your shoes off, the leather of your boots falling against the wood floor before you settled into the couch. “He was apologetic--but it was quick. Who knows when I’ll see him next, maybe when we’re home.”

Alyssa bit her tongue--you could see that she had something to say but you didn’t press it, unsure if you had the emotional energy for a conversation about why being friends with Harry again wasn’t the smartest idea. 

She looked back to her screen, finishing up a few emails as you sunk into the couch, your eyes glued to your phone as you read through comments on the picture of you and Harry. 

I bet she’s just a friend--they look totally platonic. 

HE’S TOTALLY DATING SOMEONE! 

Skjdhfkjdshfkjdhk!!!!

The picture is way too fucking grainy how are we supposed to sleuth this one out?!

Alyssa sighed and closed her laptop. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Ugh,” you let out a groan, exiting out of instagram quickly to avoid showing her the things people were saying. If you had to guess, you’d say that Alyssa had a similar nightly ritual over the past few days. Wash her face, brush her teeth, climb into bed and read what strangers were saying about you online. 

The only good thing, really, was that people didn’t know it was you. 

“I’m not in the mood to cook,” you said.

As soon as the words left your mouth, your phone buzzed on the coffee table, the same obnoxious picture of Harry in an apron lighting up the screen as you both brought yours eyes down to the buzzing technology, then back up to each other. 

“Answer it,” she said excitedly, her lips curling towards the ceiling. 

You shot her a look as you reached for it. “Not on the first ring--can’t seem too eager.”

“As if you’re not eager,” she teased, returned the eye roll pleasantry, pulling a laugh from you as you answered the call. 

“Hi,” you said quickly, pressing the speaker phone button and holding it in the air between the two of you on the couch. 

“Hey--I’m following protocol and giving you a warning that I’ll be over in like--eh--four minutes.”

“What?” You asked. “Why?”

Alyssa looked around the room nervously, taking an inventory of the items that were hers. She sprung into action quickly, trying to declutter her home-office--notebooks, sharpies, her glasses and tissues were spread out around the living room space. 

“I’ve got food. Figured you wouldn’t want to cook if you weren’t feeling well.”

Alyssa stopped dead in her tracks, turning to you with her hands over her heart and lips in a lovestruck frown, completely enchanted by his words. You lifted your middle finger in her direction before turning towards the back of the sofa. Alyssa headed into her bedroom.

“You don’t have to do that, I mean--thank you, obviously, but, I totally get it if you’re busy.”

“M’not,” he said simply. “Stuff is dying down now anyway since we’re leaving soon.” You noticed his pronoun choice, casually dropped into the sentence as he kept talking. “I’ll wait until the coast is clear, alright? Just buzz me in when I text you.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Alright.”

Alyssa popped back into the room when she heard you hang up, her brows raised suggestively.

“What?” You asked, your tone slightly defensive as she pulled her head through the neck of her sweatshirt. 

“Just, interesting, is all. Awfully sweet of him.”

You stood from the couch, watching as she bent over once more to gather more of her belongings from the area rug below. “Oh come off it,” you said.

She pulled a face, confused by your slang as she reached for a pen that had wandered beneath the coffee table. 

“S’not a big deal,” you edited your words so she’d understand. “We’re friends.”

She hummed in disagreement, you trailed behind her towards her bedroom, socked feet gliding along the hard wood. Alyssa’s room was dark, the beige walls covered in posters of bands and movies. Her bed was unmade and the floor was littered in clothing of days past. 

You leaned against the doorframe. “How could you think we’re anything more than that after hearing the full story of what happened that night?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, giving you a dismissive look. “S’been a while, things change. You don’t just bring food to your sick friend.”

“Sure you do,” you narrowed your eyes at her. “That’s exactly what friends do, Lyss.”

She picked up a shirt from the floor and folded it into quarters. “Just seems like there’s always been chemistry. One shitty night--as embarrassing as it was--doesn’t mean there’s not chemistry.”

You thought on her words, careful to not let them settle too deep in your heart. They floated in the air in front of you, vanishing altogether when an electric buzz leaked through the intercom by the door.

You ran over--quick to make sure he could sneak in undetected--and held a thumb to the button to grant him entrance. 

Seventy-three seconds until there was a knock on the door, a pizza in his hand, and a bottle of wine pulled from the shelf in the kitchen. Alyssa--who was never one to turn down some Pinot Noir--had chosen the nicest bottle you had. A gift from her mother when she got a promotion. 

Eventually, the three of you were sat around the coffee table, throw pillows serving as seats as you reached for second slices. Music drifted from the small speaker on the bookshelf, the scene similar to that of last weekend, except this time Alyssa was here. It was funny how things with Harry could feel exactly the same as they’d once been, yet entirely different in the same breath.

“Did she ever tell you about the time that we stayed up all night at Jessie’s house when we were fourteen because of some stupid internet challenge?”

Alyssa pulled a smile, her eyes darting over to me quickly. “Of course she didn’t.”

“S’cause it was stupid. You’re the one who barely made it. Everyone else was fine but when five AM came you were seriously dragging.”

He contorted his face into one of mock-offense. “Excuse me for having good sleep hygiene and a healthy need for some shut-eye.”

“You guys were allowed to have co-ed sleepovers at fourteen?” Alyssa asked, holding a hand up in student fashion. She folded her pizza in half, a boat of cheese and grease and pepperoni. 

You let out a laugh, knowing that Harry’d want to explain the mastermind plan that he and Adam had come up with nearly ten years ago. 

“So we did this thing, where the girls would tell their mums that they were at someone’s house. So they’d say they were at Bryn’s, but Bryn would say she was at Y/N’s,” he smiled in your direction--the adrenaline of lying to your parents came back as a small wave, less exciting than in times past but still enough to keep a grin plastered to your face. 

“And the guys would do the same. We always said we were at Adam’s though--and I dunno what Adam would say cause his parents never asked any questions. So then we’d go to Jessie’s because her parents were always away for work, and--yeah, madness would ensue.”

“S’where we first drank, pretty sure that’s where Adam finally called Sophie Kneeland and asked her out over the phone.”

“S’also where Smalls blacked out the first time when we were fifteen or sixteen,” he let out a laugh and turned to Alyssa. 

Her eyes went wide as she folded her legs beneath her. Your stomach dropped though, seeing as now didn’t feel like a good time to recount all the times you’d done stupid things when you were drunk. You could probably spend hours on that topic alone. 

“Okay--alright, anyway,” you said, clearing your throat quickly. A car horn beeped outside, momentarily shattering the safety of the cozy room. 

“Hey, also,” Harry wiped at his mouth with a napkin and pointed a finger at your roommate. “Did you appreciate my warning--a whole five minutes!”

“Four,” you said, his eyes rolling in response to your correction. 

“Better than zero,” Alyssa nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Maybe we can work you all the way up to asking before you show up,” she teased.

Harry frowned at this. A dimple appeared in his cheek and he looked over to you quickly. “I brought food--” his gaze drifted back to Alyssa. “And enough for you, if you forgot.”

“You should have seen her cleaning up all her shit in here,” you laughed. “Notebooks every where, like a bomb went off.”

“I was working,” she defended. “What did you do today, Harry?”

“Hmm,” he thought aloud. “Woke up at eight--went to the gym. Showered and finalized the set list for the next leg of tour. Had a meeting with my manager and PR team about what’s coming up after the holidays. Lunch, then I had to go back to a fitting for more wardrobe stuff. Talked with Erica about the flight home, side note,” he looked to you. “Then I got your call and decided to come here.”

You were both quiet for a second--Alyssa had been challenging him, her assumption that he’d had a quiet day that couldn’t have nearly been as busy as hers. He took a deep breath and took a swig of wine. 

You knew that he was busy--you’d always assumed that being famous came with plenty of downfalls and responsibilities, but hearing them all listed out in succession without a breath in between made induced a wave of guilt to pass through your veins. 

Of course it was hard for him to keep in touch, if even his slower days looked like that. 

“But about the flight,” he pointed a finger at you and then set his wine glass down. “Two tickets on the red eye for the 20th. I’d say we could charter something but first class on the big planes is always really nice. They give you a free eye patch.”

“Eye patch?” Alyssa asked, her tone drifting up in confusion. 

“The ones you sleep with.”

“Eye mask,” you nodded.

“Oh whatever, you knew what I meant,” Harry squinted his eyes and reached for the bottle for a refill. 

“What do you mean a big plane, though? How big are we talking?”

“The double deckers--they have little cubbies in first class. Little doors and everything--super private, which is nice.”

“You fly on public planes?” Another question from Alyssa--your personal peanut gallery--as you watched Harry take the stopper out of the bottle before pouring more into his glass. 

“Yeah--s’better for the environment.”

Alyssa’s eyes went wide and she got that same look when he’d said he was bringing food--her brain and heart melting inside her, almost spilling out onto the oriental rug.

“Alyssa,” you said her name quickly as you stood from your orange and yellow throw pillow seat. “Want to help me with something in the kitchen?”

“What? What do you need help with?”

“Uh,” you looked around the room, trying to think on your feet. “The leftovers--the pizza.”

Harry, sat on the floor between the two of you, looked up. “I can help.”

“No.” You said quickly. “You stay. Pick a new playlist,” you instructed, hoping that a responsibility would keep him occupied. You gave Alyssa a prompting look, causing her to reluctantly stand and follow you around the corner to the kitchen.

“Can you not with the faces?” You asked, turning around once you were shielded by the wall between the two rooms. “Any time he says something relatively endearing you look like you’re about to combust or orgasm or something.”

“If I was about to orgasm, you’d know it,” she smirked, her voice low and sultry as you rolled your eyes. You’d grabbed the pizza on your way, so you reached into a drawer for aluminum foil and then tossed the box into the garbage.

“You get my point.”

“I do--but come on, Y/N! He’s literally acting like your boyfriend! Buying you a plane ticket even though you already have one? Bringing you dinner because you mentioned in passing that you weren’t feeling well? And now he’s climate conscious, too?!”

You passed her the foil-wrapped pizza and she put it into the fridge. A shrug of your shoulders, as if to dilute the air around you. 

“He’s alright,” you said, the words an act of self-defense, an antidote for the love potion Alyssa was verbally concocting. 

She rolled her eyes when she turned around to face you. “Relax, will you? It’s alright to be into him.”

“No it’s not, Alyssa,” you said, your voice more firm now. “You don’t know him, okay? You don’t know what happened back then and the way our friendship was and--just, leave it alone, alright?”

She paused, her eyes scanning your face, both of you staring at each other in silence. The kitchen clock ticked on the wall, seconds scattered through the room. 

Harry’s voice floated above the music from the other room, “some classic Christmas tunes, yeah?”

So you left it at that. There was no need to defend yourself more than you already had, the reasons stacking high as to why shouldn’t go down this road. Harry was on two feet in the living room, swaying back and forth to the music as Alyssa followed you back to the couch. 

You poured yourself another glass of wine, watching as he playfully took Alyssa’s hand, spinning her into his side as they waltzed in circles around the coffee table. 

**

You pulled your carryon closer to your body, wishing you could absorb it into your being as you forced your way past people already in line. Sorry, excuse me, sorry, thanks, gotta get by. 

The airport was busier than you expected. Your mum had told you on the phone that the afternoon would be the worst time of day, a wave of relief washing over you when you confirmed that Harry had booked the red eye. That relief vanished altogether when you stepped foot into the bustling airport, children running, intercoms beeping. 

Your passport was in your hand, the ticket slipped between pages filled with colorful stamps. An elbow into your stomach, you hiked the bag up your shoulder more. 

“I’m so sorry, hi, name is Y/N L/N, I was supposed to board already, uh--my friend is already seated I think.” 

The woman at the desk looked at you with an unimpressed stare, her fingers clicking on the keyboard as she held a hand out. You assumed she wanted your ticket, so you thumbed it out of the booklet and slapped it down. 

Her eyes scanned the paper before the computer did, when it beeped, the expression on her face changed. “Oh, Miss L/N,” she smiled up at you. “No worries, we can take you to your seat right now.”

“Oh, I can, I’ll just take myself,” you said awkwardly, looking around to see who else she was referring to. Other gate workers were nearby, clad in the traditional British Airways uniforms as the airport continued to buzz with Christmas cheer. Apparently flying first class had its perks.

And you would have already been seated if you’d just agreed to travel to the airport with Harry, but you had plenty of things to tie up at work before heading out for a whopping 12 days. It wasn’t typical to take so much time off in a role like yours, but Whitney was feeling generous and you’d agreed to work a few days remotely. 

So instead of sitting in the back of the same black Chevy Suburban with Roger narrating the drive, you’d crammed your suitcase into the trunk of an Uber and hoped that the traffic out to Long Island wasn’t impossible. 

It was. 

A man with a friendly smile took your bag from your shoulder, leading you around the counter and on to the jet way, veering left at the fork. The temperature shifted as you moved farther from the structure of the airport--the winter New York night seeping in through the cracks of the beige tunnel walls. Posters of happy travelers and airport workers smiled down on you, to fly, to serve. Their eyes watched you pad down the dull gray carpet towards the plane.

Smiles from flight attendants when you crossed the threshold, greeting you by name as your companion put an arm out, urging you in before him. 

The interior of the plane was dimly lit a calming blue--the windows shaded electronically, making them appear to be black eyes into the night. You passed a galley stocked with coffee, tea, British Airways water bottles, heading down an aisle past cushioned seats--ones much nicer than the economy class you were used to flying. You’d assumed this was your section--each seat had armrests big enough for giants--but you passed through a curtain to find a section of small cubicles, not much different than your office. 

One on each side, two in the middle. 

“Had to give up the window for you,” you heard a voice sound from two rows ahead. A dimpled smile looked your way, when you met his gaze, you shook your head. 

“This is incredible,” you looked around, taking in the sight of other suited men and bejeweled women settling in for the trip. “I didn’t even know shit like this existed.”

The man set the bag down on your seat, disappearing without a trace as Harry handed you something wrapped in plastic. “Your eye mask,” he delivered it with two hands, bowing his head to pull a giggle from your lips. 

“Seriously,” you took it from him and let out a huff as you pushed the bag to the floor, slumping into the extra-roomy chair. “This is absurd. The traffic was terrible and I almost thought they wouldn’t let me on.”

“Shoulda come with me,” he said simply, his tone almost melodic. “The club they let you wait in is even better.”

You looked around again, surprised that Harry was able to exist in peace in front of so many strangers. “I can’t believe you fly on these--you don’t get mobbed?”

He handed you a packaged piece of chocolate from a small cubby in the wall in front of your chairs. A flat screen stared back at you, your fingers tugging at the wrapper before plopping the candy into your mouth automatically.

“Not really--these people are all too busy with their own shit,” he motioned around the room, both of your eyes landing on a man who was animatedly speaking into his cell phone. “A few pictures, maybe. If we’re lucky we’ll sleep.”

You nodded, content for a moment to just catch your breath, take in the surroundings of first class, and just be. Harry reminded you of the plans you’d set with your friends: a reunion at the Red Lion on the 23rd. It’d be the six of you for sure, but there’d likely be others who you’d all invite--running into other classmates at Sainsbury’s or Costa wasn’t unheard of. 

You’d done the same thing in years past--your entire class heading for drinks and catch up conversations when everyone was back in town. The only difference was that this time, Harry would be tagging along. 

If anything, you were more nervous about the six of you being back together than you were about seeing people like Maddie Winslow or even Kenny Tilley. None of them knew about that night. Luckily--as obnoxious and outlandish as they could be--Jessie, Adam, Jake, and Bryn had managed to keep their mouths shut despite knowing the ins and outs of what had happened. 

Which, when you thought about it, meant Harry had, too. He hadn’t told anyone about the things you’d said or done. He didn’t rub it in your face or try to embarrass you in front of anyone else. The details of December 29th, 2015, would hopefully stay between the six of you for a long time to come.

After a good fifteen minutes on the runway, the plane was airborne. Estimated flight time six hours and thirty-five minutes, if we’re lucky, the captain said. You told Harry about your week and the things you’d rushed through this afternoon to leave work before 4pm. He laughed about the traffic and poked you in the shoulder when you rolled your eyes at him. 

Thirty minutes later he turned to look at you, a strand of hair dipping down to his forehead. 

“Smalls,” he said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You turned to look at him, mid-chapstick application. 

“I’m glad we’re hanging out.”

You stared at him for a second, your face tingly and hot when his lips twitched up into a smile. You nodded, broke eye contact, and capped your chapstick. “Mhm, yeah, me too.”

“Smalls,” he said it again, this time you looked at him more seriously. 

“What?”

“Can we talk about it?”

You could have sworn the world went silent--the hum of the plane’s four engines suddenly muted as he stared back at you with emerald eyes. 

Somewhere in the world there were ocean waves so high they could knock a boat off course. There were rainforests and mountains and deserts so dry they made the airplane cabin feel humid. You wished, as you sat next to him, miles of space between your feet and the ground, that you could be anywhere but here. 

You opened your mouth to speak, words escaping you. You shook your head. 

“Y/N, I just--”

“No,” you said. “Forget it. We both said we would forget it.”

He licked his lips, quiet for a second as he dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor. You stood up quickly, hoping an escape to the bathroom would place air and time between the two of you. You were stuck, though. You pushed the button twice that was meant to open the sliding door out of your tiny space--a human height shield from the other passengers. 

You pressed it again, more frustrated each time your finger met the hard plastic.

“Here,” he said behind you, reaching past you to press the button right beside it. “You were pressing close.”

“Right.”

The door slid open, a flight attendant offered you a smile as she waited for you to exit in front of her. Down the hall, into the bathroom--much bigger than economy. A full length mirror, a toilet that actually resembled a toilet. 

The door shut and latched behind you. Silence. You couldn’t talk about it with him. That would be more embarrassing than the night itself. What were you supposed to say? I’m sorry? I didn’t mean it? I did mean it? You’d said all of those things before--in quick succession and with a heartbeat so fast you could have passed out. 

A knock on the door. One second, you called out, turning the water on for a moment as if to make it sound like you were doing something other than panicking. You brushed past the stranger on the outside, offering an apologetic smile before heading back to your seat. When you got back, Harry had headphones in and a movie on the screen in front of him. 

Thank god. 

He smiled at you subtly, leaning forward to offer you a glass of champagne--someone must had dropped them off while you were losing your shit in the bathroom. You took it from him without a word, taking a sip as he took one earbud out of his ear and offered it to you. You pushed it into place and leaned back in the chair, still trying to catch your breath, grateful for the fact that he dropped it. 

You didn’t need the whole plane ride to be awkward. If there was ever to be a moment for the two of you to talk about the ghosts of Christmas past, literally, it wasn’t right now. The trip would be nice with a movie and a nap--free chocolates and eye masks, too.

And besides, champagne tasted better at thirty thousand feet.

here’s what first class looks like for Harry and Y/N

read the other parts here

AN: big thanks to those of you reading big thanks for all of the messages!!! be sure to let me know what you think? Anyone want to take a guess as to what happened on 12/29/15?

tag list: @clorenafila​ @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @jdcharliewhiskey @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon​ @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole @ainsleesolareclipse @clorenafila​ @shawnsblue​  @gendryia​ @g0bl1nqueen​  @laula843​ @pinkpolaroidgirl @4592222 @flooome​ @craic-head-horan @a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall​  @shaw-nm​ @staceystoleyourheart​

[taexual]

HOLIC - 7 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: suggestive themes, strong language

words: 2.5k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

          prev / next

When you got home after your lunch with May, it was nearing seven o’clock already. Even though both of you had finished two full bottles of wine, neither of you felt drunk in the slightest, so you stayed together for a little while longer just to complain about life to each other.

You ended up telling May about your roommate situation and, surprisingly, she was very calm and collected about it. You were almost confused when she shrugged her shoulders and went, “so what? You’re both adults, you can live together without dating.” You were sure the rest of your friends – although older than May – weren’t going to be as mature and understanding as she was, so you chose not to tell the rest of them yet.

Right now, you needed May’s indifferent attitude to brace yourself for coming back home and facing Jaebum – and however his date with Lily was going to end. Trying to soak up May’s maturity, you ended up staying with her longer than either of you had intended. You only got home seven hours after you’d left.

Jaebum didn’t appear to be home when you got back and you exhaled in relief. He was either still working or he’d already left for his date. Either way, instead of being upset about the fact that he had a date, you chose to enjoy your night alone and headed for the bathroom.

As soon as you checked the water in the sink and the shower both, however, your irritation from before returned. As expected, Jaebum hadn’t done anything about the water and it was still very much freezing.

Getting your phone out, you quickly texted him, not caring that he might have been on a date.

With every second that passed without his response, you were growing angrier. You were truly on the verge of going on a wild goose chase and just locating him yourself by the time your phone buzzed with his text.

You spent the first minute after you received this texts typing a long, at least, 200-word text that truly demonstrated your vast knowledge of swear words in all the languages that you’ve ever had to study, but then you deleted all of it, deciding against it. He didn’t deserve you wasting your time yelling at him, no matter how much you despised him at that moment.

If you couldn’t even take a proper shower, your whole night was basically ruined. Meanwhile, Jaebum would have a nice time on his date. It wasn’t fair and it pissed you off.

You swore your payback to him for all of this would be changing the locks of the apartment but then, once again, you decided against it. Maybe you were too kind, or maybe you just didn’t want to bother with the hassle. He didn’t deserve all of the money and energy you’d spend on this, either.

Maybe the best choice would be to just give him the cold shoulder – or completely ignore him and live as if he didn’t exist – until he actually fixed the water. Or maybe ignore him indefinitely – that was an option, too.

You threw on a hoodie, putting the hood on your head for more comfort, and then brought your laptop to the kitchen, since it was the only room in your apartment with actual chairs. You didn’t really feel like editing pictures on your bed the whole night. You could already imagine how badly your back would hurt after you did that.

As soon as you sat down, however, you ended up checking every social media you owned, instead of actually doing work. You didn’t have any official deadlines, though, so that was a relief, but you had traveled across the city last week to take pictures at this wonderful park that Hyojin had told you about, and you still haven’t edited any of them. Even if no one – aside from you and your friends – would see these photographs, you still felt like you had to make them a bit more presentable.

Although technically, the art gallery you worked in did exhibit photography, it was also one of the biggest galleries in the city so, naturally, you didn’t even dream of ever getting an exhibition of your work there. You were proud of your work – you truly enjoyed photography and, honestly, after all of these years, you could finally admit that your photographs were truly starting to look decent, for the lack of a better word – but you also had realistic expectations. It would be nice to just be recognized by a professional photographer. Getting your own exhibition was far too ambitious.

When, two hours later, you finally opened up Photoshop and actually started to work, you thought you heard something in the apartment. You figured that had to just be background noise in the song you were listening to on your headphones, but then, as you turned your head slightly, – you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye and had to check if this was just your imagination, – your eyes met two silhouettes, entangled together in the hallway.

You could barely make out who it was since the only source of light in the apartment came from the screen of your laptop, but you didn’t have to think very hard to figure out who the people were.

It was Jaebum and Lily, locked in a tight embrace, their mouths on each other.

Closing your eyes as you turned away from them, you pulled on the strings of your hoodie, tightening the hood around your head, and then turned the music up so you could tune out the sound of them making out barely a few meters away from you. You didn’t really freeze on the spot as you heard them move towards Jaebum’s bedroom because your heart was beating wildly in your chest. You’ve never wished to just disappear before because that wish always seemed stupid, but, God, the things you would have done if you could have just teleported out of your kitchen right then.

Jaebum noticed you, though. He didn’t say anything – thank God for that – but that was probably because, aside from looking horrified, you also looked pissed off. You couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you’d wanted to look neutral, you wouldn’t have been able to. Your roommate was about to have sex with someone right next to your room, there was no way you were going to give him a thumbs-up and yell out encouraging words at him all throughout the night while you spent your evening working.

And then, not really having any bad intentions, Jaebum ended up not pulling Lily into his bedroom. He pulled her into yours.

After gasping quietly once you saw him do that, you tried to rationalize. Jaebum had slept on your mattress the night before, so, maybe the fact that he was willing to sleep there tonight, too – and with a girl, no less – was his way of apologizing in advance about what he was going to do in there. Not that he had to apologize for sleeping with someone. He was free to do whatever he wanted.

There was another part of your mind that considered this to be Jaebum’s way of establishing dominance by basically kicking you out of your room, but you didn’t think that was the case. Jaebum wasn’t eager to give his own room up. He wouldn’t do it just to prove a point to you.

Sighing, you accepted the fact that you’d have to sleep in Jaebum’s room again. You weren’t planning to, but he had made this decision for you. And yet, even with the knowledge that you’d get to sleep on a proper bed again while Jaebum would be stuck spending the night on a mattress on the floor, you were still upset.

Obviously, Jaebum had a successful date – you could hear the praise from Lily’s lips as Jaebum struggled to lock the bedroom. You, on the other hand? The most recent thing that came close to a date for you was a hook-up with a guy you met at a bar. It didn’t exactly end well since you were now stuck listening to him have sex with someone else.

You had no doubt you’d have to endure Jaebum brag about this the next morning, so, as you gathered your laptop and headed to his bedroom, you tried to convince yourself that the boiling rage in your stomach was only caused because he had a more successful love life than you did, and not because of a reason as stupid as jealousy.

Your alarm clock woke you up at six-thirty the next morning and you spent the first five minutes trying to convince yourself not to kill anyone. It’s become a habit by now. You thoroughly hated waking up early.

What made your morning worse – excluding the fact that Tuesdays were your first work day of the week – was the cold shower you ended up having to take because Jaebum broke something when he’d attempted to mess with you by turning the hot water off. You really couldn’t believe you haven’t moved out yet.

And then, as if going out of the bathroom with your teeth chattering wasn’t already bad enough, you walked right into Lily, exiting your bedroom. Jaebum was probably still asleep inside of it.

Before you even said anything, you noticed Lily’s wide and confused eyes. You realized that, although Lily had seen you and Jaebum move in, perhaps she hadn’t really seen you. And, judging from her shocked expression, Jaebum wasn’t very open about his living arrangements on their date, either.

“Hey,” you chose to say to clear the awkward silence. “I rent the apartment here. I live in the room next to Jaebum’s.”

Technically, the Jaebum’s room, as Lily knew it, was, of course, your room. But that was a long story and you weren’t really up for a heart-to-heart with Jaebum’s date this early in the morning.

“Coffee?” you asked from the kitchen after Lily remained frozen in the hallway.

She heard everything you’d just said because she nodded in acknowledgment but that didn’t help her feel less weirded out by this. You could tell by her eyes that if she’d known Jaebum lived with a girl – even if she’s just a roommate – she wouldn’t have gone out with him the night before.

“Uh, no thanks,” she finally spoke. “I have to go to work in a few hours. Do you mind if I just take a shower?”

“Oh, we only have cold water,” you said as you poured water from the sink and into the coffee pot.

You weren’t looking at her, so you didn’t see the way Lily opened and closed her mouth multiple times as if trying to decide what to say. You realized a little too late that you didn’t exactly sound welcoming – but were you supposed to? You’ve never had to deal with any sort of one-night-stands, or whoever Lily was to Jaebum, in the morning, not even your own – so she instantly started to feel like you just wanted her out of here.

“Alright,” she said then, lots of uncomfortable undertones hiding in her voice. “I’m going to go then. It was, um—it was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” you called after her as Lily headed for the door of the apartment, not giving you a chance to offer to walk her out. Not that you were going to. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Not having bothered to ask for your name, Lily exited your apartment by herself, shutting the door loudly – by accident, no doubt – and heading to her own apartment as quickly as possible. She’d take a shower at her own place. Why did she even think showering at Jaebum’s apartment was a good idea? She truly should have gotten out of there as soon as she woke up, maybe that way she would have avoided you and your uncomfortable first meeting.

As Lily cherished the peacefulness of her own apartment, she made a promise to herself to never sleep with any of her neighbors again. At least not until she was certain they weren’t living with female roommates who added a new level of awkwardness to the already awkward concept of “the-morning-after.”

When Jaebum walked out of the bedroom, you were already washing the dishes after finishing your breakfast. You glanced at him and noticed the way his wary eyes scanned the apartment.

“She left,” you said helpfully. “I’m sure she thinks I kicked her out, though, so keep in mind to apologize to her on my behalf.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jaebum sighed, walking into the kitchen. You could still smell Lily’s perfume on him from last night and, for some reason, you had to talk yourself out of openly gagging. “I hate having to talk to them the next morning.”

“Huh,” you replied. “Never would have guessed that.”

Jaebum got your not-so-subtle dig. “Ha-ha. I’m not trying to pretend to be someone I’m not. I’m just putting it like it is.”

“A little sugarcoating would actually be nice,” you said, turning around from the sink to see him leisurely leaning against the kitchen island, reading texts on his phone. “So, you’re planning to never talk to her again?”

“Yeah,” he replied nonchalantly. “That’s the plan.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said although you knew your words wouldn’t reach their target. Jaebum merely raised his eyes to look at you.

“We never made any promises to see each other again. She knows that,” he said. “If it’d been long-term, I wouldn’t have taken her back here yet.”

It stung somehow. You had an idea that this was how some guys – if not most – operated: they saw someone they liked, and they checked how easy that someone was by taking them back to their place. In all truth, more than half of those people probably didn’t care about hearing from these guys the next morning, but there was a small number of people who did care. You were among them. Maybe Lily was, too.

“Did she explicitly say she didn’t want this to turn into a relationship?” you asked, doubtful. “I really don’t think she wanted to have a one-night-stand with her neighbor. She had to know she’d end up having to see you again eventually.”

Jaebum shrugged his shoulders. “I told her that. I said to her that I’m not looking for a relationship. She said she wasn’t, either. Don’t bother lecturing me about it.”

You still didn’t like this. But you weren’t sure if you were defending Lily specifically or if you had some sort of a personal motive to accuse him of not being an ideal guy.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you continued, “why are you so—”

“God, look,” he groaned, annoyed by your patronizing tone. “I’m not that big of a douchebag, okay? When I sleep around, I make sure the other party knows about my intentions.”

“Oh, you do?” you scoffed. “I never knew.”

Jaebum frowned. “What?”

“Whatever,” you turned around, not in the mood to get closure about the morning he left your apartment after leaving you a dry thank-you note. You were evidently still very bitter about that and just this memory was enough to make your blood boil. “Fix the fucking water while I’m at work, would you?”

“I have work, too,” he responded, his voice equally as annoyed as yours.

“Tough shit,” you countered, noticing how much you started to swear whenever you were angered. “And change the fucking sheets on the mattress in my room. I’m not fucking sleeping in your room anymore.”

“I gave you the better bed for tonight,” Jaebum said. “And this is how you repay me?”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” you turned around to give him the fakest smile you could manage. “How sweet of you. Roommate of the year!”

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re truly annoying to deal with,” he said and heard your laughter from your room as you went in to gather your essentials. He ignored it and continued, “and here I thought we’d end up bonding.”

You laughed again.

“It’s you who’s annoying. And you’re stupid, too,” you said perhaps a little too childishly and then, after completely disregarding every conversation you had with him when he was still Def – the future, female roommate – to you, you added, “you and I will never bond. We have nothing in common.”

          chapter directory

[clacolu95]

Don’t Want to Let You Go Chapter 8: Chad Wellington

Previous Chapter: Chapter 7: Wicke Knows

Next Chapter: Chapter 9: Mixed Signals

17 hours and 28 minutes.

That was how much time had passed after the unrequited kiss between the President of the Aether Foundation and the Champion of Alola, the time being so clear in his mind as the scene of the female trainer running away from him repeated itself over and over in his mind. The mental picture of the simple white clock on top of his office door marking 6:37 p.m. was permanently stuck in his brain as the time stopped for him after the clear rejection.

She had ran away from him. There was no doubt about that. And after her quick confession the day before... he couldn’t really understand why.

17 hours and 28 minutes. That was how much time it took for his mother to burst into his office uninvited with an envelope in her hand, managing to take him out of his thoughts as the glassed door was smashed against the wall, not shattering into a million pieces only by pure miracle.

“What is this?!” His mother snapped as she threw the yellow envelope on top of his desk. A mad expression pretty clear in her face.

Ever since she resigned to her job as president and started working on the department of public relations of the company his mother had been taking care of the foundation’s public image. She never appeared on public, as she knew there were still people that didn’t trust her in Alola due to Nihilego’s incident, but that didn’t keep her from handling the department from the shadows.

She was good at what she did, and she was his mother, after all, that’s why Gladion had kept her working for the foundation’s interest without minding her occasional rampages about his public appearances and relations with potential associates. Even though she was hard on him her intervention had helped him develop social skills he didn’t have when he started as the CEO of Aether.

“What is it now?” he asked her tiredly not long after he recovered himself from the shock of her sudden outburst.

“You tell me” She answered in a calmer voice as she signaled the yellow envelope, inviting her son to open it.

He took the piece on his hands as he saw Wicke come inside the office muttering an apology, clearly embarrassed by her former boss behavior. As soon as he took out the photo from inside of the envelope his body froze. His grip on the paper grew tighter as he turned his gaze away from the picture and towards his mother.

“Well?” She asked him expectantly “Are you going to explain to me why you suddenly lost interest in keeping away from gossips and maintaining your professional image?”

He covered his face with his left hand as his lips let out a long sigh.

A single picture.

That was how much it would take for his well-cared image of a dedicated president to go down the sink.

The picture of him and Moon kissing inside of his office rested on top of his desk as he silently regretted not closing the blinds of the office that day. Both of their faces focused through the office’s glassed walls at just the right moment.

“Wicke go find the snitch, please” He silently muttered as the purple haired woman looked at him startled.

“Yes Master” She quickly replied as she retired from the room quickly, ready to have some serious conversations with the employees in order to find out who had done it.

Wicke closed the door behind her, leaving just Lusamine and her first and only son to debate freely.

“I was careless”

“No kidding!” The tall blonde complained to his vague answer “I need you to fix this. Now”

“How did you even get this picture?” He asked as he looked at it with the corner of his eye, a light blush slowly heating his face by the memory.

“After all the bad press you got after your first ‘incident’ with the champion I made a friend at the edition department of that stupid gossip magazine…” She explained with an angry glare “He says they’re publishing this tomorrow. So I only really see two options” She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at him, disappointed, angry at him.

“I’m listening…” The young president muttered. His public image did matter to him, after all. His mother and him had worked so hard to achieve the respect that the foundation now had at his charge, and that careless moment was about to ruin everything.

“We can bribe the magazine into not publishing the article. A practical solution, though a very expensive one as well…”

He couldn’t keep himself from looking at the photo. If that was really going to be the cover of some gossip magazine he was going to be in so much trouble with his sister. The media had talked and theorized about him and Moon for a month last time, if that picture really became public he was sure there would be no stopping them this time. He was doomed. They were doomed.

“What’s the other solution?” He asked the former president as he massaged his temple with two of his fingers, already feeling stress taking over him.

“You could make your relationship public before this gets out. You’ll kill the article and it won’t look so bad for the media if you’re actually a couple…”

That last option stung Gladion like a million needles, but he forced himself to keep calm in front of his mother, dismissing her comment.

“Can’t do that” He spoke with a one-sided grin “We’re not into a relationship”

“What do you mean by that?! I didn’t raise a player!” The woman snapped at his apparently carefree comment. “I need you to fix your little mistake Gladion. Now. I swear I never thought you’d get involved with that girl again… After all that you went through last time…”

His head stung and his heart ached at his mother’s comment.

She was right. He should have been more careful. But the fact that he finished his friendship with the Champion so many years ago didn’t mean he didn’t feel anything for her.

He’d buried his feelings on work. Covered them with documents that needed to be read, contracts that needed to be signed. Locked them up and shoved them aside as he busied himself with meetings and partnerships with other associations.

She had always meant something. He just couldn’t admit it.

“Get out” He muttered with his fingers still on his temple, Lusamine’s comment resonating in his head as he tried to think of a solution to his newfound problem. He had been an idiot for breaking up with Moon, yes. But he was surely not playing with her.

“I sent you the contact information of my friend. Talk to him” She commented, though it sounded more like an order than a recommendation.

“I said get out” He repeated, feeling his headache grow more and more intense with every word that came out of the blonde’s mouth.

Having exposed her wishes, Lusamine retired from his office. Leaving him alone to think about his options, though in reality, everything he could do was look at the photo.

It was troublesome, a threat to his public image and an unnecessary risk for the company, but as he saw the Champion’s eyes closed, the light red tint on her cheeks and her clear enjoyment of the moment, he couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself.

He would have to pay her a visit.

It had been so long since he last visited Mount Lanakila.

He regretted not bringing gloves as he shoved his hands into the not warm enough pockets of his white Aether coat.

He looked at his surroundings as he sneaked towards the back door of the Elite Four building, hiding from the ace trainers that guarded the main entrance of the edifice.

He needed to get to the emergency door for two reasons: The first being that he wasn’t used to battling anymore, and, even if he was, he hadn’t brought his team with him.

As for the second one...it was related to Nanu not being in there with him.

After he had ended his relationship with the Champion he had came back to the Elite Four lots of times, always with the intention of seeing her, but never managing to take the step towards the elevator that would get him to the Champion’s throne.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to beat the elite four members, cause he did everytime he visited. It was more of a matter of courage: He couldn’t bring himself to look at her in the eyes and confess he had hurt her for the foundation’s sake. It wasn’t right, as much as he regretted it.

He couldn’t bear to look at her eyes and remember how watery they were that day at the conservation area. He had hurt her so much… And being with her was now a completely selfish thought for him to have, after all, he had heard from Lillie how much time it had taken the Champion to go back to battle.

She had retreated to her house for one month: One whole month without filling the Champion’s Duties, one month conveniently situated after his mother’s press conference, one month in which media knew nothing about her.

He wanted her to be happy. And if she had already forgotten about him… Then maybe he needed to respect that.

He only visited the building when Nanu covered for that girl Lillie had introduced him at the party, Acerola. The old kahuna had always understood the young Aether boy, covering him with the rest of the elite four members after seeing his failed intentions to visit Moon the first time. He always told them he’d beaten him, even when that was far from the truth most of the times, as he knew he probably didn’t want Moon to find out about his occasional appearances.

“Please be the same” The blond murmured as he exhaled hot breath over his hands in an attempt to warm them a little before typing the password the kantonian girl had set for the emergency door the first day she started as Champion.

The password was one of their inside jokes, so the odds of her still maintaining it were pretty slim after their separation. He sighed as he entered the words and waited for the device to load, preparing himself for the imminent rejection of the entry and turning around towards the rocky path that would take him to the base of the mountain when he suddenly heard a click.

He looked back, surprised, as he watched the emergency door open in front of his eyes. The young president proceeded to enter the building as he looked around, making sure no one noticed his entrance. With the media already on the edge, he needed to be as discreet as he could be.

“Cause I’m not interested in a boyfriend, that’s why” The champion stated, trying to terminate the conversation with the persistent challenger in front of her.

“Well, I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend…” The curvy haired ash blond stated as he focused his blue eyes on her “Let’s go out together… have some drinks, maybe more.” He insisted “I mean I know you’re just playing hard to get”

The kantonian girl’s body felt tenser with every second she engaged in the conversation, her head aching as if it was being pierced by a million daggers at the recurrent trainer’s perseverance. She called back her pokémon and stored the pokéballs in her bag, ready to leave the scene and the annoying challenger with it until she felt a grip on her arm.

“Come on Moon, I know you can’t resist me”

His stare was heavy, and his grin grew larger with every inch his face got closer to hers, making her shudder at the sight of his lips nearly locking with hers.

“Stop it Chad!” She screamed, releasing the boy’s grip and standing steadily on the ground, her hand already reaching for her bag to grab her pokéballs if needed.

She wasn’t a weak woman, and she was already fed up of that loser.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t like you!?” She asked clearly irritated as she reached for her Decidueye’s pokéball.

The trainer’s cocky smirk turned suddenly into an offended expression, annoyance clear in his factions as he steadied his expensive tie and tried to pull himself together again.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, my Champion” He stated, closing the distance between them again, careful not to make it as abruptly as before. “We’re perfect for each other. I mean I’m perfect, and you are perfect” He spoke, connecting his blue eyes with her gray stare. He extended his hand, nearly touching her face as he spoke “Let’s go now, it’s getting late”

The girl backed off, her rejection completely ignored by the pedantic challenger that had only gotten worse since the day he started pretending her. She readied her arm to throw her pokémon towards him when suddenly the ash blond was thrown towards the ground.

It took her a fraction of a second to realize what was going on, her stare focusing on the tall blond pinning Chad to the floor, his green eyes radiating with fury.

“She told you she didn’t want you” He spoke as Moon recognized his voice as Gladion’s “So get the fuck out”

Continue Reading on AO3

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 11

More than a week had elapsed since my last yoga session, and I was pleasantly surprised at my lack of stiffness. My iPod sat silent in the grass next to my mat…the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks proved to be the only music I required. Especially at six in the morning. The sun had just begun to rise behind us, its warmth exacerbating the flush my workout normally provided.

Simon’s skill level was far, far above mine, and some of the poses he worked through made me stop dead in my tracks as I admired the way his body seemed to defy the very laws of physics. He volunteered to work with me whenever we had the time, and I gratefully accepted, though I fully understood that a grace such as his was something that couldn’t be taught.

We chatted while cooling down, learning that our birthdays were only a day apart, his on October 30th, mine on October 31st. He found my being a Halloween baby hilarious, and I was tickled that we shared the same astrological sign. Fellow Scorpios - no wonder he’d liked my tank top. I tried to get him to reveal his birth year, but he adamantly refused until I offered mine up first. The look of delight on his face as he screeched out ‘me too!’ was adorable, and when he high-fived me and christened me his sister from another mister I embraced him and kissed his cheek, grinning at the lovely blush it caused.

I took a seat at the patio table and opened my laptop with the intention of starting work on Tom’s website design. Simon sat next to me, both of us facing the ocean, and he began typing away on his phone. He harrumphed and gave me some wicked side eye.

My brow furrowed. “For fuck’s sake, what NOW?”

He showed me his screen, scrolling through his inbox. “Seven more since last night. You’ve made an awful lot of extra work for me, woman.” I rolled my eyes. He turned on his chair to face me. “I’m curious, though…I thought you just lectured to and consulted with PR firms, which would mean their actual clients wouldn’t know much about you at all. So, it’s kinda surprising that an artist would be willing to jump ship and leave their current rep in the dust to wind up where you are, wouldn’t you say?”

I sighed and finished editing my open layer in Photoshop before replying. “I started out working directly with clients. My first was Anne Rice. She’s is a family friend and was willing to give me a cha…”

He put a hand on my shoulder and shoved. “GET. OUT. I’m assuming this means you’re from or lived in New Orleans at some point? But it mustn’t have been for long, because you have zero accent.”

“Your assumption is correct. Born there, raised there, relocated to New York City in 1998.”

He nodded emphatically. “So you dumped the accent. Understandable.”

It was my turn for side eye. “I didn’t dump it. It just…faded.”

He snorted. “Whatever you say, Maude.”

I pinched his arm, reveling in the resulting squeal he emitted. “Faded. I’m like a chameleon with accents. Soon I’ll be picking up your dialect and sounding like a pretentious asshat, too. In which case, you have my permission to kill me.”

“You can call me anything you like as long as you solemnly swear to take me to Mardi Gras next year.”

I rolled my eyes and held up my hand, palm towards him. “Simon. Please. I don’t think you’re ready for that sort of thing. But, if you start training now, we might be able to pull it off.”

He tilted his head like an oversized puppy. “Training for what? Drinking heavily? I’ve been training for that for years.”

“No. Throwing beads into the crowd. And doing the princess wave.” I demonstrated both. “Because if we go, you must ride on a parade float. It can be arranged. I know people.” I frowned. “At least, I used to know people. Anyway, what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted was that she was my first client, and it gave me a lot of clout. For which I am eternally grateful. I moved on after three years or so with her and began working directly with clients, most of whom were too small to have a decent PR firm behind them. I did everything, created websites, set up Facebook accounts, provided instructions on how to post, when to post, what to post, yada yada. Lots of hand holding and cajoling. Word spread, and bigger names took notice, which led to PR firms hiring me to work one-on-one with their clients for a specified duration. Most of them already had websites in place, so my focus shifted entirely to social media. In early 2010, I was invited to speak for two hours at a PR conference in San Diego…they wanted me to lecture on enhancing client reputation through social media. It was winter in New York, and they were willing to pay for my travel expenses so I thought, California? Fuck it, why not?”

Simon’s legs were crossed, his upper body leaning in towards me as he listened attentively. I had paused, and he motioned for me to continue.

“So, I spoke for two hours and they handed me a check for three thousand dollars. That was more than I normally made in an entire week and it blew my tiny little mind.  It seemed to be vastly less stressful than dealing with super huge egos and non-tech savvy artists and damn, the money. I adjusted my entire business model, and within a month I was turning down engagements because my calendar was full. PR firms were still asking me for assistance, so I set up a consulting procedure wherein I’d outline a plan for them to implement, collected my fee and was on my way. It was all so…easy.”

He laughed loudly. “And you decided to work for Prosper why?”

“Because my ‘easy’ job and the cash it generated had taken over my entire life. I was the job and the job was me. Much to my surprise, lecturing and consulting long term turned out to be a soul sucking bore…and it transformed me into a miserable drudge. I am, at heart, a creative individual and I missed doing graphic and website design, photography, and learning new things. Terribly. Working for Prosper allows me to do all that again, and then some. That’s why.”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin with one hand. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the exquisite creature sleeping soundly in your bed right now.”

“No, it doesn’t. He was actually the reason why I seriously considered declining Luke’s offer.” Simon looked puzzled, but I didn’t elaborate. “So. Why did you leave such a prestigious position at the Dorchester to become a PA? Just for Luke? Or is there more to the story?”

He grinned. “Damn, turned it right around on me, didn’t you? Touché, my friend. I went to university for business management and administrative assistance, and worked in the field until 2005. Cooking had always been my passion, and I had some sort of spiritual awakening wherein I decided I absolutely needed to become a professional chef or else I would shrivel up and die. So I did. I moved from place to place, learning, working, partying my ass off, and finally landed the sous chef spot at the Dorchester in 2009. It was dandy at first, but as the years passed I felt like I’d grown stagnant, doing the same thing night after night, having little input on menu changes and so on. Like you, I was bored. I was averaging 70 hours a week in that kitchen, cut off from the world, and it hit me that all I had gotten out of it was a nicely padded bank account…and that there was no one to share it with. I’d always loved being around lots of people, and there I was seeing nothing but the same damn faces day in and day out. In 2013 I happened across Luke’s ad, reworked my resume, and the rest is history. Unlike you, though, I don’t think I would have taken the job if it wasn’t for him, because the salary was abysmal. As soon as I saw him, I knew. He was it. The one. Love at first sight. I thank my lucky stars every single day that he felt the same way.”

After wiping the tears from his eyes, he took hold of my hand. “Maude, I don’t know if he’s mentioned it or not, but Tom’s had a rough time of it lately, and I’m so, so happy that you’ve found each other.”

“Me too, Simon.” I smiled, letting go of his hand. “Now, please, for the love of all things holy, shut your cake hole so I can get some work done, okay?”

“God, you are such a bitch.”

“I am. And you’re still talking. Cease.”

We worked quietly, side by side, until Luke poked his head out the doors to inquire as to when Simon planned on getting his butt in the kitchen and making some breakfast. As he got up from his chair, he peered over my shoulder at my laptop screen. I had a basic layout set and was in the process of choosing a color combination that would contrast perfectly.

“Wow, that’s a right brilliant color palette you have there, Maude. Is that for Tom’s site?”  

I nodded. “Does it look…familiar?”

He stared. “Yes…maybe…should it?”

I opened the tab that contained the HD photo of Tom’s eye that I’d drawn all my color options from. “Tada.”

Simon poked my shoulder and called for Luke to come see. He padded out onto the lanai, looked over my shoulder, nodded, then put his hands on his hips.

“So, when are you going to use your magic to revamp the Prosper site?”

I closed my laptop and put my head in my hands, then pushed my chair back and went to wait in the kitchen, muttering to myself about peace and solitude and how I couldn’t find any even though I was in paradise.

Tom bounded our of our bedroom just as Simon was plating our pancakes and bacon, freshly showered, wearing a pair of faded, loose fitting jeans and a tight, light blue V-neck tee. I leaned back on my bar stool and around the counter to look at his feet. Scuffed, well-worn boots. When my eyes finally made their way up to his face I was greeted with a dazzling, toothy smile. I groaned.

Simon pinched his cheeks. “Lovely of you to join us, Thomas.”

Tom lowered himself elegantly onto the stool to my right, resting his hand on my spandex-clad thigh as he leaned in to kiss me.

“Good morning, Maude. How was yoga?”

“Spectacular, actually. Simon and I had a lovely chat and I even managed to get some work done in spite of it.” He laughed and began slowly sliding his hand up my leg, edging ever closer to the apex of my thighs. Simon set our plates in front of us, raising a brow as he spied what Tom was up to.

“Um, excuse me. This is a fine dining establishment, people. No foreplay is permitted.” I glanced up from my plate and saw Luke directly behind him, hand cupping Simon’s ass.

“Whatever, asshole.” I pointed at my short stack. “Do you have syrup for these?”

He pulled a pot off the stove and spooned some of its contents onto them. “Made with fresh pineapples. Especially for you.”

All eyes were on me as they waited for a reaction. I broke off a hunk of pancake with my fork and shoved it in my mouth. “Mmm, yummy. Thank you.” Luke looked at Tom, who shrugged. I took another bite of breakfast. “Yeah, nice try, losers. I happen to like pineapples. Just not on pizza.”

Tom put his arm around my waist, pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I had nothing to do with this. I swear it.”

I said nothing, ripping off a piece of bacon with my teeth instead. He tapped his fork on his plate.

“So, Maude, I was thinking…maybe we could take a ride out to Talk Story today? I called to see if Alani would be in, and she is.” I spun the stool around in his direction, dumbfounded. He smiled. “I did say I’d go back to meet her, did I not?”

“Yes. Yes you did.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “What an amazingly generous thing to do. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. You’re going to be the one in charge of crowd control.” He stole a strip of bacon from my plate and swallowed it down before I could even muster a protest.

“I’d rather corral a group of a hundred people than have to sit next to you while I’m trying to eat a fucking meal, bacon stealer. And everything else stealer.”

He snickered, and I wolfed down the rest of my food, rinsed my dishes, put them in the dishwasher and headed for the bedroom, finally noticing that Luke and Simon had disappeared. I wrote a giant ‘thanks for breakfast’ on the chalkboard in the kitchen and drew a smiley face to go with it, figuring we wouldn’t be seeing them again before we left.

*************************************** After my much needed shower, I wound up standing in my underwear, staring into yet another wardrobe wondering what the hell to wear. Tom looked too damn good for me to get away with shorts and a T-shirt, and my black tank dress just didn’t scream ‘please behave and listen to the nice lady’. Tom was waiting patiently for me, sitting at the desk answering emails and returning calls. I looked at his boots, then back and my limited selection of dresses. The brown chiffon galaxy print sleeveless wasn’t an exact match, but pretty damn close. I pulled it off its hanger and laid it on the bed so I could unzip the back without it winding up on the floor, chastising myself for giving in to my everything-must-coordinate OCD once again. I slipped it over my head, put my arms through the proper holes and managed to zip it up on my own, then went into the bathroom to figure out a hair strategy.

I’d just wrestled it into a braid when I overheard Tom talking in the bedroom.

“How’s Los Angeles? Elsa? Kids? Good to hear. Oh, she’s unbelievable, Chris. Here, I’ll take you in and you can meet her.” He came around the corner carrying his open laptop.

“Chris Hemsworth, Maude Gallagher.” He turned the screen toward me, and there he was, Thor, God of Thunder. In my bathroom. He held up a hand in greeting.

“Hello, Maude. Nice to meet you. See you? Skype you?” He face palmed. “I have no idea what the correct terminology is.” I heard a woman yell in the background that meet was fine and for him to bring the tablet over to her so she could see me. He got up and walked into another room, and a beautiful blonde woman came into view alongside Chris. She waved madly.

“Look at you, you’re gorgeous. A natural beauty. And that dress…I am in love with it. You must tell me where you found it.” Her accent was a delight. She grinned. “I’m Elsa, by the way. Tom has told us so much about you I feel like I know you already.”

I waved at them. “Hi there. Lovely to meet you both. I’d like to say Tom has told me so much about you, but that would be a big fat lie, so suffice to say I’m sure he will tell me so much about you when we aren’t quite so…so…shit, what’s the word I’m looking for here?”

Tom moved to stand next to me, shifting the laptop so we were both visible, smirking. “Preoccupied. The word you’re looking for is preoccupied.”

They laughed, and Chris grabbed at Elsa. “Remember when we were always preoccupied?”

She slapped his hand. “Oh yes. I do.  And that’s why now we’re preoccupied with three little ones, my darling Christopher.” I heard children crying in the background. Elsa said a quick goodbye and ran off, and Chris followed suit so he could assist.

Tom put the laptop on the counter and pulled me to him, hands on my ass as he pressed me up against his crotch and rammed his tongue in my mouth, then backed away quickly, leaving me panting. “Well, I guess we should get going.”

I shot him a scathing look. “We should. But I have to pee first.” He walked out into the bedroom. As I sat on the toilet, I weighed my options for getting even. I mentally high fived myself as I pulled my underwear off over my feet and left them on the bathroom floor.

*************************************** We parked a block down from Talk Story, and I scouted ahead and left Tom in the Jeep. My gladiator sandals clicked on the sidewalk as I half-jogged to my destination, anxious to see if Alani was at the desk. She was, and I texted him to come on down. He ran to meet me, and I stopped him from holding the door for me and letting me go in first.

“Nope, you should be the first thing she sees.” I had my phone all ready to go in order to capture the moment, planning on sending her a copy as a keepsake. He walked through, and she looked up as the bell dinged to announce that someone had entered the store and the look on her face was one I knew I’d remember forever. He approached her, hand extended, and I was right behind him.

“Hello, Alani. I’m Tom.” She remained motionless. He turned to me. “This is Maude. We were here on Monday, and she told me that you’re a fan of my work and would perhaps enjoy meeting me.” She nodded, gingerly lifting her arm up but unable to make herself grab his hand. He took the initiative, holding it to his lips and kissing it demurely. She squealed, so high pitched I thought my ears might bleed. Four other girls came running out of the stacks, took one look at him, and began jumping up and down, screaming, phones in hand. I stopped filming so I could set the boundaries before any issues arose, stepping between them and Tom.

“Hi, ladies. I’m Maude, Tom’s social media manager. Let’s go over some ground rules, okay?” They lowered their phones and nodded. “Tom wants to be able to take pictures, sign for and chat with all of you, but in order for him to be able to do so you need to make sure you don’t post anything to social media until after we leave the premises. No texting or calling, either. If a crowd turns up, we’ll have to cut things short, and where’s the fun in that?”  

A husky, bearded, bespectacled man came out from the stacks, wearing a white and green palm leaf print Hawaiian shirt and khaki hiking shorts. “Girls, what the heck is going on up here? Why all the screaming? You know people prefer quiet when they…” He stopped short when he saw Tom, his mouth dropping open, then quickly closing as he grew closer, hand proffered. I figured he was the owner, so I let him pass.

“Aloha, Mr. Hiddleston. I’m Roger Marshal, and Talk Story is my baby. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your stopping by again…the girls were so bummed when they learned they’d missed you on Monday.”

Tom shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you for having me. Your establishment is outstanding…I’m a bit of a bibliophile, and if I had my druthers I’d be perusing the shelves here for days on end. My apologies for dashing off so quickly when I was in last, but I had a prior obligation and thought it better to come back when I had more time to spend.” He turned to me. “This is Maude Gallagher, my social media manager.”

I offered my hand and he clasped it gently with one of his, then placed the other on top. “Maude, nice to meet you. Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you both?”

“Actually, would you happen to have a room available that’s a bit more private?”

He nodded, then turned his attention to the desk. “Sure thing. Alani, why don’t you show our guests to the staff lunch room?” Her eyes lit up, and the faces of the rest of the staff fell. “Girls, you go too. I’ll cover the desk.” They thanked him in unison between excited giggles.

I tried to hang back behind Tom, but he slowed and fell into step with me and slipped his arm around me, hand on my lower back, whispering in my ear. “The way you jumped in and took charge did…things…to me, Maude.” His let his hand glide lower and lower, halting when he reached the spot where the waistband of my underwear should be. He felt around with his fingers, over my hip, diving quickly down into the crease of my left buttock then back up to my waist, gripping me just a smidge too hard.

I met his gaze, noting his narrowed eyes and the way his tongue darted out over and over to lick his lips. I smirked and whispered back. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I’m not wearing any panties. They sorta fell off back at the house and are lying on the bathroom floor, all alone and unloved.” The hand on my waist began to shake as we reached the staff room and he began breathing deeply as he attempted to keep his shit together. And round two of Friday’s Titillation Tease goes to…me.

Tom spent nearly two hours taking selfies, videos, signing anything the girls could get their hands on, and answering their seemingly unlimited supply of questions. The giant cup of tea I’d had on the ride over had finally hit my bladder, and I excused myself and went off in search of the bathrooms. There was only a one, unisex, located all the way on the other side of the store, tucked into an alcove deep in the stacks. Nice and roomy, too. I envisioned Tom fucking me up against the wall, then scolded myself for my blatant lack of restraint as I texted him precisely what I’d been thinking while I walked back to the staff room.

Roger had come back to check on them, which Tom took as an indicator that it was time to wrap things up. He was hugging each of the girls goodbye in turn as they left the room, saving Alaini for last. She rested her head on his chest, facing me, and mouthed ‘he smells like a FOREST’ while hugging him tightly. Up until that moment, I hadn’t been sure whether she recognized me or not. She stepped back and looked at both of us.

“This has been, like, the best day of my life. I can never thank you enough.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Would it be okay if I took a picture of you guys together?”

I smiled. “Of course. But I think it would be better if you were in it, too.” We posed, and Tom held out her phone to get the shot. I was entering my Prosper email address into her phone so she could send me a copy and she was putting hers in mine so I could send her the video from earlier when she cleared her throat.

She looked up shyly. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude or get in your business or anything, but I was just, you know, wondering…” She swallowed. “Are you guys, like, a couple?”

Tom grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

Her brow furrowed. “Well, you know, I saw what you posted on Twitter yesterday and I was like, hmm, and I know you guys work together and now seeing you in person…yeah. It’s pretty obvious, I guess.”

Tom took my hand. “Yes, Alani. Maude isn’t just my social media manager…she’s my girlfriend as well. And can I let you in on a little secret?” She nodded, awestruck. “When you saw us here on Monday, that was the very first time we met. So you played a rather important role in what turned out to be the best day of my life so far.”

I kissed his cheek. “Mine too, Alani.”

Alani flopped onto the nearest chair, clutching her hands to her chest. “That. Is. So. Romantic.” She leapt back up and hugged me. “We all want him for ourselves, but if he has to be with someone else, I’m really glad it’s you.”  

I patted her on the back. “Thank you. Hearing you say that means so much…honestly, I don’t have the words to express properly how it made me feel.” We let go of each other, and she made her way back to the desk.

I turned to Tom. “I need to hit the bathroom again before we head out.” He nodded and followed my lead. He didn’t mention my text, and I assumed he hadn’t read it yet. We didn’t see another soul on the way there, and the stacks outside the alcove were deserted as well. I recalled my vision of Tom fucking me against the bathroom wall and decided this was going to be my shining moment of public indecency. I opened the door, stepped in, then turned around to face him, left eyebrow raised.

“Want to join me?” I licked my lips. He barged past me into the bathroom, fingers already working to unbuckle his belt.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I locked the door, then did a 180. He held his fully engorged cock in his right hand, stroking it, catching any drips with his left. “I do believe I need to put this somewhere immediately so I don’t make a terrible mess on the floor.”

I bit my bottom lip as I tilted my head to the side. “I think I’ve got just the place for it.”

He ceased his stroking in order to back me up against the wall, growling in my ear. “Oh yes. You most certainly do.” He bent his knees as he lifted the front of my dress up to my waist, and I wrapped my leg around his, grinding my dripping pussy against him while I rubbed my clit. He groaned, and I slipped my glistening finger into his mouth. He sucked on it, and I felt the head of his cock at my entrance and his hands cupping my ass, his full weight on me, pressing me firmly against the cool tile.

He was panting. “Put your other leg around me and your arms around my neck.” I did the latter, but scoffed at the former.

“Um, there is no way in hell you’re going to be able to hold me up.”

He leaned forward to stare into my eyes, and his expression made me whimper. “Leg. Up. Now. Please.” As I complied he sheathed himself fully. I tried to bite back a ridiculously loud moan but was only partially successful. His mouth met mine, tongues dancing around each other. He pulled back.

“Maude, my apologies, but once I start moving I fear I’m going to last all of thirty seconds. If I’m fortunate.”

I clamped down on him. He began thrusting wildly, and I focused all my energy on not coming before he did. I was doing well until he started whispering in my ear using his Loki voice.

“Give in, mortal. Come for me. I know you’ve dreamed of this, me fucking into you for all I’m worth, you pinned against the wall, unable to sway those mesmerizing hips and have your way with me as you ride my cock to find your own selfish pleasure.”

He pounded into me, almost savagely, and as he felt my walls begin to flutter he put his hand over my mouth.

“Not. A. Sound.” I came, my scream trapped beneath his hand, the wet sounds of him moving in and out of me echoing eerily off the bathroom walls. “That’s it. Look at you, coming and coming all over my cock. So, so beautiful.”

He let his hand drop, and I could feel his thrusts becoming more erratic as I stared at him, his face red, jaw clenched, the veins on his neck standing out with his exertion. His head tipped back, fingers digging into the underside of my thighs, and his entire body shuddered as he orgasmed, come spurting hot inside me. I let my legs slide down one at a time, planting my feet as firmly as I possibly could despite the fact that they felt like they were made of Jell-O.  

He rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. “I guess this means you got my text after all.” I felt him nod. “Well, if this is what not wearing underwear gets me, I’m never putting on another fucking pair ever again.”

We both laughed, quickly cleaned ourselves up, and I peeked out the door to make sure the coast was clear. Still not a soul around, and we said a final goodbye to Alani on our way out and proceeded to walk back to the Jeep. We sat for a while, neither of us feeling quite capable of driving.

He leaned over to kiss me, hand on the back of my neck, grinning as he pulled away. “I’m famished. Want to grab something to eat before we head back?”

“You already know the answer to that.” I noticed the street getting a bit congested, a small pack of women heading in our direction and what appeared to be a local news crew up the road a bit…I pulled out my phone and checked Alani’s Twitter feed. She’d posted the photo of all of us.

Here’s me just a little while ago with Tom Hiddleston and his girlfriend, Maude. He smells like a pine forest, and she’s super nice. #bestdayever, #thankyoutomandmaude

I showed it to him. “I’m thinking maybe we should stop somewhere a little further down the road. You?”

He started the Jeep, put it in first and stalled it as he tried to pull away from the curb, and then again on his second try. He smiled at me sheepishly. “Perhaps you’d better drive.”

“Gee, ya think?” We got out and switched places. I shook my head. “What a newb.”

He crossed his arms. “I am not a newb. I’m just out of practice is all.”

I patted his thigh as we got to the highway. “Right. Rusty stick skills. I remember.”

He chortled. “Yours remain top notch though, my love.”

I smiled smugly. “They do, don’t they?”

He raised his index finger. “Although, technically, you didn’t actually make use of them this go round, did you?”

“I’ll make up for it next time.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Well I’d fucking hope you’d hold me to it. That’s the whole point.” I saw a McDonald’s sign in the distance. “Dude, I want some French fries in the WORST way. And a chocolate milkshake. You game?’

“I most certainly am.”

“If you behave I’ll let you have my cherry.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“How rude.”

“Perhaps. But true.”

“Not entirely true.”

“What do you mean, not entirely true?”

I turned off the highway and into the parking lot. The drive through line was mobbed, but the lot itself was relatively empty. “I mean that the fact that it’s a bit late for you to have my cherry is only partially correct.”

He stared at me as I engaged the parking brake, puzzled, then shook his head. “I’m not following.”

The left corner of my mouth scrunched up in mock irritation. “Really? Are you sure?” He shrugged, palms up. “Think about all we’ve…done.”

“Maude.”

“Good. Now think about what we haven’t done.” I gave him a few moments to review, watching his face closely so I’d see it dawn on him. 3…2…1…aaaannndd there it was. His jaw slackened, hips lifting almost imperceptibly. “That’s right. I’ve played around, sure, but as far as actually having a cock in my ass…nope. Which means, technically, my anal cherry is still intact.”

He covered his face with his hands, groaning, but said nothing.

I went in for the kill. “So, Thomas…tell me. Would you like my cherry?”

Shaking his head, face still hidden, he spoke in a low voice. “Maude.” He paused, remaining silent for quite some time, seemingly avoiding my question. I wondered if I’d overstepped some sort of boundary, pushing him too far.

My mind was racing, and I frowned. “Wow.  I’m really sorry, Tom.”

He uncovered his face to take my hand, gazing at me with eyes full of concern. “Whatever for?”

“Because I put you on the spot there and just assumed it’s something you’d want to participate in. I didn’t stop to think that it’s something that might not be up everyone’s alley.” I rolled my eyes. “That didn’t come out…shit…DAMN. Anyway, that was incredibly presumptuous and I apologize for letting myself get so carried away. Please don’t feel like it’s something you have to…”

He leaned in to kiss me forcefully, covering my entire mouth with his, tongue darting over my lips, then pulled away before I could fully engage. “May I answer your question now?”

I shook my head. “Tom, you don’t need…”

“I know I don’t need to, but I WANT to. My answer is, with undeniable certainty, yes. Please accept my apology for not answering straight away. I’m afraid I was too busy thinking about how deliciously tight you’re going to feel around me and then I remembered that you aren’t wearing panties and it was all I could do to stop myself from dragging you onto my lap and fucking you right here in the McDonald’s parking lot.”

His eyes met mine, nostrils flaring, pupils blown wide open. Never before had I been able to do this to a man, make him want me so desperately using nothing but words. He squeezed my hand.

“That you’d trust me with something so intimate, bequeathing me such a precious gift, wishing to share something that you’ve not yet experienced with another, is…I’m honored, humbled, awestruck…so very many things.” He smiled timidly. “I’ve never been someone’s first anything before.”

My brows shot up, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

“Maude, there’s something I’d like to ask you, but…”

“Shoot.”

“All right. This may be terribly intrusive, and feel free to not answer it if you don’t feel comfortable doing so, but…knowing what I do about you, sexually, I’m…surprised…that you…erm, never…anyway, I suppose I’m just wondering why.”

I sighed. Good job, Maude. This is what you get for trying to be a seductress.

“Long story short, you’re only the fourth person I’ve been intimate with. The first two were before I was twenty and not even remotely interested in such a thing. By the third I was very interested, but things fell apart before it happened.” I put my arms on the steering wheel and rested my forehead on them for a moment, then raised my head and turned to him. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

“Okay, I’m not sure if that look means ‘I didn’t need to hear that’ or ‘wow, only three, what a loser’.”

He shook his head. “It’s neither. Well, maybe a bit of the first one, because the idea of you being with someone else is much more unpleasant than I would have imagined, but…it was mostly surprise that such an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, hilarious woman wouldn’t have men lining up to be with her.”

“Thomas. Stop being so fucking wonderful, won’t you? Christ. There was no line, believe me. I’ve always been at least a little chubby, but after I moved to New York I put on a huge amount of weight. There are reasons for that, but that’s another story for another time. By 2003 I was tipping the scales at two hundred and forty-seven pounds. I’ve always been a confident person, and I honestly never cared what anyone else thought about the way I looked, but…you know what I’m getting at here, I think. In late 2008 I started feeling like shit, and Anne, who’d nearly died due to undiagnosed diabetes in 2003, pushed me to see a doctor. Sure enough, that was the problem. It was early, and resolvable with lifestyle modifications. So, I kicked myself in the ass, and over the next year I lost more than eighty pounds, and that was when I…a woman in her sexual prime, in the best shape of her life…met number three. God bless him…I was on a mission, making up for lost time and he could barely keep up with me. One time I actually thought he was going to need an ambulance…sheese, why I am telling you this? Yikes. Sorry. Lord knows I don’t want to hear anything like it from you.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “Let’s pretend this never happened and go get those milkshakes, m’kay?”

He grabbed my arm as I opened the door, and I turned to meet his gaze. “I…Maude…I just…you are…everything about you…” He shook his head. “I fall deeper in love with you with every passing moment.”

“Right back atcha, baby.” He laughed. “Yeah. No way I was going to try and out-eloquent you there. Waste of time and energy.”

We went inside, his arm around my shoulders, and ordered two Happy Meals when we saw the new toys were Minions. Neither of us could resist playing with them as we ate. Tom went back for a Big Mac and chicken nuggets, which I shared. He stuck his fingers in through the lid of my milkshake, deftly picking up the cherry and popping it in his mouth, a huge smile on his face.

We both used the bathroom, separately, and as we were walking back to the Jeep I heard the voice of a young boy.

“Mom, Mom! That man over there! That’s the man you’re always looking at on your computer!”

A woman replied to him. “Mason, what are you talking ab…?” And with that, I knew she’d seen Tom. I pulled at his shirt, and he looked down at me and nodded. We turned around and waved. The woman was about my age, maybe a little older, and she looked like she might die of embarrassment when she realized we’d overheard their conversation. Tom strode over, hand extended.

“Hi there. Tom Hiddleston. And you are?” She moved as if in a trance, hand out, and he grasped it gently and shook.

“I…uh…um…Sarah. I’m Sarah. And this is my son, Mason.”

Tom beamed and shook Mason’s hand as well. “Lovely to meet you both.”

Sarah reached into her purse, dug around and pulled out a Coriolanus program. She cleared her throat. “I heard that you’d be on the island and I’ve been carrying this with me, you know, just in case.”

He took it from her. “Were you in attendance?”

Mason piped up. “We flew all the way across two oceans so she could go see your show. I saw Big Ben. It was really cool.”

Sarah was bright red. “I saw it twice, actually, but didn’t have time to stay after.”

Tom pulled a sharpie out of his back pocket. “May I?”

She grinned. “Please do.” He signed his name, as well as a message. ‘Sorry to have missed you there, but better late than never. Glad to finally have met you. XO’”

As he handed it back to her he asked if she’d like a picture with him. He introduced us, and I volunteered to do the honors so Mason could squeeze in as well. I gave him my Minion to keep him occupied while I took some shots of just Sarah and Tom. He held it up to give it back to me when I handed Sarah back her phone.

“Nope, buddy, that’s yours now.” I held out my hand to Tom and he put his toy in it. “In fact, you can have Tom’s too. This way he gets to stay with his friend and won’t be lonely.” He thanked me so quietly I could barely hear him, eyes full of wonder at what to an adult was such a small gesture.

Tom hugged them both goodbye, and Sarah embraced me as well. She smiled at my surprise. “Thank you, both of you, so much.”

Tom put his arm around my waist as we walked the rest of the way back to the Jeep, placing a quick kiss on the top of my head.

“It is my personal opinion that you’re a much kinder, gentler person than you’d like everyone to believe.”

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. And it’s all your fucking fault, too.”

[fjprofessionalpractices]

Creating the Social Media Account

Having been given the brief I was genuinely looking forward to this project as I have always wondered if I could, ‘master’ social media and go viral but never had the motivation or reason and here was an opportunity to experiment and go for it. However by the time I got home from the lecture and thought about setting up the account I was already being asked and recommended to follow 6 different lemon instagram accounts. It was clear this early that everyone was targeting instagram for their project. This was because as we discussed in the lecture you can add the most popular hash tags and they have an explore page designed so that your content can be shared and reach people who don't follow you. According to instagram the most important engagements to have your content reach further are; comments, likes, shares and views so generally these are what you are aiming to get (Warren, G., 2021). 

The above image shows how as soon as I opened instagram I saw everyone already making an account and it instantly became quite a stale idea. Therefore I decided to hold fire and try to make my project slightly different. I didn't want to race into it anyway because I had no idea what I would post about and I knew that the key to this would be consistency, I was never going to create something successful with one post. I decided to create a twitter and approach it from a different angle. Rather than engaging on individual posts it is better for engaging on subjects and instead of the explore page it has the trending section where you can find the most popular subjects at that time which does work on a similar system of hashtags for popular subjects etc. 

Because I had chosen twitter I wanted to find a theme which my account would relate to which as Todd Kelsey highlights you have to consider your audience and ‘is that audience on twitter,’ (2017). I was thinking about what could be relevant to the lemon that at the soul of the project we were trying to ‘sell’. The most trending topic at the moment has been the election happening in the US, with the most controversial president likely on his way out, Trump was already starting to claim electoral fraud and that the election was a sham even before they announced he had lost. This was the perfect option, every day another hashtag was trending based on something Trump had said such as #trumpislosing #TrumpMeltdown and I decided to apply the lemon theme to this topic as President Trump always has that look on his face with the pursed lips which looks like he's eaten something sour or possibly bitter, like for instance... a lemon...? So this was the basis, tweet funny pictures about Donald Trump looking like he was sucking a lemon as he screwed up his face, simple, mildly amusing ridiculous posts which is the kind of thing that can be hugely popular on the internet. 

Post edited on 08/01/2021

References:

Facebook. (2016). Instagram logo. [online image]. Available at: https://en.instagram-brand.com/assets/icons. (Accessed on 25/11/20). 

Warren, J. (2021). This Is How the Instagram Algorithm Works in 2021. [online article]. Available at: https://later.com/blog/how-instagram-algorithm-works/. (Accessed on 08/01/21).

Kelsey, T. (2017). Introduction to Social Media Marketing: A Guide for Absolute Beginners. Apress L.P. 

[ursafilms]

Comic-Con & Wonder Women!

About two years after the Sara Bareilles debacle, something that had been on my bucket list finally got checked off. Comic-Con. Always wanted to work it. Don’t know why, but I did. It looked like an absolutely stupid collection of video and animation nerds together in one space, and that is exactly what Comic-Con is.

And I would nothave lobbied to work on it, had it not been through one of my favorite clients, Jill Byron of CBS and CBS Interactive.

One of CBS properties was an on-line site called TV.com. It served as a place to curate interest in the prime time shows on the network. To further generate interest in the property, Jill put together an awards show called, oddly, “The TV.com Now Awards.”

And the venue? PetCo Park.

The schedule? During the biggest self-inflicted freak show on the planet.

Comic-Con.

With the possible exception of San Francisco, Comic-Con is the largest collection of reality escaping, self-indulging narcissists converging on one geographical area. And, in the pursuit of full disclosure, I was not lying. Attending this homage to arrested adolescence has been on my bucket list for years.

I have no interest in dressing up as Wonder Woman and putting myself through the serial embarrassment of faking a good time. What I do have is a curiosity as to why people would want to dress up as Wonder Woman and put themselves through the serial embarrassment of faking a good time.

I also have no interest in buying a pass to attend. It’s expensive and that doesn’t take any of hotel, meal, and transportation costs into account. CBS Interactive hiring me opened the door to attending and having someone else pick up the check. That’s not to appear smug or cavalier about the task entrusted to me. I expected to take in Comic-Con in my down time, of which I knew there would be little.

****

I opted to drive to San Diego. As with most of my jobs in southern California, I had to schelp so many things that boarding a flight with all I needed to nursemaid a batch of middle-aged pre-adolescents through a job presented a task of curbside luggage hassles I could no longer accept. Also, I’d need a rental car when I arrived anyway.

The day before my scheduled departure, I picked up the compressed show files at Elastic Creative, the post/animation company that provided all the videos. Even in this modern era I had to act like Laurence Olivier in Marathon Manto get a straight answer out of the show control people as to how they wanted to receive the media. They just don’t want to commit to anything. Drilling into their teeth, while an option, was time-consuming and didn’t always yield good results.

This is a pet peeve, to use a cliché, of mine. I harbor no thoughts of genocide except for one particular tribe. Event producers, and specifically the hermitic and unhygienic dweebs that populate every satellite truck, back of the house, and control booth of every venue into which I had the displeasure of having to enter.

The TV.com Now Awards proved to be no exception. I did get to hire my own on-site show producer, an incredibly gifted woman named Karen DeTemple. But even she couldn’t prevent the obligatory black site conversation I had to have with the person in charge of the control room for the event.

Me: “How would you like me to deliver the media?”

Social Pariah: “Digital files will be fine.”

Me: “That narrows it down to about 3,000 options. Would you like to tell me exactly which type of file? Can you give me a spec sheet?”

Social Pariah: “HD.”

Me: “We’re down to 2,000 types. Fair warning. If you don’t specify which type of file, compression, output, size, audio, and all the other necessary elements, I’m going to send you what I think is most appropriate.”

Social Pariah: “What if it doesn’t work?”

Me: “Then I will hunt you down, like the passive-aggressive loser that you are and beat you with an old 1” tape machine.”

Social Pariah: “Let me get you our spec sheet.”

****

Every job is like this with event people. I don’t get it. I am more knowledgeable about matters that involve show masters and delivery of appropriate digital files than most. But like everything else in the production industry, there is some sadistic pleasure taken by those who just want to see a producer look foolish, which I refused to do after the first few years of my career. If I didn’t take the time and trouble to actually request specifications on deliverables, this wouldn’t gall me as much as it does. But I was vigilant about pursuing that information. My colleagues, however, did not show as much enthusiasm as providing it. To this day, I cannot tell you why.

****

An ugly confrontation took place years before The TV.com Now Awards. Let me have some laughs at the expense of the company that tried to embarrass me.

In the fall of 2000 I flew out to Washington, DC for a medical device convention. Prior to traveling, which I only did because the representatives for the production company wanted to make sure a scapegoat would be on site, I had a meeting with the head of the company which supplied all the hardware to run the show, including video.

Me: “I have three videos that play at this event. How do you want to receive them?”

Passive-Aggressive Loser: “Standard format.”

Me: “Let me be clear. I will send you HDCam with a three second title card at 30 seconds. 17 seconds of black, and then a 10 second countdown. So speak now if you want something different. In other words, is that what you consider standard format?”

Passive-Aggressive Loser: “No.”

This devolved into a lot of bad language. The Passive-Aggressive Loser told me to “chill out,” a term reserved for doofuses who have nowhere to go. We put each other in a headlock and the president of the production company broke the stalemate by assuring me that a spec sheet would be coming my way.

Which I never received.

The incompetent creative director of the production company informed me that I had to go to DC and to hand carry a back-up of the media.

Me: “Sure. What format would you like the media?

Unskilled Drain on the Overhead: “Morty can tell you that.”

Me: “Did you miss the headlock I had him in during the pre-pro meeting? You saw that Morty wouldn’t have given Brezhnev any intel if they ripped his testicles out and showed them to him.”

Unskilled Drain on the Overhead fled the scene.

I arrived in DC with a back-up copy of the media, done to my specifications. Checked into my hotel and headed over to the convention center, where the usual pre-show hysteria had commenced. And as soon as The Producer (Me) came on the scene, the wailing pre-adolescents descended on me.

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “We need a different version of the media. Morty said to see you as soon as you arrived.”

Me: “Gee and I thought Morty would greet me himself and exchange headlocks.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Huh? So can you remake the show masters?”

Me: “Of course! I carried an entire editorial system on the plane with me. Not only that, I brought every tape deck known to man to cover every possibility.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “That’s great. We’ll need the new tapes ASAP!”

Me: “Do you have the specs?”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Sure.”

The Petulant 12-Year-Old handed me a piece of paper with a very complete set of instructions for delivering media to the hardware vendor.

Me: “Does Morty know about this?”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Why wouldn’t he?”

Me: “No reason. Give me a second.”

I read the spec sheet. The only difference between what I provided and what they specified? As opposed to 17 seconds of black before they countdown, they wanted two.

Me: “Your tape ops can just bookmark the two seconds prior to the countdown. This can easily be done by show control.”

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “Sure, but that means they have to do that every time they come back from break to restart the show.”

Me: “Oh, horrors! That means they have to build an entire cue! Why that should take them three whole minutes. That will cut down on their grousing time, won’t it?”

The Petulant 12-Year-Old looked at me with the same sort of admiration and respect given to a pedophile or drug dealer that hangs around grade schools.

Petulant 12-Year-Old: “I take it you didn’t bring an edit system in your carry-on luggage.”

Me: “No, and if Morty has an issue with me not wanting to spend thousands of dollars redoing videotape just because he doesn’t want to hear a handful of social misfits complaining about having to do some actual work, he can come talk to me about it. Capisce?”

And that was that.

****

Back to Comic-Con, 2010 and the start of my drive to San Diego.

Elastic Creative, again the facility where the videos were executed, performed all the necessary compressions and delivered them to me, as requested, on a hard-drive and a back-up hard-drive. Additionally, they stored them on DropBox in case that would be an easier get for the truly unambitous excuse-making mooks that populate back of the house.

Just as I settled into the comfy leather of my SUV, the cellphone rang.

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “George Young?”

Me: “Yes.”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “This is Dak from Lousy Show Productions.”

Me: “Dak? Were your parents trying to save room on the birth certificate?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “That’s my nickname.”

Me: “Oh, what’s your real name?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “Bo.”

As it turns out the compressed files, which cost me thousands in hard drive purchases, compressions, and production time, were no longer the preferred format. Oh no, the vendor in charge of running show control switched to a different command truck that used some format of mini-HDCam.

In other words, during the phone call with Dak, my SUV and I went back in time two years.

I had to drive away from the Bay Area in less than 16 hours. That would not be a problem, if I

didn’t need, at close of business, to find a relatively obscure tape deck, even more obscure blank tapes, and arrange for Elastic Creative to make show masters for me overnight.

Me: “So, Dak, level with me. Why the change in the truck?”

Scratchy Voiced Misfit: “Much cheaper.”

My head exploded. After I cleaned up the mess, and sent the iPhone footage off to David Cronenberg, I thanked Dak and walked back inside Elastic. After explaining the conundrum to Drew Fiero, the World’s Calmest Father of Three, I found a private room and shut the door. I phoned the Social Pariah in charge of the satellite truck.

Social Pariah#2: “George, how nice to hear from you. I guess—”

Me: “Shut up, you douchebag. You went and switched delivery formats on me less than 24 hours before rehearsal! Are you insane?”

Social Pariah #2: “Calm down, all you have to do is—”

Me: “Like I said. Shut up, you douchebag. Don’t tell me what I have to do. You switched delivery formats because you think producers are the equivalent of inviting David Copperfield to your tenth birthday party. I’d hang you out to dry on this if I didn’t like Jill Byron so much.”

Social Pariah #2: “Hey, chill—”

Me: “Don’t tell me to ‘chill out, dude.’ Just shut up and thank me for dragging a couple dozen mini-HD tapes down to San Diego because you wanted to save $1.98 on the satellite truck.”

Social Pariah #2: “I—”

Me: “And I’m charging your company for the tapes, the tape deck, which I understand has to be trucked to San Francisco from San Jose because there are only five in the state of California, and for my time. I hope you saved the gross national product of France by switching trucks.”

****

I arrived in San Diego at the end of July, 2010. Ten minutes after exiting my SUV, parked along the main drag that surrounded PetCo Park, I spotted four Wonder Women. And two of them might have been actual women!

Regarding Wonder Woman.

1.    Unless you’re Linda Carter in the 70’s, or have a body like Linda Carter’s in the 70’s, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

2.    Unless you’re Gil Gadot in 2016, or have a body like Gil Gadot’s in 2016, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

3.    If you’re a man, and I don’t care if you identify as a woman, or are in the process of becoming a woman, do not wear a Wonder Woman costume.

4.    In general, there are nine women in the entire world who should wear a Wonder Woman costume and none of them attend Comic-Con.

There are, however, plenty of svelte, spandex-wearing young women who attend Comic-Con. They squeeze themselves into costumes that probably that last worked in 50’s sci-fi films. And based on the amount of gravity-defying cleavage on display, there were more polymers at the event than just those of the costumes.

But more so than the appearance of artificial flesh, I am fascinated by the herds of cattle that attend the event and stampede into the place to get a glimpse of actors who will be on the national radar for the shelf-life of chocolate in an Easter basket. There also is a deluge of movies and videogames to investigate.

1.    Batman 27: The Latest Ofay Actor in Black

2.    Black Humanoid: POC Tossed Another Bone

3.    Superman*

4.    Surgery, the Bloodletting

5.    Military Assault on a Middle East Looking Country Never Named for P.C. Reasons

6.    Dragons, Dragons, Dragons and more Dragons

Of course any of these titles could be swapped out as movie, TV series, or videogame. If there is any clarity as to why Comic-Con exists, it’s lost on me as an objective observer from afar. Perhaps being on-site will change my mind.

To the job.

I had to produce all the video for the gig, the bulk of which broke down into the individual nominees and ultimate winner of each category, of which there were about 20. To separate The TV.com Now Awards from the Oscars or the Emmys, Jill and her creative team came up with some interesting and unique contests. Here are some of them.

-      Actor you are happiest to see back on Television

-      Best performance as a Vampire

-      Best reboot of an old show

-      Best Actor returning to the small screen

-      Best performance by a Non-Human

*Yes, there is yet another Superman

Some of the categories made sense because there had been an explosion of TV shows and movies with Vampires. And that had not reached saturation with the average viewer. Best reboot of an old show proved easy too, since several Baby Boomer specialties had returned to both CBS and other channels, including cable and the initial streaming services.

But some were difficult. We had problems narrowing down which actor we were happy to see back on television, since there were over a hundred suggestions on the cbs.com website when the general population got a chance to be polled. Also, Best performance by a Non-Human? I suggested Bill Maher about 400 times. When one of the station executives finally asked me explain myself I replied that he must be quite an actor if he’s able to convince HBO to allow him to go on the air on two separate occasions with two different unwatchable shows based upon the same disingenuous drivel.

CBS refused my request to nominate Maher.

****

A huge upside to the job, other than Jill Byron’s involvement, had to be Rob Diehl, the creative director of the event production company, MKTG. I had found my own personal unicorn. I did not believe in the existence of a creative director who had actual creative skills, and yet I finally met one in Rob Diehl. Not only did he have training in the arts, but a wealth of experience as well.

Rob could draw. He understood art direction and set construction. He had worked his way up from a theatre background and could tell you the difference between a piece of Louis XIV furniture and its nearly identical version from the Renaissance period. That may seem insignificant, or petty, or at the atomic level, but after decades of dealing with the agency owner’s room temperature IQ brother-in-law as an art director and the usual cult of 26-year-old copywriters who hadn’t read anything more complicated than a comic book, his experience and skill level provided welcome relief.

When he gave feedback, it made sense. When he felt something worked, he stopped trying to improve it. When a video component felt incomplete he explained why. I don’t think I had more respect for anyone on the creative side since I finished my last video game for George Lucas.

Working with Rob Diehl made every previous memory of the collection of hungover and incompetent creative department hangers-on fade into obscurity, at least temporarily.

****

Every comic book aficionado, basement dwelling hacker, and weather girl wannabe clogged San Diego’s downtown and waterfront during the four day Comic-Con. Jill dispatched her underlings to distribute flyers on ‘The TV.com Now Awards.’ The CBS websites blasted rich media with hourly updates and the B-List celebs who would be in attendance. A couple of musical acts that I won’t mention because I can’t remember who they were, also graced email blasts and hastily created Facebook pages.

We had an actual Red Carpet walk. Limousines pulled up and discharged the likes of Rob Lowe, Pauley Perrette, and Cheryl Burke. They smiled; talked to the press; and waved at the, ahem, “crowd.”

I hustled back and forth between the dugouts, where we had established green rooms for category winners like Daniel Day-Kim and LL Cool J.

And it was all for naught.

Because if someone goes to Comic-Con it is to do a small number of things. The hormone-clanging males go to check out all the firm, young flesh (Or flesh, period. Not that much was firm.) squeezed into the previously mentioned 50’s Sci-Fi costumes. The females go to either shoehorn themselves into spandex, or play video games with the man of their dreams.

And both go to get into freebie screenings of the latest summer movies and videogames.

That’s it. They don’t go to stand in right field at PetCo Park and watch a bunch of actors accept a plexi statue for acting in a show that nobody who attends Comic-Con cares about.

As I watched the footage at the local post facility, located in the lovely porn district of San Diego, I wondered what CBS Interactive would do next year for “The TV.com Now Awards.”

I had a hunch it would not involve Comic-Con.

[happysandwichparty-blog]

Japan - Day 7 (Ikebukuro)

Starting out the day I didn’t honestly know a whole lot about Ikebukuro and how long we would be there. I just knew there were two places on my must to visit list there and that’s why we were going.

(Few pictures today!)

I woke up feeling like crap. The Gyoen Gardens adventure from the previous day was hitting my allergies hard. I wasn’t even sure how long I was going to make it before having to come back and sleep.

We got rolling a little bit later in the day, despite getting up at 4:30AM, we didn’t head out until about 9:30AM. It was the usual train rides - Ginza to Ueno, and the JR Yamanote over to Ikebukro. No rush hour today, we left too late - YAY!

Upon getting off the train our first stop was the Kit-Kat Chocolatory. We did take a little detour to get there. The store is in a department store attached to the train station but I seem to have a problem finding entrances from the train station so we exit and came back in through and outside entrance.

On our trek to find the store however we ended up in a grocery store in the station, the food there looked AMAZING! Wouldn’t it be great to be able to just get off the train, pick up your meal, and then walk home? One can dream. That will never be a reality in Arizona.

I digress, we eventually found the sweets area! More amazing cakes here, seriously ive never seen such beautiful little cakes. There were also many traditional Japanese sweet/dessert options to choose from.

Eventually we did find the Kit-Kat store! You aren’t going to find bags of Kit-Kats here, if you want those, hit up a convenience or grocery store! These are gourmet Kit-Kats in fancy boxes that you’d give as a gift. I picked up a box for my mom since they had special mothers day gift boxes. Mothers day is a little ways out, but it’s not like they will go bad in that time, plus we grabbed her a bag of matcha Kit-Kats to give her right away.

After the Chocolatory we wandered around to waste a bit of time in the station area. There was a restaurant I wanted to go to that opened at 11:00AM and was said to get busy very quickly so we were hitting it up right at opening time.

You may have see video’s of this place floating around on social media, it’s called Kura Zushi. Basically it’s a revolving sushi bar, which you can also order from, and you use your empty plates to play a gachapon game!

When we arrived (exactly at 11:00AM), there were already about 4 groups waiting. You walk up to the machine and get a ticket for your group. The machine is completely in Japanese, no English, as is the ticket. The staff is willing to help you get a ticket if needed, or you can just let someone go in front of your and watch. It was actually simple. Green button, party number, and then tap the final two buttons, done! - you now have a ticket!

They will call your number in Japanese so make sure you are paying attention. Basic understanding of numbers will probably do you good in Japan anyway.

On to the food! The sushi was very good for only being about $1 per plate.

They have some unique combinations - salmon with cheese? Surprisingly amazing.

We stuffed our faces, much more than we normally would. We have some revolving bars back home and it’s surprising if we eat more than 8 plates. Today we ate 16. Really I wanted a gatchapon and it took 5 plates to try your luck.

Spoilers. 3 tries. We did not win. The guy next to us won on his first try though, not fair! We do have a small vlog we filmed of this place so hopefully ill edit that and get it up pretty quick (i’ll link it here once finished).

One last thing about restaurants in general, many places have a pot of powdered matcha sitting on the table, cups, and a hot water dispenser so you can make your own tea! Surprisingly I actually like green tea, I don’t like many other teas.

This places is very convenient, when you are done you tap the check button on the tablet at your table, they come check your plate count, and you head off to pay up front!

After stuffing our faces we decided it was time to walk a bunch! Good plan. We were walking over to Sunshine City, which is a shopping mall. On the way we stopped at Round One and a few other game locations. There were a bunch. I found the Neko Atsume machine and again failed horribly. I also tried a Disney plush machine, had better luck but still didn't win anything.

We were once again off to Sunshine City. It’s a very traditional mall that we are all used to, and it was pretty nice! They had a fun water feature in the main atrium.

Our main goal here was to find the Pokemon Center! We did take a detour into the Disney Store though. Again, I wanted to buy so many things, but I will wait until we are at the Disney Resort. SOON!

After Disney we head up to the Pokemon Center. It was pretty busy, but all of the staff were super friendly and polite and did everything they could to make people feel welcome. We did end up buying quite a few things. I picked up 3 or 4 items for my Twitch giveaway, and also a few for myself! Included were a cute mug, a Ditto shirt tank top combo, and some socks.

Two side notes. Everyone in Japan has adorable phone wallet cases. They are everywhere and it’s making me really want one, the ones for sale at the Pokemon Center were super cute. Second, no one has face plates for the regular New 3DS, which is making me sad. Yodobashi is the only place and the selection was not great.

I digress, we went to purchase all of our items and it turns out there was some deal on socks! Who knew! I ended up getting a 3rd pair for free.

As mentioned the staff were great. They went out of their way to make customers feel welcome, they brought a basket of socks to the register for me to pick the 3rd pair instead of making me run through the store to find them. They make sure my items were double bagged so nothing would break, and they even offered me as many special decorative extra bags as I wanted in case I was getting gifts for people. I left very happy.

On the way out there were more Gachapon and penny presses. I did press a penny, which were provided in the machine, brand new and shiny! And of course another gachapon.

On our way out we stopped at Axes Femme. We visit their store in Shinjuku but it was small, this one was large! I did end up purchasing 3 items, mostly for work. This is a good store if you still like that lolita style, but want to be able to tone it down for real world situations.

After this we left Sunshine City and head across the street to the Animate. Which apparently had moved and was no longer an Animate. We still went inside because now there were 4 floors hat were cosplay stores.

This was a unique experience as a cosplayer. There were full costumes for sale, which wasn’t the awesome part to me actually, since I just make my own. It was the wide selection of wigs, contacts, props, shoes, glove, makeup and god knows what else that was all in one store easily accessible! Those small things are sometimes the hardest part of cosplay in the States because they are hard to get,you have to make them! Hell they had a prop violin you could buy!

Anyway! After having a moment we left to find the new Animate. Ikebukuro was bustling, it was a very fun area with a lot to do. There were a lot of teenagers and young adults around having a good time. It felt a lot like a less over the top Akihabara. I think I may actually like Ikebukuro a bit more.

We found the Animate! Which felt like it catered more to Women than the other one we went to. The whole area did really, a ton of women and girls around and a lot of people dressed up in alternative fashions. What I would have expected in Akihabara we actaully saw here.

We did not buy anything at the Animate but I did actually see things I liked in this ones. I think the thing holding us back from buying anything is that Idol anime and sports anime are super popular right now so it’s almost all you see. Neither of us are into those so we are left stranding. You wont find anything for older anime, if you do its in some corner and no one cares. It’s definitely what is popular now, which is understandable.

After leaving the Animate we head back to the station to head back to Asakusa. On the way in we ran into Ikefukuro, and owl statue, that like Hachiko is a place where a lot of locals wait when meeting up with someone.

We took the usual route home, JR to Ueno, Ginza to Asakusa. Upon getting off at Asakusa we found ourselves in a grocery and sweets store we hadn’t seen yet. We took this opporunity to get something sweet and yummy!

We spent much of the evening being lazy before going out to grab some food. We picked KFC because KFC is a suprisingly big deal in Japan (seriously they eat it as their Christmas meal), so I wanted to see what the differences were.

First major difference, no mashed potatoes. WHAT. Now I don’t really eat KFC at home, but mashed potatoes are a pretty big staple when it comes to fried chicken, at least in my opinion. Instead they have Coloneling Potatoes. Which are kind of just potato wedges in  unique shape, they were actually pretty good.

The chicken itself was good quality, seemed better than home. The one difference with the chicken was the breading was lighter, it wasn’t as ticket and crunchy, which I honestly think was better, it wasn’t overbearing. The final difference on the food we tried was the biscuit, the honey was more like a maple syrup, still good though!

After dinner we ate our desserts and then I rolled off into bed at my allergies were starting to bother me again.

My sleeping area is starting to become a fortress of shopping bags from everything we’ve purchased. By the time we finish Disney I don’t think i’ll be able to get in my bed!

[megadarkbouquettidalwavethings]

Here Come the Fake Videos, Too

The scene opened on a room with a red sofa, a potted plant and the kind of bland modern art you’d see on a therapist’s wall.

In the room was Michelle Obama, or someone who looked exactly like her. Wearing a low-cut top with a black bra visible underneath, she writhed lustily for the camera and flashed her unmistakable smile.

Then, the former first lady’s doppelgänger began to strip.

The video, which appeared on the online forum Reddit, was what’s known as a “deepfake” — an ultrarealistic fake video made with artificial intelligence software. It was created using a program called FakeApp, which superimposed Mrs. Obama’s face onto the body of a pornographic film actress. The hybrid was uncanny — if you didn’t know better, you might have thought it was really her.

Until recently, realistic computer-generated video was a laborious pursuit available only to big-budget Hollywood productions or cutting-edge researchers. Social media apps like Snapchat include some rudimentary face-morphing technology.

But in recent months, a community of hobbyists has begun experimenting with more powerful tools, including FakeApp — a program that was built by an anonymous developer using open-source software written by Google. FakeApp makes it free and relatively easy to create realistic face swaps and leave few traces of manipulation. Since a version of the app appeared on Reddit in January, it has been downloaded more than 120,000 times, according to its creator.

Deepfakes are one of the newest forms of digital media manipulation, and one of the most obviously mischief-prone. It’s not hard to imagine this technology’s being used to smear politicians, create counterfeit revenge porn or frame people for crimes. Lawmakers have already begun to worry about how deepfakes could be used for political sabotage and propaganda.

Even on morally lax sites like Reddit, deepfakes have raised eyebrows. Recently, FakeApp set off a panic after Motherboard, the technology site, reported that people were using it to create pornographic deepfakes of celebrities. Pornhub, Twitter and other sites quickly banned the videos, and Reddit closed a handful of deepfake groups, including one with nearly 100,000 members.

Before the Reddit deepfake groups were closed, they hosted a mixture of users trading video-editing tips and showing off their latest forgeries. A post titled “3D face reconstruction for additional angles” sat next to videos with titles like “(Not) Olivia Wilde playing with herself.”

Some users on Reddit defended deepfakes and blamed the media for overhyping their potential for harm. Others moved their videos to alternative platforms, rightly anticipating that Reddit would crack down under its rules against nonconsensual pornography. And a few expressed moral qualms about putting the technology into the world.

Then, they kept making more.

The deepfake creator community is now in the internet’s shadows. But while out in the open, it gave an unsettling peek into the future.

“This is turning into an episode of Black Mirror,” wrote one Reddit user. The post raised the ontological questions at the heart of the deepfake debate: Does a naked image of Person A become a naked image of Person B if Person B’s face is superimposed in a seamless and untraceable way? In a broader sense, on the internet, what is the difference between representation and reality?

The user then signed off with a shrug: “Godspeed rebels.”

Making Deepfakes

After lurking for several weeks in Reddit’s deepfake community, I decided to see how easy it was to create a (safe for work, nonpornographic) deepfake using my own face.

I started by downloading FakeApp and enlisting two technical experts to help me. The first was Mark McKeague, a colleague in The New York Times’s research and development department. The second was a deepfake creator I found through Reddit, who goes by the nickname Derpfakes.

Because of the controversial nature of deepfakes, Derpfakes would not give his or her real name. Derpfakes started posting deepfake videos on YouTube a few weeks ago, specializing in humorous offerings like Nicolas Cage playing Superman. The account has also posted some how-to videos on deepfake creation.

What I learned is that making a deepfake isn’t simple. But it’s not rocket science, either.

The first step is to find, or rent, a moderately powerful computer. FakeApp uses a suite of machine learning tools called TensorFlow, which was developed by Google’s A.I. division and released to the public in 2015. The software teaches itself to perform image-recognition tasks through trial and error. The more processing power on hand, the faster it works.

To get more speed, Mark and I used a remote server rented through Google Cloud Platform. It provided enough processing power to cut the time frame down to hours, rather than the days or weeks it might take on my laptop.

Once Mark set up the remote server and loaded FakeApp on it, we were on to the next step: data collection.

Picking the right source data is crucial. Short video clips are easier to manipulate than long clips, and scenes shot at a single angle produce better results than scenes with multiple angles. Genetics also help. The more the faces resemble each other, the better.

I’m a brown-haired white man with a short beard, so Mark and I decided to try several other brown-haired, stubbled white guys. We started with Ryan Gosling. (Aim high, right?) I also sent Derpfakes, my outsourced Reddit expert, several video options to choose from.

Next, we took several hundred photos of my face, and gathered images of Mr. Gosling’s face using a clip from a recent TV appearance. FakeApp uses these images to train the deep learning model and teach it to emulate our facial expressions.

To get the broadest photo set possible, I twisted my head at different angles, making as many different faces as I could.

Mark then used a program to crop those images down, isolating just our faces, and manually deleted any blurred or badly cropped photos. He then fed the frames into FakeApp. In all, we used 417 photos of me, and 1,113 of Mr. Gosling.

When the images were ready, Mark pressed “start” on FakeApp, and the training began. His computer screen filled with images of my face and Mr. Gosling’s face, as the program tried to identify patterns and similarities.

About eight hours later, after our model had been sufficiently trained, Mark used FakeApp to finish putting my face on Mr. Gosling’s body. The video was blurry and bizarre, and Mr. Gosling’s face occasionally flickered into view. Only the legally blind would mistake the person in the video for me.

We did better with a clip of Chris Pratt, the scruffy star of “Jurassic World,” whose face shape is a little more similar to mine. For this test, Mark used a bigger data set — 1,861 photos of me, 1,023 of him — and let the model run overnight.

A few days later, Derpfakes, who had also been training a model, sent me a finished deepfake made using the footage I had sent and a video of the actor Jake Gyllenhaal. This one was much more lifelike, a true hybrid that mixed my facial features with his hair, beard and body.

Derpfakes repeated the process with videos of Jimmy Kimmel and Liev Schreiber, both of which turned out well. As an experienced deepfake creator, Derpfakes had a more intuitive sense of which source videos would produce a clean result, and more experience with the subtle blending and tweaking that takes place at the end of the deepfake process.

In all, our deepfake experiment took three days and cost $85.96 in Google Cloud Platform credits. That seemed like a small price to pay for stardom.

What the App’s Creator Says

After the experiment, I reached out to the anonymous creator of FakeApp through an email address on its website. I wanted to know how it felt to create a cutting-edge A.I. tool, only to have it gleefully co-opted by ethically challenged pornographers.

A man wrote back, identifying himself as a software developer in Maryland. Like Derpfakes, the man would not give me his full name, and instead went by his first initial, N. He said he had created FakeApp as a creative experiment and was chagrined to see Reddit’s deepfake community use it for ill.

“I joined the community based around these algorithms when it was very small (less than 500 people),” he wrote, “and as soon as I saw the results I knew this was brilliant tech that should be accessible to anyone who wants to play around with it. I figured I’d take a shot at putting together an easy-to-use package to accomplish that.”

N. said he didn’t support the use of FakeApp to create nonconsensual pornography or other abusive content. And he said he agreed with Reddit’s decision to ban explicit deepfakes. But he defended the product.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he said, “and ultimately I’ve decided I don’t think it’s right to condemn the technology itself — which can of course be used for many purposes, good and bad.”

FakeApp is somewhat finicky and hard to use, but it’s easy to imagine it improving quickly. N. said that in the future, FakeApp could be used by all kinds of people to bring high-budget special effects to their personal projects.

Deep learning algorithms, he added, were going to be important in the future, not only as stand-alone apps but as powerful components of many tech products.

“It’s precisely the things that make them so powerful and useful that make them so scary,” he said. “There’s really no limit to what you can apply it to with a little imagination.”

‘Next Form of Communication’

On the day of the school shooting last month in Parkland, Fla., a screenshot of a BuzzFeed News article, “Why We Need to Take Away White People’s Guns Now More Than Ever,” written by a reporter named Richie Horowitz, began making the rounds on social media.

The whole thing was fake. No BuzzFeed employee named Richie Horowitz exists, and no article with that title was ever published on the site. But the doctored image pulsed through right-wing outrage channels and was boosted by activists on Twitter. It wasn’t an A.I.-generated deepfake, or even a particularly sophisticated Photoshop job, but it did the trick.

Online misinformation, no matter how sleekly produced, spreads through a familiar process once it enters our social distribution channels. The hoax gets 50,000 shares, and the debunking an hour later gets 200. The carnival barker gets an algorithmic boost on services like Facebook and YouTube, while the expert screams into the void.

There’s no reason to believe that deepfake videos will operate any differently. People will share them when they’re ideologically convenient and dismiss them when they’re not. The dupes who fall for satirical stories from The Onion will be fooled by deepfakes, and the scrupulous people who care about the truth will find ways to detect and debunk them.

“There’s no choice,” said Hao Li, an assistant professor of computer science at the University of Southern California. Mr. Li, who is also the founder of Pinscreen, a company that uses artificial intelligence to create lifelike 3-D avatars, said the weaponization of A.I. was inevitable and would require a sudden shift in public awareness.

“I see this as the next form of communication,” he said. “I worry that people will use it to blackmail others, or do bad things. You have to educate people that this is possible.”

So, O.K. Here I am, telling you this: An A.I. program powerful enough to turn Michelle Obama into a pornography star, or transform a schlubby newspaper columnist into Jake Gyllenhaal, is in our midst. Manipulated video will soon become far more commonplace.

And there’s probably nothing we can do except try to bat the fakes down as they happen, pressure social media companies to fight misinformation aggressively, and trust our eyes a little less every day.

Godspeed, rebels.

Kevin Roose is a columnist for Business Day and a writer-at-large for The New York Times Magazine. His column, “The Shift,” examines the intersection of technology, business, and culture. @kevinrooseFacebook

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page A1 of the New York edition with the headline: It Was Only a Matter of Time: Here Comes an App for Fake Videos. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

KEVIN ROOSE

The post Here Come the Fake Videos, Too appeared first on dailygate.

[seminarsacademy]

Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination

Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination

Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination

How I Went From Struggling To Dominating Online With Facebook Ads

IMG_5554 about pageA few years ago, I was studying in a doctoral program to become a psychologist. I wanted to make my parents proud and become Dr. Ilean but I quickly found out that I was meant for something else. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to do about it. So I did what any scared person does when they are stuck-I kept doing the same thing over and over hoping for a different result. I wondered, “Who am I to want more or to be more?” As the daughter of immigrant parents, I was raised on the notion of living the “American Dream” and having a better life than those who came before me. I worked very hard and not only did I get fantastic grades but I even shared my research at professional conferences. Despite doing everything in my power to live the “American Dream”, I was faced with a nightmare that I did not know how to wake up from. I’ll never forget the day when I had finally suffered enough. I refused to come home another day in tears because I was so miserable in my current situation. Despite being afraid of letting down my parents and no idea how I was going to re-create myself, I took a chance on myself. I decided to help people via my business while building the lifestyle of my dreams. Needless to say, I had big dreams and a small budget. The only thing that wasn’t small after making the decision to take my business and life to new heights was my mindset. I was ready to win! My struggles in the beginning… When I started developing my business full-time I was scared, exhausted, and on a tight budget. I wondered how all of the gurus seemed to have so much time to dedicate to the beach and travel while I barely had time to send out an email! Thankfully, I invested in my training and learned all about Facebook ads. When I started my business, I just wanted to keep a roof over my head and be happy. Today, thanks to the leverage I have with Facebook, I’m doing better than I could have imagined as you can see with these results: -Spending the summer in the Dominican Republic with my husband -Road trip all over the US -Award-winning coach for Digital Products Leader -Over 20,000 followers online -Sales in my sleep in 20+ countries -Almost 30,000 subscribers from 40+ countries -Coaching at international retreats, cruises, and various exotic locations -International mission work How I went from a hot mess to a success: By developing specific strategies and connecting with my ideal client on social media, I began a marketing campaign. Soon after, I knew I had done something right when I was making dinner for my husband and received a notice that I had made a sale to a customer in Peru. Peru?! I have been there, climbed Machu Picchu but definitely did not know anyone there who knew about my product. My very specific & strategic marketing strategies to find my ideal customer allowed me to sift through the millions of people on the internet to find exactly who I could serve with my product. The customer was delighted because he finally found exactly what he was looking for and I was thrilled because I knew my systems were working. Imagine making sales in another country to people you have never personally spoken to. Yes its possible & that’s the power of online marketing. I am a passionate lady boss that can teach you proven online strategies without that feeling of overwhelm. I know that you are busy (and wear many hats as it is in your business) but I can help you create a strategy that works for your schedule, your budget, and your strengths. I can show you what to do, how to do it, and why it will work. Are you tired of creating Facebook ads that do not get approved?

Are you worried that you will break the bank by advertising without seeing a return?

Are you frustrated because you don’t know how much to spend or how often to advertise?

Learn how to promote your business on social media with as little as $5 a day. Sound too good to be true? If you’ve been creating ads that don’t work, I can see why. Advertising is all about quality not quantity.

I’m Ilean and I want to share with you my proven system for creating powerful ads that turn perfect strangers on social media into paying customers that are excited to work with you!

It’s not magic- it’s strategy. Here’s the problem: As a small business owner, you don’t have a lot of time or money to waste. That is why it is so important to learn how to dominate social ads so that you can increase your return on investment. The solution? It’s time that you learn how to dominate social ads so that you feel more confident promoting your business and get the results you desire. Why You’re Crazy If You’re Not Advertising On Facebook

With over 1+ billion active monthly users, there is no question that your dream clients are waiting for you to show up on their newsfeed so that you can connect. Facebook is undeniably the #1 social media platform in the world! Check out the statistics that Mark Zuckerberg shared recently: 563a86c604ca7 As a small business owner, this is great news! Facebook is the ideal bridge between you and your ideal customers. Facebook is the perfect platform for you if you are looking to: Grow your email list Increase your following & get more likes Increase registrations/leads to your events Grow a global brand Make more sales If you are ready to make a quantum leap in your business, there is no better place to promote your business than Facebook. It’s easy access to people around the world and market research tools will allow you to grow your business faster than ever before. Facebook Myths Debunked:

You need a lot of money to succeed. FALSE. In my most recent webinar, I generated almost 700 leads for $29.15!! While I must admit that these results are not typical, neither are my strategies. I was able to significantly increase my sales without needing millions or even thousands of dollars and you can too. You simply the recipe to get the results you want for your business. You cannot track a return on investment (ROI). FALSE. You can build your brand with as little as $5 a day. Investing money on your online marketing strategies is one of the most scientific ways to market and know exactly how much you are paying to acquire your customer. Unlike a TV or radio ad or a billboard, online marketing can tell you exactly what is working and what is not. With a combined little risk and generous data, you will quickly learn what is working in your business and what is not. In other words, you will have the feedback you need to learn more about your audience and make the necessary adjustments to make your dreams come true. Facebook ads are too difficult to create. FALSE. You can create Facebook ads in 5 minutes or less thanks to my easy-to-follow tutorials. You do not need any experience or prior technical knowledge. Think about it this way. Which of these options is easier to do? 1. Randomly buy ingredients at the grocery store and hope you know what to do with them. OR 2. Read a recipe written by someone who knows how to cook what you love and follow it. I vote for option #2. Why waste precious time re-inventing the wheel? You will have more success implementing proven-strategies that work rather than trying to figure things out on your own. Your energy will be better spent on what you are good at- your area of expertise. You cannot track a return on investment (ROI). FALSE. Unlike traditional advertising that is difficult to track, online marketing allows you increase exposures to your brand. Whether its with a Facebook newsfeed ad, retargeting ads, or a follow-up email campaign, your ads will be seen by your target customer. According to HubSpot “The average company saw a 185% increase in sales after crossing the 1,000 Facebook Fans.” Those are pretty astonishing results! For my legal friends….results vary, results are not typical…. BUT If I did it, if other businesses are doing it, Why not you? Introducing Social Ads Domination:

Dynamic Training Modules Designed To Supercharge Your Social Advertising Campaigns!

Module 1: Social Ads Domination 101

-Proven strategies to turn followers into paying customers -What you should give away as free content vs. what to charge for -Top offers to promote to increase engagement & build your list -How to budget for advertising to reach your goals (what to promote, how much to spend, & how often to promote)

Module 2: How to write compelling text/copy for your ads

-Easy-to-follow template for Facebook ad copywriting -How to avoid getting your ads disapproved by Facebook -How to create a survey to figure out what your ideal customers want -How to test multiple offers

Module 3: Branding like a boss

-How to edit & resize images for your ads -Highest converting images to use to promote your products/services -How to get free images for your ads that convert -The 3 types of images that will boost your brand on Facebook

Module 4: How to create & upload ads to Facebook

-How to create ads in the power editor -How to create a conversion pixel to track your results -Targeting ninja strategies- How to find your ideal audience that is interested in what you have to offer -How to get 1,000 new followers on Facebook in a week But That’s Not All! Act Now And Get Access To These Exclusive BONUSES!

Module 5: How to attract your ideal clients so that you can sell-out your programs

($297 VALUE!)

Module 6: {CASE Study} How I made $50k+ in a single launch with webinars

($497 VALUE!)

Module 7: Sales funnels that convert- How to generate an extra $50k- $100k a year on complete auto pilot

($497 VALUE!)

Here’s what you’ll learn:

How to create a Facebook ad in the power editor in only 5 minutes or less How to avoid to top money-sucking mistakes advertisers make How to build your list without breaking the bank How to get 1,000+ new followers on Facebook So much more! Here’s what you’ll get when you enroll today:

Instant Access! Lifetime access (worried about Facebook updates in the future? We’ve got you covered! We consistently update the course training materials to reflect the most up to date information) Video training modules Dynamic workbooks “Insider secret” revealing cheat sheets

Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination

Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination

The post Ilean Harris – Social Ads Domination appeared first on Seminars Success Academy.

[char27martin]

Debut Author Tell All: KD Proctor

While reviewing debut authors to cover in the Guide to Literary Agents 2018 feature, Debut Authors Tell All, I came across KD Proctor, who didn’t have an agent, but whose novel was coming out in July 2017. While I couldn’t include her in the book, I felt it important to feature KD in another way—as the story of someone who can make it in this business without an agent.

It’ll require just as much research to make sure that small press you’re going with is legitimate, but the rewards, as KD points out, can be tremendous. Just think, with a smaller press, you’ll often have their marketing team more focused on you. That publisher is more invested in you as an author.

Interested in reading about more debut authors? Be sure to pick up a copy of Guide to Literary Agents 2018, where you can find similar tell-alls from Jessica Strawser, Angie Thomas, Sophie Chen Keller, Danya Kukafka, Lauren Fern Watt, and more.

KD Proctor http://www.kdproctor.com/ MEET ME UNDER THE STARS (New Adult Contemporary Romance, BookFish Books, July 2017)

Quick Take: Trying to get her life back on track after her sister’s death, Charlie Conti never dreamed she’d be asked to work with her ex-boyfriend, Nate Walsh, to fulfill her sister’s last wish: creating a summer camp scholarship in her honor. What could possibly go wrong? (spoiler alert: everything)

Writes From: West Central, Minnesota.

Pre-Book: I’ll be the first one to admit that while I have a Bachelor’s in English, I never had plans to write a novel (though my mother will argue that she “always thought I should”). In my undergrad, I was active in student leadership and loved the college environment so much I never wanted to leave. I entered a Master’s program for College Student Personnel and have been working in some capacity at a college or university since. I’m now at a small, community college in rural Minnesota working with the senior administration on various projects and initiatives.

Time Frame: I actually stumbled upon the idea of writing a novel while researching the online community Wattpad. A faculty member wanted to use it in their online course. I had no idea what Wattpad was, and in researching it I was blown away by the work writers were posting online. It got me thinking about what I would write. That was spring 2014 and by late summer 2014 I had written my first draft of an action thriller. It was rough. And choppy. And a total disaster with the character arcs spinning out of control, erratic pacing, etc. But with feedback from those who read it, my eyes were opened to the process of writing a novel.

As I learned, it’s not as easy as it looks. I also learned “pantsing” (writing by the seat of your pants) didn’t work for me. I had to be mindful and deliberate about plotting. I also took my time to read more contemporary books and even picked up plotting resource book which helped me break down and understand the critical details around plotting and character arcs. I buddied up with other writers to critique and better understand how everything fit together.

That learning curve opened the floodgates and in March 2015 I got the idea for MEET ME UNDER THE STARS. I wrote the first draft in a month. Like my very first manuscript it was choppy and rough and it needed a lot of work. And while I had learned so much during my first manuscript of that action thriller, I was learning even more with this manuscript. By fall of 2015 I was getting closer, the plot much tighter and unnecessary filler and fluff were cut. I had a goal in mind: get my manuscript ready for PitchWars 2016. PitchWars is an opportunity for writers to submit their manuscripts to published and/or agented authors who agree to mentor the writer for eight weeks to get their full manuscript polished for an agent pitch round in November.

But to make sure I was ready for PitchWars, I took a stab at another pitching contest—this one on Twitter—called Sun vs. Snow. In late January 2016, I tossed my hat in the ring and was one of the first 200 entrants to the contest. The hosts narrow down the entries to the top 32. I never expected to make the cut—but I did. I was paired with a mentor who helped me polish my query and the first page of my manuscript. Like PitchWars, it would also be viewed by agents.

It was during that prep period that my mentor also encouraged me to participate in another Twitter pitch event, PitMatch. This was more challenging because I had to narrow down my query to a 140-character pitch (including hashtags). It was in that pitch that I was matched with several agents and a few editors, including BookFish Books. Combined with the agent requests from Sun vs. Snow, I knew I had a story on my hands that people were interested in.

In April 2016 my deal with BookFish Books was finalized and it is set for publication in July 2017.

Enter the Agent: With all of those Twitter pitch contests, it’s clear that I was interested in securing an agent. Every agent who requested my manuscript was someone I’d be honored to work with. The query (or Twitter pitch) hooked them and I got several requests for additional pages (including several “full” requests), but every one turned into a rejection.

The rejections didn’t faze me at all, but there was a common theme emerging. My book is technically falling into the age range called New Adult. Many scoff at that classification because they think it is just another way to market books. New Adult aged books are typically college students (18-25ish) and the arc is usually future focused relating to “firsts” that usually happen at that age—first major job out of college, first major break up, overdrawing that bank account and not having mom or dad to bail you out, etc.

As agents read it, the feedback was incredibly positive, complimenting me on all of the mechanical pieces (voice, writing strength, plot, pacing, etc., which meant my hard work in learning the craft paid off). But that emerging theme was a crusher: They are unable to sell New Adult books. Their request for more pages was to see if I could voice the book “up”—to more traditional adult contemporary romance, or “down” to young adult.

They all agreed: My voice was incredibly strong and changing it would take away from the book.

So … now what?

Shelving my book didn’t feel right. I knew in my gut that this would be the book I’d be publishing. But I also knew self-publishing wasn’t the right option for me. I tried voicing the book down to young adult (which also meant changing the plot considerably) and the joy for the story was lost. I also tried changing it from first-person/present tense to third-person/past tense (the more common voice for adult, contemporary romance), and it felt stiff and clunky.

At the same time I was querying agents, I had queried the editors from BookFish Books. This is a common mistake that new writers often make in the excitement of pitch contests on Twitter. Those “likes” get your pulse racing! But writers should choose to query agents or editors, not both. But it played to my advantage because they offered me a publishing deal.

The funny thing is—I was hesitant to take their offer at first. Did I walk away from the agent search too soon? What if there was someone out there who could sell it? Am I just jumping at this because it was the first deal on the table? I mean, I did my research prior to sending out my query. But now with an offer I really wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed anything that I would later regret. I contacted a few well-respected authors that I not only trusted, but who knew their way around the query and offer trenches. They provided me with several things to consider when looking at a small press that wouldn’t necessarily be found on places like Absolute Write’s message boards.

Everything came back positive. Yes, BookFish Books is a very small press (publishing on average four books per year). As a new author, though, I liked the idea of having the press staff giving me a little extra attention during every phase of the process. My personal goals for publishing are to write books that make me proud of the end product. Going with a small press would help me do just that.

So what about that pesky New Adult classification? Small indie presses are craving New Adult novels and readers are buying them! I will say, though, that going with a small press isn’t right for everyone. Just like agents, authors need to trust their gut.

Biggest Surprise: The editing process. When I saw the notes and suggestions, the first thing I asked myself was, “Are you sure you want to publish my book?” I’d never seen so many editing notes in my life! It was intense. I had 5 passes with my content editor and managing editor before it went to line edits! Then there was another pass with the managing editor before galley edits (the proof pages).

But the biggest surprise of the editing process goes back to continually learning the craft. I continue to learn so much and it’s amazing when I can catch my own mistakes during the writing process. Manuscripts I’m drafting currently have benefited greatly from the things my editors pointed out.

What I Did Right: Using social media and joining the 17 Scribes.

After I signed my deal I noticed a group on Twitter called the Sweet 16’s: Authors publishing their first book in the Middle Grade and Young Adult classifications in 2016. I searched for a group like that for Adult or New Adult books, but one didn’t exist. But then, a few authors got together and created one and the 17 Scribes was born. This group is for authors publishing Adult and New Adult classified books in all genres. We have mystery, thrillers, romance, historical, women’s fiction, LGBTQ+, Christian and much more. You name it, we have it! Being in this group means we support each other and share our successes, frustrations, and most of all, promote each other’s books when the time comes for our debut.

I’ve mentioned Twitter a lot and surprisingly it has been where I’ve made all of my book connections. The thing is, you have to push yourself out of your comfort zone to make those connections work. You can’t expect one tweet to be the one heard around the world and people will come running. Reach out. Engage. Comment. Use the hash tags. Participate in weekly events like #1lineWed (where a theme is given and you find a line in your manuscript that fits the theme).

At the end of the day, everyone is on the same street corner peddling their books. What are you going to do to get noticed so others share in your success with you?

I Wish I Would Have Done Different: While I love social media, it was eye opening (and a little embarrassing) to learn that there is a huge difference between “followers” and “genuine connections.” It’s a common mistake. People believe if you have 5,000 followers on Twitter, you have 5,000 people interested in your book or whatever you’re passionate about.

Not even close.

Instead, I’m now focused on building genuine connections with people. Keep in mind there is a difference between “connecting” and “spamming”. I treat Twitter like a giant 24/7 cocktail party. I make small talk where I’m comfortable.

Platform: I knew from the start I couldn’t be on everything, so I picked those I was comfortable with: Facebook (both an author fan page and author profile—I do not use my “in real life” Facebook profile for my author “stuff”, especially since I write under a pen name), Twitter and Instagram.

The cool thing about these platforms is the creativity you can have with it. For example, a lot of people asked what I was doing for a book launch. To be honest, I didn’t want a big party. So, instead I opted for a live reading via Facebook live.

I’ve also used Instagram to tease my book using photos to describe the plot and backstory, which I’ve written on my blog. Like Twitter, Instagram uses hashtags where I’ve found other author connections—but again, I wanted to connect. I’m not worried about follower numbers or “likes” on photos.

But I’ve also learned that you need balance. Those who use social media to do nothing but pitch their books and share reviews get the mute button on my side (again, the difference between “connecting” and “spamming”). I want to hear about your life, not just your book! So I try to model that behavior and share funny events that happen to me, like how my husband and I have a constant fight on the best way to load the dishwasher, or how my dog rolled around in a muddy patch of our yard—right after getting a bath.

It goes back to that genuine connection—I want readers to know I’m just like them!

Advice for Writers: Here are my top 10 advice points:

You don’t have to write every day. Write because you want to, not because some meme or article or best-selling author said you had to.

You have to be open to feedback, even if it doesn’t make sense or if you don’t agree with it—hearing feedback and learning to pick out the parts that can be of benefit is a skill worth learning. And don’t react to feedback immediately. Let it sink in first. You might be surprised at how well it will improve your story!

Get a critique partner. No. Your mom, best friend, and/or partner don’t count. Neither do coworkers, the deacon at your church, or your hair stylist. (Hint: Four times a year there is a critique partner match up on Twitter using the hashtag #CPMatch.)

Don’t be a jerk. People remember jerks. People especially remember jerks who proclaim that an agent or editor is making a “huge mistake” by passing them up.

Your second book does not have to come out the same year as your debut. Take your time and publish when you’re ready.

Self-publishing is not subpar. Don’t paint all self-published books with the same brush. Several of my favorites are self-published.

If you do self-publish, take your time. Self-published books get a bad rap because authors rush the process. Hire good editors. Hire good cover designers. This is your first shot to make a good impression, don’t waste it.

Reviews aren’t for you; they’re for other readers.

In fact, don’t even read your reviews. If you are in need of a positive pick me up when you’re feeling down on your writing, have a friend scour the reviews for you and pick out the 4 and 5 star reviews.

Find balance. Take time away from writing. Spend it with your family. Walk the dog. Do yoga. Bake cookies. Call your mom. Have coffee with a friend. Read a book for fun. Self-care is the best care and only you can do it.

Next Up: I’m publishing a novella in a holiday anthology with all the proceeds going to charity. Each of the stories cross over into one another, like the movie LOVE, ACTUALLY. My story is about a crown royal who is in hiding because she doesn’t know if she wants to take the throne her father is abdicating—and it just so happens she’s hiding out in the same New England town as her ex-fiancé. (I mean, really…what can go wrong?)

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If you’re an agent looking to update your information or an author interested in contributing to the GLA blog or the next edition of the book, contact Writer’s Digest Books Managing Editor Cris Freese at cris.freese@fwmedia.com.

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