#hard to describe the Indian nod

[marlenesluv]

۵pairing: fem!albonsibling!ballerina x platonic f1 grid. also, reader x lando norris

۵type: social media au and dialogue

۵authors note: i really love making these, so i’m excited to work on a part 3! also, i know alex has other siblings, i’m just not including them in these posts!

۵warnings: cussing, talk of blood (someone cut their finger, not bad or described much), talk of ballet darks: not eating as much, rude teachers, mean comments.

۵summary: after y/n albon lost her ballet partner, lando comes over to comfort her. but she of course still has a lot of practice before swan lake in two months.

۵this is part 3! please read part 1 and part 2 before this. (part 1 is mine, j on my main blog)

masterlist here -> masterlist link

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were devastated to lose your partner, Ben, but all good things must come to an end, apparently. That’s what Lily had told you, at least.

Ben was an amazing dancer, he was, but your ballet instructor has wanted you to do solos for years now. Saying you had “too much potential to waste” and “you’re too talented to be focusing on another person when the show is about you.” Of course this was very nice, but Ben wasn’t only your ballet partner, but a friend.

The two of you went to the movies together, got coffee before practice, dinner after, it was nice. And you were happy that he had found a girl for him. You just didn’t expect for her to make him quit ballet.

That’s right, not a sport he had outgrown or gotten bored of. No no. Destiny was not a fan of the fact that he spent all of his time in the studio. Understandable, but dating a ballet dancer, that is a given. It was a shame that Ben had thrown all of his hard work away for a girl.

But here you were, unlocking your apartment door as Lando Norris walked in with a bag of Indian food and an extra hoodie on his shoulder.

“Hey! I got you some butter chicken and some paneer naan for us to share. Oh, and…” he pulled out two bottles of mango juice and handed them to you as you placed them on your island. “If I remembered correctly, you like mango juice?”

“Mhmm. Thank you, Lando.” you smiled up at him as he blushed a bit, clearing his throat as he sorted through the bag and you got out silverware.

“Wanna watch a show?” you asked, as you sat down beside him on your sofa, opening your juice.

“Yeah. How about ‘Brooklyn 99’?”

You nodded, opening Peacock and starting an episode as you both started eating and talking.

Talking with Lando was easy. When you ranted about how your ballet instructor stretched your arm too far backwards, he listened, only butting in to make sure you knew he was paying attention.

And when he ranted about how Checo pushed him off the track, and didn’t get penalized, you listened, you only butted in to gasp and ask the occasional question about how something worked.

You didn’t feel like he was judging you, and it was nice. Lando felt the same. You were someone that understood Formula 1 to a certain degree, since Alex talked about it, but you still asked questions, not just discounting what he was saying. Sure, Oscar wouldn’t mind listening to him blab on about shit, but Oscar wasn’t you.

And yes, you could talk to Lily, Kika, Kelly, Laila, or Carmen, but they weren’t Lando.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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y/n.albon: i am so good at chess ♟️

view comments…

user3: lando and y/n??

alex_albon: you guys are hanging out alone now??

↳ y/n.albon: i guess, yeah

↳ alex_albon: wtf!?

↳ alex_albon: y/n answer my texts what are you doing????

user5: y/n just not answering alex LMAOO

user8: i live for this duo, they are so precious to me

lilymhe: the shoesss🥹

↳ y/n.albon: ikkk🥹🩷

user7: new ship, guys. ballerina and f1 driver 🫠

user2: she’s slaying without ben, fr

kellypiquet: adorable!

*liked by creator*

user4: okay. can they date?? orrrr

↳ user9: literallyyyy

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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landonorris: 📷🩰💇‍♂️

view comments…

user1: BRO?

y/n.albon: gotta get those stretches in👯‍♀️

↳ landonorris: oh yeah🩰🙆‍♂️

user7: anyone notice how much y/n and lando have been hanging out….?

↳ user4: mhmmm. i ship

↳ user7: SAME

alex_albon: ahem, what is the second picture?

↳ y/n.user: me….alex, you’re my brother and you don’t know what i look like? shame shame

↳ alex_albon: that’s not what i meant, y/n

↳ alex_albon: why tf are you guys both on instagram and not messaging me back??

↳ alex_albon: fine. i’ll j come over, y/n

↳ y/n.albon: i’m taking my key back.

user9: little sibling fights in landos comments 😭

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Alex Albon always kept his word. So, naturally, at 8:30pm on a Thursday night, Alex unlocked his sisters apartment door with his spare key. So what if Y/N said to only use it “for emergencies” and “if i had fallen and could not get up” which she thought was hilarious, whilst he just clenched hi jaw at the thought of her falling and hurting herself.

He was definitely on the protective side, but for good reasons. All of her past boyfriends, there were two, had cheated on her. Yeah, he didn’t love how close his sister was to Lando Norris, but at least he liked Lando. Not enough to be okay with their hanging out though. But Alex trusted Lando enough to not freak out too much.

When Alex walked into his sisters apartment, he couldn’t find her anywhere. The kitchen was spotless. Marble countertops cleaned off, fridge stocked up, floor vacuumed. He should have known that was the case before he walked in.

Every Wednesday and Sunday, Y/N cleaned her apartment. It was something she had control over. She didn’t have control over what she ate, her ballet instructor did. She didn’t have control over her spare time, it was spent at the studio. Alex felt bad sometimes, she had dedicated her life since she was five to ballet.

Sure, Alex had dedicated his life to Formula 1 as well, but he knew ballet was more draining. He’d seen the breakdowns first hand. Y/N coming to his house after practice and crying in his arms because she didn’t get a part. Or when she had called Alex ten times and then Lily because she needed new ballet shoes and her instructor wanted them now.

And he would never forget the times that her instructor would tell her to not eat as much, and that she needed to slim down. She would come over for dinner with him and Lily, and drink her water and maybe some vegetables.

It always made Lily mad. She hated how Y/N was treated, they both did. They also both knew how much ballet meant to Y/N, so they never told her to quit.

“Alex?” Alex whipped his head around to see his sister in her ballet leggings, a sweater, and boots.

Y/N sat her ballet bag on the barstool and emptied her water bottle out as she looked at Alex. “Dude? What are you doing in my house?”

“Oh, u-um. I was checking on you. Forgot you had to go in today. Sorry.” He blinked, looking at her tight bun on her head. “Hey, shouldn’t you take that out before your head pops off?”

“So funny, ha-ha.” Y/N mocked, getting out some fruit. “Did you need something? Or did you wanna stay?”

“Sorry, right. Lily wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Just Lily?” Y/N raised a brow as she plopped a strawberry into her mouth and chewed.

“No, dumbass. I want you to, too. Bring someone ever too, if you want.” Alex shrugged, accepting the strawberry his sister offered him.

“Mmk. Like who?….Lando?”

“I don’t care. If you want to.” he chewed the berry as she grabbed two waters from her fridge and handed one to Alex.

“Alright. Thanks. That it?” she asked, sighing.

Alex knew she wasn’t trying to be rude. She wanted to be alone, he understood. She had been at the studio since 8:00am, she was tired and wanted to sleep.

“Nope, that’s it. See you tomorrow?” Alex walked to the door, Y/N behind him.

“Yup. Love you, Alex. I’ll see ya.”

“Love you too. See ya tomorrow.” Alex shut the door behind him and walked to the elevator, pushing his thoughts away that maybe his sister was dating Lando.

He shook his head and sent a text to Lily to let him know that he was on his way home. Tomorrow night would be interesting.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

F1 Updates @f1updatepage • 2hr

Our beloved Y/N Albon has been spotted on a boat with Lando Norris. The photo below was taken last week:

↳ Y/N my Icon! @y/n4lifeeee • 1hr

WHAT- i knew they were hanging out, butttt why am i shipping them so hard rn????

↳ Piasstri🍑 @oscandlan • 1hr

idk if i want to be y/n or if i want to be with y/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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y/n.albon: pinky 🌸🩰🎀👛

view comments…

user9: SLAY PINK QUEEN

user4: fits always eat

lailahasanovic: cutieeeee

↳ y/n.albon: awe laila🩷

user6: no lando pics?? :(

↳ user2: im sure we will soon lol

danielricciardo: shes working💅🩰

↳ y/n.albon: yuh

f1wags: y/n’s life is sooo aesthetic fr

y/nballetstudio: our favvvv

*liked by creator*

user3: my literal inspo, ugh

landonorris: coffee coffee coffee

↳ y/n.user: thx for the coffee coffee coffee

↳ user1: hold up. he made her that coffee??????

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You were nervous for dinner with Lily and Alex on Friday night. Actually, the dinner that was currently 3 hours away.

And yes, you invited Lando. So what? You weren’t even sure if you guys were just friends, or maybe he wanted something more….

It was confusing. One day, you guys are hanging out, cuddling on your couch while talking, and the next, he doesn’t even text you.

But he happily accepted the invite. Which is why Lando was sitting on your bed, watching you apply your lipgloss at your mirror. The shiny gloss catching his eye as you smiled and asked him a question.

“Lando? You there?” you waved your hand, smiling and laughing a bit.

“What? Oh, mhmm. Yeah. I heard you.” he shook his head, hoping you would repeat what you had said.

“You do think that we should get sushi next week for lunch?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side and smirking.

“Y/N, no. Don’t joke like that. You don’t even like sushi!” Lando whined, making you laugh.

“I know, sorry. I asked if I looked okay?” you smoothed your black skirt down, pulling the sleeves of the white shirt down a bit.

Lando swallowed, clearing his throat. What was he supposed to say? You truly always looked breathtaking to him. He couldn’t say that though. “Yeah, you look great.” Lando smiled and got up from your bed.

“Ok, thanks. Let’s go?” you shook off the weird feeling you had, grabbing your purse and snapping a mirror picture while Lando got his phone off the charger.

………

Once you guys got to Alex and Lilys, everything went smoothly. Alex and Lando chatted about the cars while they prepared the salad, and you and Lily talked about her latest golf outing and your rehearsals.

That’s how it always went. Except usually Alex would rant about the cars to you and Lily at dinner. Occasionally getting a breadstick thrown at him because you found his complaining aggravating.

“I know! And get this, my engineer said-“ Alex was ranting as Lando kept glancing your way. The was you doubled over when Lily said something, or the way you bit your lip as you concentrated on the pasta. He shook his head and listened to Alex talk about his balance in the car.

“Y/N. You need to seriously open your eyes.” Lily said, looking at you with a hand on her hip.

“They are! The pasta is fine- what…why are you mom stancing me right now?” you questioned, lips parted and brows furrowed.

“Do you not see the way Lando looks at you? He’s going to chop off a finger if he keeps glancing over here and not at his carrots.” Lily sighed, and right on cue….

“Ow! Fuck!” Lando cursed, hissing in pain, holding his finger.

“Lando! What the fuck? You’re getting blood all over the cutting board.” Alex complained, earning a cup thrown at his head from you as you ran over to Lando.

“What did you do?!” you asked, running his finger under cold water. It wasn’t a deep cut, but he grazed his finger with the blade.

“Um…I don’t know. Just thinking about the cars, I guess.” he shrugged, thanking you for getting the bandaids from the drawer behind him and helping him wrap it.

“Alex, you’re so rude! When a guest cuts their finger, you help! Not complain about your $15 cutting board.” Lily scolded Alex, shaking her head.

Alex scoffed, “Lily, he’s fine.” The couple set the table as you guys took your seats. You and Lando on one side, and Lily and Alex across from you.

“Sorry for not helping, Lando.” Alex said, side eyeing Lily.

You giggled a bit as Lando started laughing, “mhm, it’s okay.”

Dinner went well, conversations flowed well and it was nice to talk to the people you enjoyed being around. Now id only you could figure your feelings for Lando out…

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[margokesses]

I ask this because I remember reading the book Criers' War (I ended up DNF'ing bc the writing style was not for me). But I do remember the 2 leads being described with non-white physical features but the author never added anything else to show that they were non-white so I had a hard time imagining them as being so.

And that reminded me of The Jasmine Throne where the characters are also described as non-white but because this is an Indian based fantasy world and you get to see nods to that culture through things like the language, foods, dress, etc. I had no time seeing these women as Indian women.

But I am also reminded of Sydney Adamu from The Bear and how on screen, her culture isn't really being shown. But because I can see that she is Black woman, I can also see the layers added to her character and her story of trying to gain respect from running and eventually opening a restaurant. Even though those layers are not explicitly said on screen.

Anyways I hope this makes sense. Please feel free to reblog for more results!

Also I know that some white person is gonna ask: yes y'all can reblog but don't be adding shit. I do not care about your opinion on POC representation.

[rs-hawk]

The Thunderbird: Part One

If you like Indigenous mythology, make sure to follow me for updates on my Indigenous Americans Folklore Romance staring January 15, 2024!

You never really listened to your mother about what was out there. You always considered the old stories to be that. Just stories. Everything they talked about could be easily explained by science. Well, maybe not everything, but at least most things. Believing in those stories made you feel like you were playing into the stereotype of a “superstitious Indian”. Frankly, it angered you if you thought about it too much, because if you didn’t, you felt like you were denying such an important part of yourself.

However, if anyone asked, and if you were to look in your heart of hearts, you had to honestly say that you didn’t believe. They’re just stories. Stories made to explain things your ancestors didn’t understand, and to be warnings to keep children safe. Like why you shouldn’t go into the woods alone, or why you should try to find cover during thunderstorms. Maybe if you had listened though, you could have just continued your life.

On New Year’s Eve, you were driving home from your parents’ house. You had work the next day, unfortunately, and your family can get a little out of hand at parties. It wasn’t quite midnight, but you didn’t mind reigning in the New Year alone. You just wanted to be able to get some sleep.

As you thought about how much part of you wished you could have stayed, you saw lightening flash across the sky. You slowed down, wearily watching for another flash, when thunder boomed so loudly your car shook. Your stomach dropped through your feet to the floor, with your heart following when you see what can only be described as a bird the size of a helicopter.

Your entire body trembled as you watched it soar through the dark sky, but even more so when the creature slammed into the ground in front of you. All the stories your mother said came racing back to you. Men turned to monsters by their immoral actions. Creatures too beyond human comprehension, so this is all we can see with our human eyes.

You weren’t sure what happened next, but the hood was ripped off of your car, and the cold winter air seeping into your bones. The creature peered inside at you, chirping and clicking at you. You swallowed hard as it’s long beak picked you up by the collar, dropping you on the ground beside your car. You couldn’t even scream. The fright left you feeling numb.

A caw that sounded like thunder boomed from the beak as it bumped its head against your cheek. Other stories also bubble up from the back of your mind. Creatures beyond humans, who won’t even have a Chief of War as they are above it. Protectors of their cousin nations. Protectors of sister tribes. Those who live just beyond, in the upper world. The closest to Father Sun and Mother Moon that any of Their children will ever be.

You stood up on trembling knees, and the creature just watched you. After a few moments, you started walking along the street, wondering if it would follow you. There was another flash of lighting in the sky, followed by a deep boom of thunder. You know it’s from the bird. As you’re walking, you see a massive pile up ahead. Police cars and ambulances circle the cars, pulling out survivors. If you hadn’t stopped when you saw that thing, you would have been here. In that carnage.

Fear made a lump bubble in your throat as a police officer walked up to you. “Are you alright Miss? It’s freezing out here. Were you involved in the accident?”

“No. No, um, I was attacked a little way back but it left. It destroyed my car so I was going to walk home,” you explained, not wanting to really explain what happened. How could you?

The officer frowned, looking you up and down. “You’re sure that’s what happened?”

Heat flushed your cheeks as you nodded. You knew what he was thinking, but you weren’t drunk. You hadn’t touched a drop. “Yes sir, but I’m alright. I’ll call a tow truck in the morning.”

He grunted out a “fine” before turning away to pay attention to the scene in front of you. The booming of thunder made you wince, drawing your coat closer to you.

To continue this story, check out the IAF Romance Series tier on my Ko-fi here! Hope to see you there

[boyakishantriage]

The storm thundered, raging outside the shuttle.

"How the hell-"

"I'm Malay."

"... What?"

She took a breath. Looking at the alien.

"Felt the air. Felt it coming."

"... How?"

Taking a sigh, she stopped prodding the fire.

"1. We're in a jungle 2. There's plants here 3. It clearly rains a lot, y'know. Unmoving drainage channels. 4. Planet's breath in. Ie spread out their leaves, take more water because they're spread out making the temperature, air, everything feels slower cooler and like the jungle is breathing in."

"... But how-"

"I'm a Malay."

"... What's a Malay?"

She looked at the jungle, then her tanned skin, then her indian friend.

A good, five minutes later.

"You used to live in a jungle. Huh?"

"I mean, living in a tropical country for 2-3 years tends to make you pick up skills you literally can't forget for humans."

Poking the darker skinned woman, the swearing noises of the rest of the crew as they ran through the rain as the captain asked.

"So why did you set-"

"... I don't get it, why are you drying them?"

"1. This is a jungle, surprisingly a lot of diseases and pathogens THRIVE in wet conditions 2. They're probably gonna get hit the hardest because they're covered in water and we don't have that many resources 3. Angland here hails from sauna country, her body's gonna get hyperthermia because she's used to dipping and resting in saunas every few days 4. I killed a few things and red dot found what are probably spices. And ya can't eat food raw in the jungle."

"... Did you just say probably?"

"This is an alien planet dear."

Tending to the fire, the woman states something, she nods, pushing a charcoal over increasing heat.

Biting into the meat, the two talk between each other.

The anglish remains deeper into the shuttle, thankfully waterproof as half of it was delved into the river. The water murky as the Terran pulled leaves over the fire, pouring the water into containers for the rest of the crew to drink. Alongside the fruit, "taro" "sago" and a few other things strangest being what she described as similar to "dragon fruit". Most of the food scanned and marked as safe, excusing the dragon fruit for myself.

"It's too hot."

"... Don't you live in the cold?"

"Hey. I'm not a Russian. I've lived in Finland for a long time, but I'm still English."

"Ok, fair. But I thought you were more English."

"... Y'know that for us english folk, 24°C is a hot summer day."

"... But it's ~30°..."

"Yeah. It's boil-"

There came a bonking sound, something had struck the end of the shuttle. And then some kind of-

The Terran had jumped down, pulling both of them out as the back of the shuttle gnawed through, the river flooding into the back as the mangrove beside us' roots grew through the shuttle's back. Small fish had left a body clean, a rifle in hand the human had it aimed up stream.

"Ellie. What. How-"

"Heard gnawing."

"...."

BANG.

"And I've found the pirates. This shuttle was the broken one or something, nearest being 20k away, that's a day and a half ish of time. OI. MATE-"

The captain grabbed her shoulder.

"What?"

"Human Ellie. Explain to me, how you're doing this."

"the gnawing thing, food or-"

"How did you see those-"

He paused heavy rain striking the forest and river as blood trailed from the eaten pirate body. Clothes ripped to shreds, hard cartilage and a bullet hole in the man's head before it gets eaten.

[charlesandmartine]

Friday 7th July 2023

It was 300km from Banff to Jasper which is by any stretch a long way. We had decided to visit Johnston Canyon on route; just outside Banff having been advised to pop in there by some local Canadians we met the other day. They gave us the nod and the wink that we ought not miss in and not a lot of people know that. Certainly it wasn't in the Lonely Planet oracle so off we went. There was the exit from Highway 1; quiet road, nobody but us, 17kms the same. Then we turned the corner at the brown sign and were faced with a signboard saying Car Park 1 full, 13 spaces in Car Park 2! The place was heaving. Clearly our Canadian had been nodding and winking quite a lot. So basically we joined a queue of thousands shuffling along a narrow path for 2 miles to view the canyon and waterfalls. Many should not have been shuffling in the first place due to limb and age afflictions which did rather slow the process somewhat. Some poor soul was being attended to by a paramedic half way along, defibrillators at the ready just before a stretcher mysteriously arrived. I think she was okay, but the route clearly more challenging for some of our fellow explorers. The whole thing started in the 1880's by a prospector called Johnston. He didn't find anything so he moved on leaving just his name behind. Very dramatic falls, very long queue to see them because the vantage platform was small and it was full of Indians and Chinese wanting to grin inanely at the lens for selfies. And because they all seemed to be in huge groups, ensuring all combinations had equal opportunity to grin at the appropriate time took a great deal of organising. A grin of happiness that did not interestingly survive long after the shot had been taken. We removed ourselves from this little known place as quickly as we could.

Soon after rejoining Highway 1, we were directed to Highway 93 to Jasper, still 270 odd kilometres away. Big sign suggesting we would soon be entering the Jasper National Park. Did we have our pass handy? Well no we didn't. Never mind, join the 'pay for one here' lane. We pulled up by a small kiosk and there cheerily greeting us was what appeared to be a very young, uniformed, full moon bespectacled girl guide in the full flush of youth. I'm not sure her mum knew she was out. Where are we travelling to today she enquired with a raised inflection. Jasper I said. You will need a National Parks Pass then. Oh I said. How long shall you be staying in Jasper? Two nights I replied truthfully. Oh, that will be $36. Is there an alternative route I enquired not being too keen on the $36 part of the deal. No she said, and even if there was (and here's the clever bit) since Jasper is in the Park, you'd still have to pay. She excelled on the ending of this sentence by not only including an inflection but enabling it to rise almost to a loud squeak. She surprised even herself with this and apologised, as she put it, for the high octave. Out came the hard earned and we were away again. The 93, or Icefields Parkway as it is also referred to because it climbs exceedingly high, passing various glaciers, is a very picturesque route. We were particularly impressed with Bow Lake; turquoise blue, extremely peaceful and calm with the mountains reflecting perfectly in the very still waters. The road was long, with lots of natural wonder but not a single village or town along it. Our fuel requirements were met by one solitary oasis along the way and we paid for it in the high price per litre.

Ensconced now for the next two nights in what we might describe as merely adequate lodgings, we shall make our plans for tomorrow.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Too Old For This - Chapter 8 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Unlike Zachary, Avery didn't look racially ambiguous.

Many people would pin her as black... or at least half-black.

She had relatively curly, dark 4A hair, a broader nose, full lips and darker skin than Zachary.

She was standing by the door now with an inquisitive look on her face.

The red lipstick she had on was a little smudged from her nibbling habit.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked after a while of silence, moving away from the door before walking over to the bed.

She didn't take a seat... she just hovered about before focusing her gaze on the cat on the bed.

"A friend," Zachary mumbled, folding his legs.

"We met when you were away."  

"Oh, I see," his sister said, nodding her head.

She had on a sleeveless blouse and jean trousers head could only be described as 'mum jeans.'

Avery looked so different from him.

They'd been separated a few times as kids by teachers and coordinators because they simply didn't believe that they were siblings.

It was also a headache for his parents, who coincidentally didn't look like either of them if you didn't look hard enough.

They had the same parents but funny things could happen when both your parents were mixed race.

Zachary looked like he could pass as anything from Jewish, Romani, Indian, middle eastern and depending on how far someone was going to stretch the definition of black... maybe that too.

"Why are you home?"  

It felt weird to say but he hadn't been expecting her to be back for another week or so.

Heck, he'd been expecting her to make some excuse as to why she had to stay at her boyfriend's place some more.

She didn't even send a text or anything, just appeared out of nowhere.

Avery shrugged.

"Mum asked me to come and check up on you..." she trailed.

"Physically, not just call you," she mentioned, gesturing to herself.

"I'll be here for a few days to make sure there's some stuff to eat and that you're okay."

Zachary nodded.

He hated the way his sister... well, everyone except Leroy spoke to him like an infant they were babysitting.

He could be mad about it but honestly, the most he felt these days was a dash of shame.

He hated burdening them and needing all this attention at his age.  

"Okay, I'll be heading to my room now," his sister said.

"And maybe you can tell me a bit about your friend later. How did you meet?"

Zachary bit his bottom lip.

"He came to see the cats, then we got talking on the porch."

"I see," his sister mumbled, nodding her head.

She seemed to be contemplating if that was a good or bad thing.

"Err, he might come over tomorrow," Zachary added.

"To see the cats."  

"To see the cats?" she sounded doubtful.

"Yes."

"It's better you tell me if I need to not be here when he's here because I assure you, I'll be hearing everything from my room."

His sister sighed.

"You know you're thirty years old, you don't need a reason to meet a hookup."

Zachary felt all the blood run out of his face as his mouth hung open at his sister's words.

"That's not..." he paused, blinking rapidly.

"For fuck's sake, Avery, he's straight, don't make it weird."

His sister laughed, raising her hands as she backed up to the door.

"Whatever you say."

She was the first person to figure out Zachary was gay.

Well, there wasn't much he could do to hide it since everyone around him was handling his affairs and they were constantly only a few clicks away from his photo album and search history.

Zachary was pretty sure the first few times he'd been 'caught' it had been questionable fanfiction artwork and search terms.

Though, he wondered if his sister genuinely thought he had any sex.

It wasn't like he ever left the house or did anything to socialize.

Well, he supposed he thought he could meet people on Grindr or something.

She did meet her boyfriend on one of those dating apps.

"It's good to see you. Call me if you need anything. I'm just upstairs," his sister said, opening the door before slipping out and leaving Zachary by himself.

The man stared at the door a little too long after his sister left before looking down at his phone and texting Leroy the news.

Message to: Leroy.

You can come over tomorrow. I just confirmed.

FRI, 9:46 PM.

[hannahlandolf1]

We can use this passage to correlate the description of the blade to white supremacy as a "social norm" in 19th century America because he is describing the blade as "solid ivory." As you said that we should read too much into this, I feel like this is a nod to the fact that ivory is a "hard, white material, made from the tusks and teeth of animals.." (direct quote from google). He also said that they have engravings/ciphers or "names of its long line of professors," those of which were probably all white. The blade was Luigi Capello's, receiving it from the Indian prince, Gaikowar, who had the blade for a while before giving it to him. Tom Driscoll stole the blade, trying to sell it, but since it was so distinctive, he couldn't. So, he killed Judge Driscoll with it instead. Since the blade was given to Luigi, everyone thought he was responsible for the murder. Once the checked the fingerprints, they found the real culprit.

[animusiem]

Billboard USA Exclusion Zone Episode 20 ++ (09/02/2023)

I'm so sorry for taking another three weeks break. I was supposed to review the Travis Scott album bomb, but I really can't do album bomb week I'll be honest with you. Therefore, I'm going to limit the album bomb for at least the two highest charting songs on the album. And just for this episode, I'm gonna combined this week and the week before because I think it's at least interesting enough to talk about. No number on the chart this time so let's go on with it.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Bad Idea Right?" by Olivia Rodrigo

When the songlists from Olivia's sophomore album came out I was like "oh god she's getting too cathy with it." Well with this song I was wrong. There's a lot of witty and clever lines with the attitude of your average Gen Z that could fit in the 90's very well. I love the guitar solo too.

"MI EX TENIA RAZON" by Karol G

It's nice that we have a lot of variety in the latin music scene nowadays that we get a cumbia song by the biggest female latin pop singer still working today. Love the nods for Selena. May she rest in peace.

"QLONA" by Karol G ft. Peso Pluma

This is probably the best Peso Pluma has sounded. Who knew that when you have the best reggaeton producer working today Ovy On The Drum that you would mixed better and sounded better than any of your songs.

"Holanda" by Jhayco

Fun fact: the Dutch government has phased out the usage of Holland when calling the country Netherlands because they want other tourists to visit the other provinces. Anyways this song is alright.

"Fast Forward" by JEON SOMI

I think with how absent US is in this chart, we'll get more songs from countries and languages that I didn't listened to as much or wouldn't expect to find. Now with Kpop it's a bit different since Billboard added Melon (A South Korean music app), which means we'll get a lot of kpop songs from less well known act. Like JEON SOMI with her house influenced song that sounded not out of place from late 2019 house.

"Automotivo Bibi Fogosa" by Bibi Babydoll, Dj Brunin XM, KZA Produções

You know...it's a matter of time that the gigachad meme would be sampled...but as a Brazilian Funk song????? That's new.

"Fast Car" by Luke Combs

I think Luke Combs really filled out the space that Hootie & The Blowfish used to occupy but did it better. I think him doesn't care about charting hits is what I love about this guy. Listen to "Doin' This" y'all after you got introduced by him from this cover.

"With You" by AP Dhillon

So apparently there's too many trends happening all at once that the trend of Punjabi music from Canadian artists just flew me by and I can say that I like this trend. I grew up with a lot of Indian movies and idk something about this song really screamed modern while the vocal melody exude tradition.

"Prada" by casso ft. RAYE & D-Block Europe

This is actually my first full listen to D-Block Europe but I can tell that they don't fit in this song. Though this song is kinda hollow.

"Heeriye" by Arijit Singh, Dulquer Salmaan, Jasleen Royal

You know how I said about "With You" that the song sounds like a modern reinterpretation of an Indian movie soundtrack? Well this is like almost the exact same thing but it's actually from an Indian movies. Modern production still works within the context of Bollywood movies.

"Better Things" by aespa

The next three songs are kpop songs with some degree of intrigued. We'll start with the least intriguing one with a new song by aespa. All I can describe from this song is that it's clunky and for aespa that marketed itself with bombastic grandiose stuff, this song just doesn't do it for me.

"Killin' Me Good" by JIHYO

You know, when you are the leader of TWICE, I thought that there's more fan fare for this song. But alas this is not as successful as some people thought. Kinda unfortunate because this song slaps so hard.

"KIDDING" by ISEGYE IDOL

This is the sole reason I'm back making this episode because this is kinda momentus. This is the first time a vtuber idol group have ever charted in any Billboard chart...I think ever? Tbh separate the fact that the singers here are all vtubers...this song is just a standard Gen 3 kpop idol songs but with more higher pitch because kawaii?

"ITALODISCO" by The Kolors

Yeah this song is definitely an homage to italodisco...what I wanna to add here?

I highly recommend everyone to listen to these songs!

[mongooseblues]

Quick ficlet featuring a twenty-five year old Cal and a canonical cold during his thanksgiving break while he’s staying with a childhood friend and his family. (Auntie here is used as a respectful term not a literal one)

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

It takes about fifteen seconds of being in the house again, for him to realize there’s no hope of sneaking back to the guest bedroom to pretend he never left it. Despite how carefully and quietly he managed to open and close the front door, despite the fact that Barkya must be asleep somewhere because for once she’s not barking at him, Cal is about to call attention to his ill-advised late night stroll in the least subtle way he possibly can, and he can smother his mouth with the lapel of his coat all he likes, it’s still not going to be enough to stop him from—

“BUHSHHhoo! Huh’UHSSHHhoo!”

Becoming an abrupt disruption cutting sharply through the quiet.

And Barkya, who can only hear out of one ear these days, remembers her home security duties even from as far away as she must be according to the barking—and judging from the jingling of bangles, Naveen’s mother Sangita isn’t far behind—he is after all making a complete ruckus in the entryway.

He’s also not done, and in fact just about to collapse into his waiting elbow to vocally wrestle through a violently breathy trio.

“HRUSHH! HrrRRUHHu! ...HIRRUSSszhuu!”

Sometimes when he’s sneezing really harshly like this Cal finds himself unconsciously bringing a hand to his chest as he does. He has to acknowledge how much sense it makes that anyone ever thought a person’s soul could leave their body when they sneeze—it certainly feels like his just did.

Something about the sudden difference in temperature has his nose streaming even harder than it was outside, as well as effusively tingling with that warm, fuzzy sensation that suggests he perhaps still hasn’t quite finished this little fit, and two-fifths of the Dasgupta household round the corner just in time to watch Cal’s valiant attempt to tend to his nose with the tatters of an already very used tissue.

“Caliph?!? Tum kidhar? You were outside?”

“Ji haan,” he admits sheepishly, “I was—snff!—on the phone with a friend and it was a special occasion for him so I wanted to talk to him about it.”

“Outside in the cold this late at night when you’re sick, beta? It’s below freezing,” she says, her voice carrying as she goes to retrieve the tissue box from the other room and brings it to him.

He currently possesses only partial control of his facial expressions, plucking a tissue from the box she’s just given him and hitching through a ‘Dhanyavaad’ that gets airier and airier as his lungs inflate around it.

Finally he crushes a thoroughly unsatisfying “mMMFSHH!’hu…” into a handful of tissue, following which Barkya barks one last time for good measure before wandering elsewhere.

Sangita however is not as easily put off.

“And look at you now Caliph, you’re shaking. Going out there in this condition… did you forget you have a fever? You’re talking to a friend? Tell him next time call back.”

All Cal can do is continuously wobble his head to express his respect and agreement, reduced to this physical gesture because he’s finding it challenging to verbally convey his contrition, overwhelmed as he is by the niggling need to incessantly sneeze. A battle he can feel himself losing once again, the temptation of it, teasing at his breath the way it is, too great to resist.

“Sorry, Auntie, it rhheal—real-h-hee…heeYIHHHShue! Mm, snff! It really wasn’t—snf!—very smart of me, snffffh!”

He knows scientifically, technically, that being outside for all of twenty minutes did not actively make him sicker, just temporarily more symptomatic, though really what’s the difference as far as Sangita’s concerned when he’s standing here shivering and sniffling, the textbook example of catching one’s death. He does sort of feel sicker than he did when he left the house, or at least he feels his symptoms more acutely.

Even sniffling is starting to tickle, and while he would really love to blow his nose and it might assist in his efforts to stop sneezing, it feels inappropriate to do so during a lecture—even one as gentle as this—so he’s forced to just repeatedly rub tissues against irritated, ever-moistening nostrils. “I think I juh-h?…Um, snf! I think I juhhust learnedmylesson—”

His throat suffers through a crashing “ehhhhESHHHyeuu!” with an especially nasal, vocal last syllable that inspires a sound of sympathy from Sangita.

“Ohh beta… bechara…”

“Excuse me,” he sniffles, dabbing at resulting watery eyes and feeling exceptionally pitiful now that she’s taken pity on him.

She puts a hand on her hip, sighs at length, and inclines her head towards the kitchen. “Alright, come come, we’ll make chai.”

[helloalycia]

overstepping [one] // jane banner (Wind River)

summary: after getting several voicemails from your colleague and best friend with her asking for your backup, you attempt to call her back, only to get no answer.

warning/s: mentions of rape, murder and injuries.

author’s note: this is a two parter because i finally watched Wind River and it broke my heart but also lizzie was v cute and i felt the need to write this, hope you like it x

part two | masterlist | wattpad

"C'mon, work you stupid phone," I complained for the millionth time, before standing on the chair to get a better signal.

When I saw the bars in the corner of the screen increase, a grin appeared on my lips. I loved my parents, but the fact that they lived in a remote cabin in Tennessee with zero signal was not my favourite thing.

When the bars remained, my phone decided to actually be helpful and receive all the messages, calls and voicemails I missed. I did a brief flick through, noticing nothing was too important that couldn't wait for me to return to work. As an FBI agent, I rarely got time off. And now that I had taken a two month vacation to spend with my parents, I was adamant on enjoying it, even if I was missing work a smidge.

Next were the calls, which I noticed were mostly from my colleague and close friend, Jane Banner. I furrowed my brows, realising she'd left me several voicemails, too, which was strange since she knew I was on a break from work. What could be so important?

I sighed, glancing down at my uncomfortable position standing on the chair and leaning above the wardrobe. It was the only place in the house with decent signal and the only other place that wasn’t in the middle of nowhere was twenty minutes out. Telling myself I'd just listen to one voicemail to make sure everything was okay, I played the earliest message.

"Hey, Y/N. I'm sorry, I know you're on a break, but I just had to talk to you," it began, and Jane sounded troubled. "I was in Vegas, as you know, but I've been called out to a reservation in Wyoming where this poor girl was–" She paused, releasing a shaky breath. "She was raped and left to die out in the cold. I thought I could send in another team to take a look – y'know, usual protocol. But the coroner won't rule it a homicide and you know what that means."

I swallowed hard, knowing exactly what that meant. If it wasn't ruled a homicide, no backup would come and we had to move onto the next case. But if this girl was raped and left to die, the rapist was still out there and wasn't getting caught by the FBI.

"I can't just leave it and go," Jane continued quietly, with that recognisable passion for her job evident in her voice. "I have to do what I can. But I... I can't do this alone. It's not like other cases, Y/N. It's different out here. And there's only so much their police department can do. I know you're on a break, but I was hoping that, maybe, you could come out here and help me? It's the Wind River Indian Reservation. That's it, I guess. Bye."

The message ended and I found myself chewing on my lower lip anxiously, unable to think about anything other than Jane now. She'd worried me with that one voicemail alone – I couldn't imagine what the others said.

She was usually so good at dealing with cases, but this seemed different. She sounded shaken up, attempting to put on a brave face by the sounds of it. What was so different about this case? She didn't need me. She was capable.

Curiosity got the better of me and I played the second message, ignoring the discomfort in my arms as I stretched to maintain the signal. It was left a day after the first one.

"Hey, so I just remembered that you said you don't get much signal up there with your parents," she began apologetically. "I don't mean to– shit, it's so cold..." There was a pause, a noise in the background, then she continued, "Sorry, just turning up the heating. Anyway, I was saying. I don't mean to intrude on your break. I just– I'm hoping you'll find signal and hear this because I could really use your help. I think we've got a lead on who may have done it. It was hectic today. Really could've used that backup."

She chuckled dryly at her attempt at a joke, but all I felt was guilt. She sounded exhausted within a day of being there.

"I hope you get this," she finished with a sigh. "I should go. Got a busy day tomorrow. Hope you're doing okay. Bye."

I wasted no time in playing the next message. Three days into her case.

"I don't know why I keep sending these," she began with a hoarse voice, and my heart clenched at the sound of it. "You clearly aren't getting them in time. But it's easier talking to you like this than not at all."

It went quiet, so quiet that I thought she may have finished and forgot to hang up. But then she spoke up again, a whimper escaping her lips.

"It's so hard," she admitted. "We've covered worse cases, but this one... everything about it makes me uncomfortable. Something doesn't feel right. I've got a lead – we think it might be the boyfriend who did it and we're gonna see him tomorrow. But I don't know."

I frowned, squeezing my phone tightly because I didn't recognise the girl speaking as my friend. This girl sounded broken and I wondered what she could have discovered that made her like this.

"I've got the police department with me for backup," she said with a sniffle. "And Cory, he's a hunter whose been helping me with the case. They're all gonna be with me tomorrow. But I wish you were here, too. You always make things easier."

The lump in my throat wouldn't disappear no matter how many times I swallowed it. She made things easier, too. Always. And all I wanted to was be by her side and be there for her like she always was for me.

"Sorry about this," she said with a watery laugh, and I could imagine the embarrassed smile on her face as she did. "I sound like such an idiot. Never mind these messages. Just enjoy your break. I shouldn't be worrying you like this. See you when you get back."

The message ended and I checked to see if there were anymore, but to my disappointment, there wasn't. That message was from a few days ago and she hadn't sent anything since which was concerning in itself.

Trying not to panic for no reason, I called Jane. Hopefully everything was okay and I was being stupid. She was a fully-trained FBI agent. She could take care of herself. Right?

The call rang and rang, but nobody picked up. One missed call. No biggie. She probably heard it and couldn't find her phone or something. So, I tried again.

More ringing and no answer. Okay, no big deal. Just try again.

Another call and no answer. The chewing on my lip became more intense. Why the hell wasn't she picking up? Was she still working the case?

I waited an hour, trying again at ten minute intervals, unable to fight my concern. But there was no answer every time and I realised that I couldn't sit and wait for her to call back. Not after how she sounded in those voicemails.

No, I had to go there. She needed backup.

—

Wyoming was way colder than I could have prepared for.

I mean, technically, I prepared for nothing. I bid my parents a goodbye, threw some random clothes in a bag and caught the next plane over there. I tried for Jane's phone constantly, knowing she was never one to ignore me for this long, but there was no point. She wasn't answering, which could only mean so much.

When I reached the reservation, I had no idea where anything was or what I was looking for exactly. I just knew that as soon as the taxi dropped me off in the centre of town, I didn't know where to go.

There were a lot of locals hanging around, so my first port of call was to ask them if they'd seen Jane around – or Agent Banner, as she may have introduced herself. I showed them a picture of her on my phone, described her with vivid detail, but they just stared at me like I was crazy. I was starting to believe I was at one point, until I stopped by the convenience store.

As worried as I was for Jane's whereabouts, the chill in my bones was real. Especially my hands, which I was certain would fall off any minute. So, I decided to buy some gloves and also ask the cashier if he'd seen Jane around or heard anything of her. Whilst I was doing that, a customer caught my attention, probably having overheard my conversation.

"Did you say Jane Banner?" he asked with a quirked brow, interrupting my purchase. "The FBI lady, right?"

I nodded quickly, facing him. "Yes, that's her! D'you know where she is?"

He nodded casually. "Yeah, she's in the hospital. That big shootout that happened a few days ago, right?"

My stomach dropped. "The what?"

"The shootout," he repeated, not aware of the concern in my face. "At the drill site. A bunch of officers were killed and the FBI lady was one of the only one left standing." He tutted as he shook his head. "Very lucky that one."

A shootout? The hospital? Only one left standing? No wonder she hadn't been answering her calls.

"Can you– do you–" I stopped, clearing my throat and trying to stop freaking out. "Which hospital?"

After getting the address from him, I caught a taxi to the only hospital in town and prayed to God that Jane was okay. The one thing she'd asked for was backup and I couldn't even give her that. If I'd just looked at my messages sooner... fuck.

Getting past the front desk and to Jane's room was no issue at all. A quick flash of my FBI badge was enough for the receptionist to give me the details and wave me through. My heart was constricting in my chest the longer it took. What if it was really bad? What if that customer's intel was outdated and Jane was– no. I couldn't afford to think like that.

Upon finding Jane's room, I spotted an older man leaving through the door, being careful to close it behind him. I didn't recognise him at all.

"Excuse me," I called, earning his attention. "Is that Jane Banner's room you just came from?"

He seemed surprised, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I was speaking to him, before nodding. "Yes. Sorry, who are you?"

I pulled my badge from my pocket and showed him, though I doubted anyone would take me seriously when my eyes were watering at thought of Jane being severely injured.

"I'm her friend," I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat before lowering my badge.

"Oh, you're the backup that didn't come," he said with realisation.

My eyes flickered to the floor guiltily. He wasn't exactly wrong.

"I didn't mean it like that," he added quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

I shook my head, lifting my eyes to meet his. "It's okay. I should've... I should've been here." It went quiet as he didn't know what to say, so I looked to him halfheartedly. "I assume you're from the police department, one of the ones who helped Jane."

"Not exactly," he said, before putting out his hand for me to shake. "Name's Cory. I'm a hunter by trade."

Returning his handshake, I recalled Jane's voicemail. "Oh, yeah, she mentioned you... thank you for helping her out."

When I couldn’t, I added in my head.

He offered me a small smile and I couldn't find it in myself to return it. I must have looked like shit, since he gave me a pitiful gaze.

"You want me to catch you up before you go in?" he asked, nodding to Jane's door. "She's okay by the way."

I nodded, sucking up a breath. My nerves were eating away at me the longer I didn't see Jane – half of me was terrified of what I'd find, and the other half was afraid she'd be upset or angry because I left her to it, even when she pleaded for my help.

Cory and I took a seat down the hall and he proceeded to explain about the case and how they found the guy who raped that poor girl. The shootout was the worst bit, making me shiver with discomfort. Apparently, Jane had gotten blasted with a shotgun, puncturing her torso and neck despite the vest she wore. All of the officers with her were killed and by the sounds of it, Jane almost was, too. But Cory managed to take out the criminals and the rapist himself. When he was finished telling me, I had no words.

"She's a bit shaken up, but her surgery went well," Cory reassured with a short nod. "Does she know you're coming?"

I shook my head, voice thick with emotion. "She wouldn't answer her phone. I guess I know why now."

Cory nodded, rubbing the back of his neck before sparing me a consoling glance. "She talked about you a lot. I think it'll cheer her up seeing you. You should go."

My eyes met his, teary and stinging with unshed tears. "Thank you so much."

He shrugged bashfully, but he didn't realise all that he'd done. I gave him a small, tight smile before standing up with a sigh. No point dwelling anymore – I had to see her.

Pushing my selfish feelings aside, I sucked it up and approached Jane's room. She would either want to punch me or not, but either way, I had to see if she was okay. And so, when I opened the door slightly, heart racing in my chest, said heart jumped in my throat at the sight of her.

She was laying on the bed with wires stuck in her and, only from what I could see, bandages were covering the side of her neck. I thought she was sleeping at first, but then her head tilted towards the door curiously, and bright blue eyes widened with disbelief.

"Y/N?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "What are you– how did you get here?"

I closed the door behind me and hesitantly approached her bedside, unable to stop my eyes from soaking in the sight of her. She looked so feeble and vulnerable and unlike how I saw her last. Then, Cory's words came back to me and I began to imagine the worst scenario of her getting shot, blood seeping from her wounds, the life draining from her eyes...

"Y/N," she called, and I looked to her startlingly, hoping I didn't look as troubled as I felt.

"Sorry," I said, clearing my throat. "I, er– the messages. Voicemail. I heard them and tried calling you back, but..."

She pursed her lips, exhaling with a wince and looking up at the ceiling, as if suddenly remembering she left messages in the first place.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," I said quietly, guilt seeping back in.

"No, no, don't be," she said, and I just about noticed the pink dusting her cheeks. "It's not your fault. I shouldn't have interrupted your vacation like that. I know you said you wanted a break and–"

"Jane, no, don't even say that," I cut her off, reaching for her hand in an instant. She looked my way, eyes flickering between mine nervously. I squeezed her hand gently and said, "I should have been here. You needed me and I– I didn't come. Maybe if I had, this could have ended differently."

She tried to smile, but I could see the discomfort in her eyes. "It's not that bad, honestly. It just looks bad."

I pressed my lips together, eyes falling to the bandage on her neck. Even though it was big and covered her wound, I could still make out the bruising around it from the impact of the shell. I didn't imagine the torso wound looking any different, and that thought alone made me regret leaving her alone. It was very much as bad as it looked; I knew that and she knew that.

Her lips trembled as she avoided my eyes, her own tearing up. I pushed away my guilt momentarily and changed the subject.

"So, I met Cory. He seems like a great guy."

She didn't say anything as she seemed lost in thought. Either that or she was trying not to cry in front of me. I hoped it wasn't the latter, since the last thing I wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable.

"You know," I said, when she wouldn't speak, "I'm pretty sure I told you to stay safe before I left for my vacation."

At my poor attempt to lighten the mood, she cracked a small, tight smile, but a smile nonetheless, and my racing heart slowed down momentarily.

"I'm glad you're okay," I said, now that I had her attention again, and she looked my way with a softened expression. "Kind of okay. But you know... okay."

Thankfully, she knew what I meant and her hand tightened around mine.

"I'm glad you came," she returned, and I couldn't look away even if I tried. She was always able to trap me with a single gaze.

With a tug of her hand, she motioned for me to sit on the edge of her bed, so I did. And then she began to ask me about my vacation, what I'd been up to this past month, how my parents were... basically anything and everything except for the case. And it was understandable, since she was reminded of it all the time. If I could be a form of escapism for her, so be it. It was the least I could do.

We spoke for hours until the nurse came in to let me know visiting hours were over and I'd have to come back tomorrow. With a regretful sigh, I got up from my seat on her bedside and stretched my limbs.

"Where are you staying?" she asked, a slight frown on her lips.

I smiled awkwardly, realising I didn't think that far ahead. "I'm not gonna lie, I don't know. I came straight here. There's gotta be a hotel or something in this town, right?"

She nodded and flicked her hand to the shelves on the other side of the room. "You should stay in my room in the inn. Key's in my bag over there."

"Oh, I don't have to do that–"

"Y/N, it's not like I'm going to be staying there anytime soon," she cut me off, smiling halfheartedly. "Please."

I chewed on my lip and nodded, giving in. When I grabbed her keys from her bag, I stopped by her bedside and gave her a supportive smile.

"I'll back first thing in the morning, if you don't mind," I said, and she finally gave me a smile that reached her eyes.

"I'd like that."

I nodded, resting a hand on hers and squeezing comfortingly. "Goodnight."

—

Though I knew Jane was okay, I still couldn't stop myself from thinking about her all night. The sight of her wounds and the broken expression on her face was enough to keep me awake. And the guilt that came with it all... why couldn't I have just picked up my damn phone?

As promised, I returned to Jane's hospital room the next morning, this time bringing some breakfast snacks from the hospital cafeteria since I knew the food would be much better than whatever they were serving her. Judging by the content expression on her face when I gave it to her, I was right.

When she finished eating, she was able to sit up slightly and move over on her bed, urging for me to join her and watch some TV with her. There was no way I was going to turn down that offer, so I slid next to her and kept a packet of sliced apples between us as we watched whatever was playing on the TV.

About halfway through watching, she spoke up randomly, taking me by surprise.

"When are you leaving?"

I tore my gaze from the screen and realised she was staring at me with intense green eyes.

"When you're well enough to," I answered truthfully.

She looked down to her hands. "You don't have to stay with me. You can go."

I studied her profile, knowing it was the wrong time to appreciate how stunning she looked even when she was makeup-free, sporting a bed head and tired.

"Do you want me to go?" I asked softly, afraid I may have overstepped.

She was quick to shake her head slightly, finally lifting her gaze to meet mine with glossy ones. "No."

I nodded, trying very hard not to smile, cleared my throat and grabbed her hand. "Then I'm not leaving. I'll be right here until you get better and I can take you home."

A ragged breath escaped her lips as she nodded in response. We both looked back to the TV and I noticed she didn't let go of my hand, her fingers warm to the touch and giving me goosebumps at the contact. But I wouldn't have had it any other way.

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VIII. (Harry Styles)

i can’t believe we are slowly nearing the end of this story, don’t forget, we only have two more parts left!! please leave a feedback/coment/like/ANYTHING if you liked this part, it means so so soooo much to me!!

word count: 5k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry can be such a persistent pain in the ass sometimes. You haven’t decided if you like it about him or not. If he makes up his mind about something it has to be that way, no objection.

He texted you in the morning that he would be coming over to your place after work, because he is looking after Valerie for the night, for the first time ever and he needed you to tell him everything he needs to know about taking good care of her.

“I think Rosa will tell you all about it when they arrive. I got a list from her as well,” you tell him when he calls you during your lunch break.

“I know she will, but I’m a single man, it’s bold of you to think I know anything about babies.”

“What are you talking about? You are always so good with her. I’m sure it��s gonna be fine.” Steven has a business dinner tonight and Rosa was invited as well. You know that because they asked you first if you could look after Valerie, but you had already made plans with Marcus, so you had to turn them down. Guess they found someone who is free, but it seems like Harry is a little panicky about it.

“Is it not the best time to admit that I have no idea how to change a diaper properly?”

You laugh at his question and you can almost picture the worried look on his face, lips pressed together and that little crease showing between his eyebrows.

“Then why did you say that you’d look after her?” you ask giving your salad a shake before you start eating.

“Because Rosa sounded so desperate, and I wanted to help. I thought I would figure it out, even googled it, but I’m not sure I have the right idea about everything.”

“What do you mean you googled it?”

“Well, if you’d look at my search history it would be filled with maternity sites where they describe in detail how to wipe a baby’s ass,” he states, making you laugh once again. 

“You’re nuts,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, I have plans tonight, so I don’t think I can help you.”

“When?”

“Um, Marcus is picking me up at seven.”

“That’s perfect, Rosa and Steven will drop Val off at mine at four, so I’ll have plenty of time to go over to yours so you can show me everything.”

“Harry, I’m working until five.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there at five thirty.”

“Harry... “ you chuckle, shaking your head. 

“Please, Y/N! I’m begging you! This is a kinda life or death situation. You can’t do this to me! You still owe me for the time you were looking over her!”

Closing your eyes you lean onto the table. You already know you’ll say yes, how can you not when he is right about owing him one, but you should really learn how to say no next time, before people start to see you as the loser who just does as she is told all the time. 

“Okay. I’ll be home by five twenty.”

“Fucking perfect. I’ll see you later,” he cheers before ending the call. 

Turns out he is quite punctual, because just as you walk around the corner you see his car parked in front of your building and you just smile. He spots you from the rearview mirror and gets out, unbuckling Valerie from her seat as well.

“They left you the seat as well?” you ask and help him get the huge bag Rosa packed for Valerie.

“I told them I need to do groceries so Steven left it for me.”

Valerie babbles to Harry relentlessly, who occasionally hums a response as the three of you go up to your apartment. 

“So, what exactly do you want me to show you?” you ask, setting the bag down on the couch as Harry puts Valerie down on the plush rug to wander around a bit as the two of you discuss what he needs help with.

“Diaper change, feeding and burping. I think I’ll be alright with the rest.”

“Okay, first of all, she doesn’t need to be burped, she’s old enough to skip that. Only try that if she is fussy after eating,” you tell him and he nods, mentally taking notes. “Alright, let’s see a diaper changing. How many did Rosa leave for you.”

“Oh, she left a bunch but I dropped by the store and bought another pack just to be sure. Let me grab it from the car.”

Harry runs off, in the meanwhile you sit on the floor with Val and get everything you need from the bag to change her. You figured he just bought a smaller pack in case he might mess up the first few times, but when Harry returns he has a huge pack under his arm, written on the side you see that there are 92 pieces in it.

“What the fuck, Harry? Are you trying to supply her for the rest of the year?” you snap with a laugh.

“I panicked, don’t give me shit about it!” he whines joining you on the floor. 

You put an old blanket down and grabbing Valerie you make her lie on her back as Harry opens the mega pack and hands you a clean diaper. You go over the whole process step by step, making sure you cover every detail that might come to you naturally but wouldn’t be that obvious for Harry. He intently watches your every move, at one point you almost expect him to get a notebook and pencil to take notes.

“Okay your turn. Let me see what you learned.”

Scooting over you let Harry take your spot and his hands carefully reach to get rid of the diaper you just put on Valerie, who is still carelessly babbling around, stuffing her fingers into her mouth without a worry in the world. She surely doesn’t give a damn about being experimented on. 

Harry’s fingers work delicately on her, doing everything just as you told him and he even folds the used diaper in a prettier way than you did.

“See? It’s not that hard. Just expect some poop in it the next time,” you tell him and laugh at the grimace that tugs on his face.

“How often do I need to change her?”

“Just… give her bum a sniff now and then, you’ll know when she has left a gift for you.”

“Awesome,” he sighs nodding. “Okay, now onto the feeding.”

It’s been a while since the night you looked after Val, since then Rosa has stopped breastfeeding so she is now fully on baby food from any store and basically anything pureed. Rosa packed a few different kinds of foods and wrote on the list that Valerie has been a fan of smashed apples, banana and peas.

Harry takes her to his arms and sits at your small dining table as you get one of the baby foods with a small spoon and her bib.

“Feeding is nothing special, just make sure to give her small portions and wait until she swallows everything. But she is a calm eater, so she takes her time tasting everything and then swallowing it,” you explain to him and show him what you just said, bringing some food to her mouth on the spoon. Harry watches her take it, some of it ending up on her lips and you wipe it off with the spoon when you pull it out of her mouth.

“See? She is quite chill, you have nothing to worry about,” you tell Harry. Some babies tend to turn feeding into a race and they want to get as much food into their mouth as possible at once. Valerie is a luckier case in this field. “Wanna try?”

Harry nods and you drop the spoon into the jar, putting it to the table before you take Valerie from his lap. Once again, he is doing perfectly fine, feeding her just the right amount and wiping the excess off her lips and cheeks easily. He had nothing to worry about. 

“You’re doing great, as if you were a natural,” you tell him smiling and you swear you see him blush. 

“I’m a little far from that. I’m still in panic that I do something wrong.”

“It was a bold move to say yes to Rosa if you are so worried how you’d do.” Harry keeps feeding her, eyes focused on the spoon and the little girl sitting on your thighs.

“Rosa sounded really desperate, I wanted to help. That’s what godparents are for, right?”

“I guess,” you nod. You watch him treat her so delicately and gentle, before you could even stop yourself, your thoughts wander over to imagining him be just like this with his own baby. 

The thought of Harry being a dad and taking care of his baby has a weird and surprising effect on you. You imagine him doing all these everyday things like feeding her, playing with her, falling asleep on the couch with her curled up on his chest. You’d give an arm to see him like that, the vision of a curly haired little girl playing all too vividly in your mind. You see him having a girl, that’s what feels right for him. He would definitely make her feel like a princess and a total daddy’s girl. 

Your eyes wander over to his arm where his tattoos are showing from under his rolled up sleeves. Surely soon enough Valerie will be coloring the many shapes and maybe one day he’ll do the same with his daughter. There’s no doubt Harry will be an amazing dad.

Realization hits you hard that how badly you want to witness all of these and it gets to your head a little too heavily, feeling your eyes tearing up a little. You need to take a few deep breaths that draws his attention to you.

“You alright?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you as Valerie finishes up the lasts of her meal. 

“Yeah, I just… I need to start getting ready,” you say clearing your throat as Harry takes Val from you. “Feel free to stick around,” you tell him making your way to the bathroom with the sheer intention of having an ice cold shower before you lose your mind over your wandering thoughts. 

Harry seemingly takes up on the offer and stays, playing with Valerie in your living room while you soak yourself in the freezing water. It helps though, you feel a lot more put together when you walk out, wrapped in your fuzzy bathrobe, your damp hair falling to your shoulders. 

“Feel free to get anything from the fridge, by the way,” you tell Harry as you move into your bedroom to start getting ready.

“Thanks, but I’m alright,” he calls back. “Where are you two heading tonight?”

“Just this new Indian restaurant Marcus has been wanting to try out.”

“Sounds nice.” Harry walks into your bedroom with Valerie in his arms as you sit at your vanity and get started on your makeup. You watch him from the mirror as he slowly walks around your bedroom, just looking around, examining the framed pictures and little memories you keep on your walls, shelves and dresser. 

You catch his smile when he sees the photo you and him got from Rosa and Steven, you put it next to a childhood photo of Rosa and you. 

“You had braces?” he asks looking at that photo.

“For three years.”

“Well, they surely did a great job on your smile,” he teases you. You know you had a quite crooked smile back then, it was actually your idea to get braces. One insecurity off the list once they straightened your teeth, a lot more to deal with that couldn’t be fixed that easily. 

Harry continues to snoop around as you do a quick, natural look, just the bare minimum. You don’t necessarily like wearing much makeup, but you like what just some mascara and blush does to your appearance. You leave the room a little to blowdry your hair and when you return, Harry is sitting on your bed, eyes watching over Valerie, who is playing with one of your pillows that has a fuzzy cover on. 

You catch Harry’s eyes from time to time as you loosely braid your hair, watching yourself in the mirror. He always smiles when your eyes meet. When you’re done with everything at the vanity, you step to your small closet to find something to wear. You narrow down the choices for three dresses, but you can’t quite decide which one would be the best.

“Wear the light blue one,” Harry speaks up, grabbing your attention. 

“I was thinking about that one too.”

“You wore it to dinner once a while ago. It looked great on you.”

“You remember it?” It’s a surprise he remembered since it was quite some time ago, more than a year, to be exact. You weren’t on good terms back then, but it seems like he still had an eye for the small things. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly, his cheeks turning red again as he turns back to Valerie. You grab the dress from the hanger and go to the bathroom to change. 

It’s one of the kind of dresses that just don’t let you wear a bra, but you’re fine with that, because the final look makes up for the discomfort it causes. You try your best to pull the zipper up, but your flexibility didn’t get any better through the years. A heavy sense of deja vu comes over you as you walk back to your room, holding the dress to your chest. Harry looks up at you curiously and you don’t miss how his eyes wander up and down your body.

“Could you please zip me up?”

“Sure,” he breathes out as he gets up from the bed and steps behind you. 

It’s just like the day you met, you suddenly feel like it’s years ago and he is helping you zip up your bridal dress. His fingers brush against your skin the exact same way as he pulls the zipper up, and his fingertips even run over it once it’s all done, like they did back then. You wonder if he thinks the same or it’s just an irrelevant little moment to him, nothing more. 

Stepping to your mirror you take a look at yourself, Harry standing a few steps behind you, his eyes taking in your look as well. For a moment you doubt this is the look you should go for, but as if Harry could feel your hesitation he steps forward and his eyes catches your gaze in the mirror.

“You look amazing. Marcus is a lucky guy.”

Turning around you smile at him breathing out your thank you. 

It’s nearing seven so you quickly pack your bag and choose a coat that goes well with your dress while Harry packs Valerie’s stuff. Just when you put on a pair of white heels your phone starts ringing and Marcus’ smiling face appears on the screen.

“Hi, I’ll be right down in a second.”

“Great, see you in a bit.”

When all three of you are ready to leave you lock the door and you head down. There’s a heavy silence between the two of you in the elevator and you don’t know how to break it, but it’s almost painful. 

“Call me if you are having trouble with anything,” you tell him as you walk through the hall, out of the building.

“I’m not gonna ruin your date night, but don’t worry, I had a great teacher,” he smiles at you. Marcus is parked right behind Harry’s car and he gets out seeing you walk out of the building. “Hi Marcus!” he nods in his way.

“Hey, didn’t know you were here too,” he smiles nicely and as he steps to you he presses a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Just needed some help with this little Princess, but we are off. Thanks again, Y/N,” he smiles in your way as he buckles Valerie up in her seat.

“No problem.” Stepping to the car you peek inside catching Val’s attention. “Be good and don’t give Harry a hard time, okay?” you tell her and she just stares back at you with those curious eyes of hers. “See you later,” you tell Harry nodding his way before following Marcus to his car.

As you sit in the passenger seat you watch Harry start his car and drive away and suddenly you wish you were sitting in his car. Your heart is aching to spend the rest of the evening with him and Valerie.

The guilt quickly kicks in when Marcus asks about your day. You definitely shouldn’t be thinking about being with Harry instead of your boyfriend who did absolutely nothing to deserve to be thrown away. 

You try your best to forget about Harry and focus on Marcus, because that’s the right thing to do. 

It takes all your energy to stay present and focus on your surroundings and what’s happening to you, because every other minute you find yourself thinking what Harry and Valerie are doing right now and if everything is alright. You try to tell yourself that if something was wrong he would text or call you, but he said it himself he wouldn’t want to bother you during your date.

“Is there a specific reason why you are paying absolutely no attention to what I’m saying?” 

Marcus’ voice snaps you back from your thoughts once again and you feel the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks.

“Sorry, I just… I’ve had a tiring week.”

“You know, that’s totally fine, but you don’t seem to share it or anything without me asking about it. Is it something I do or you are just… not planning on letting me get closer to you anytime soon?” You can feel the little harshness in his tone and he has all the rights to be annoyed at you, but you still feel the need to defend yourself. 

“That’s not true. I just tend to keep things to myself.”

“It’s fine, but building up a relationship kind of requires a lot of talking. I want to hear about whatever it is that’s on your mind. How else should I help you or be there for you if you keep shutting me out every time?”

“I’m sorry if it’s coming off this way, but I’m just… not used to this.”

“To what?”

“Having to always think about someone else too, not just myself. I know it sounds selfish, but I’ve been on my own for a long time, I need time to adjust to the changes.”

“You know that I wouldn’t push anything on you and that I’m gonna wait for as long as you need, but… sometimes I feel like you’re not even trying.”

“I am trying!” you snap, feeling yourself growing frustrated that he is questioning your efforts even though deep down you know he is right. “I do want to share things, it’s just…”

I don’t want to share them with you, you think to yourself and the thought makes you shudder. The worst thing is that in the back of your mind you know exactly who you want to share things with. 

You shake your head with a defeated sigh. It’s a dead end and you clearly need to make a choice if you want to climb the walls and see what’s on the other side, even if it’s just another dump filled dead end, or you could just turn around and walk away with the possibility that you’ll never get to see what’s on the other side. 

Part of you is struggling with opening up to Marcus because deep down you know he might not be the one for you, but the other part is violently holding onto him because… if it’s not gonna work out with him, who else will it? Marcus is everything any girl would wish for in a guy, nice, funny, good looking and caring. There is nothing you could bring up against him except that you just have this weird feeling in the back of your mind. If you can’t make it work with him, who else could you possibly try with? You constantly feel like you’re running out of time and chances. The music might still be playing and there are plenty of empty seats, but it will eventually stop and you don’t want to be the one without a seat. 

Dinner cuts quite short as your little fight poisons the mood pretty fast. Clearly, Marcus is fed up because of your behavior while there’s nothing you really can or would do about it, so the drive back to your place is quiet and tension filled. He kisses you goodbye when he drops you off, but it’s more like a dry peck on the lips before you basically escape from his car. 

You are quick to get rid of your dress and change into sweatpants and a hoodie, the urge to call Harry and check in on him takes over your thoughts quite fast and you find yourself calling him.

“Y/N, hey!” you hear his voice on the other end.

“Hi, how is everything going?”

“Everything is fine, I just gave her a bath, we’re gonna watch some cartoons and then I’ll try to put her to sleep. Are you already back from your date?” 

In the back you can hear a shriek from Valerie and Harry coos at her, that’s followed by a giggle from her.

“Um, yeah. I…” sighing you close your eyes. You feel like an idiot, but it seems like you just can’t deal with your feelings tonight, so why not completely give up? “Can I come over?”

There’s a short pause before he answers. “Sure, of course. But is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Alright. We’ll be waiting for you right here.”

You call an Uber and in thirty minutes you are walking up Harry’s driveway. The lights are on inside and the nerves you’ve been fighting on the way here feel to dissolve quite fast, as you think that he is still up, even though he told you he’d be waiting for you. 

You ring the bell and just a few seconds later Harry opens the door, Valerie in his arms, now wearing a pink onesie with the hood on her head.

“Hey, come inside,” he invites you in. “Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“So,” he sighs after locking the door and turning to face you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Is it okay if we don’t?” you ask biting into your bottom lip. You know he is probably dying to know what made you want to come over and that you probably should tell him since you are seeking shelter at his place, but you just don’t have the energy to talk about it.

“Totally fine,” Harry smiles and you return it with a quiet thank you. “I was just about to put Val down to sleep, wanna join us?”

“Sure.”

You follow him to his bedroom where the same portable bed is set up that was in your just a few months ago. Harry lays her down bringing a blanket over her as you sit next to the crip while he grabs the book Rosa packed. Harry joins you on the floor, your legs mingling as you sit facing each other and Val can see you through the sheer side of the bed. 

You watch her in awe as Harry starts reading a story, Val listening to his deep voice as if she understood every word that left his lips. A few pages into the story you see her eyelids slowly close and she eventually falls asleep, her little chest rising and falling steadily.

The two of you tiptoe out of the room so you don’t wake her up.

“I’m gonna make a tea, you want one?”

“Yes please.”

You walk into his kitchen and while you sit on a stool at his kitchen island he starts the kettle and digs into his little box that’s filled with filters. 

“Apple and cinnamon?” he asks, holding two filters up and you nod your head. When the water boils he fills up two mugs and throws the filters into them before placing them on the counter in front of you.

“You know, I’m a little mad you had it so easy with her,” you point it out with a smirk, making him laugh.

“I made it up with the panic at the beginning.”

“You really had nothing to worry about. You did great.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles shyly. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but I just need to ask. You’re not feeling down because Marcus did something to you?”

You smile at how careful and protective he is. Shaking your head you turn your gaze to the mug in front of you.

“No. It’s just…” You have to take a deep breath as you feel the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s stupid,” you breathe out shakily. Harry notices what’s going on and sliding off the stool he steps to you enveloping you into his embrace as you curl your arms around his torso and bury your face into the soft fabric of his shirt on his chest.

You really didn’t want to cry, especially not in front of him, but it’s been piling up for a while and tonight has been a little too hard for you.

“Shit, now I’ve cried in your presence twice,” you sigh with a shaky chuckle as you let go of him and wipe your cheeks. 

“Actually, it’s been three times,” Harry huffs with a smirk.

“What?”

“You cried at the wedding too, when we were talking outside.”

“Amazing,” you shake your head with a bitter laugh. “I don’t even remember that.”

“No surprised, you were quite drunk by then,” he chuckles. “But it’s alright, don’t worry about it.” There’s a pause where neither of you really knows what to do or say. You feel like such a cry baby for breaking down at such a simple question, but Harry couldn’t know how deep it was digging.

“Hey,” he speaks up finally. “Wanna watch a movie? I have quite a few movies saved on Netflix that I’ve been trying to watch.”

The small smile on his lips eases your nerves almost instantly and you nod with a thankful smile. The two of you move into the living room and he puts on some kind of romantic comedy as you get comfortable on his huge L shaped couch. The movie is not the best you’ve seen, but it’s good enough to stop your racing thoughts and relax for a while. 

When you know it’s nearing its end you think about if Harry will tell you to leave or let you stay. Because selfishly, you want to stay, and not just sleep on the couch. You want to sleep next to him like at Christmas. You miss what it felt like falling asleep with his arm wrapped around you and that’s exactly what you need today. 

When the movie ends, you glance over at Harry who is examining the carpet, clearly thinking about something really hard, but you make the move he probably wasn’t expecting.

Boldly, you stand up and just simply walk into his bedroom where Valerie is still sleeping in peace. You climb up to his bed and make yourself comfortable under the covers, waiting for his reaction with your heart pounding against your ribcage. 

You hear his tapping footsteps and you wait for him to arrive with your eyes closed. It’s just a soft huff that comes from his way when he stops at the door seeing you all curled up in his bed, but he doesn’t say a word. You hear him shuffle around a little before the mattress moves under you and he lies next to you. When he stops moving you turn around so you are facing him, only making out some of his features in the dark, but you can tell he is looking at you.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna be a little more selfish now,” you say without any further context.

“Okay,” he breathes out, clearly curious what you meant by that, but he quickly figures it out when you move closer and cuddle to his side, laying your head to his chest. You tell yourself that it’s okay, you can be selfish sometime and just do whatever feels right. This is exactly that, just an act of selfishness because you want to be close to him, feel the warmth of his body and not feel so lost and alone for just one more night.

When you feel his arm weigh down around your shoulders, a wave of relief washes over you. Everything that’s been bothering you quickly fades and it’s just the two of you, lying in his bed in silence, but it has never felt better. 

You think about how you would be okay with feeling like this every night for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ask for more. Nothing would really matter if you could end your days like this.

But then you remember that you might be alone with this thought. That you shouldn’t let yourself get fooled just because he was there for you when you needed him. Maybe you didn’t even need him, just someone and he happened to be the closest. But you figure that’s not true, because you wouldn’t feel the same way with someone else. 

You think back to when he apologized about everything he said after the wedding. He said that he was sorry and he shouldn’t have been such an ass to you, but he didn’t say he would act differently if it was to happen again. He would probably still end it right there, just in a nicer way and it makes you think that it’s all just his friendly side, nothing more.

And the thought that you are alone with this heavy and confusing feeling scares you to death, because you have no idea what you’ll do when you lose control over it.

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[monsoonblooms12]

What Ethan & Pooja AU is this? #OpenHeartAU

Selcouth (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set in Book 2, Pooja gets the recognition she deserves for solving Naveen Banerji's case.

Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet, marvelous🤎

A/N: Thank you so much @beastlyinstrument for the visual prompt❤ I had fun thinking up and writing this piece.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 3.2K (I am sorry!)

Rating: General

Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff

Warnings: 1 Curse Word (again 😆)

Prompts: Late Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge July challenge day 4: celebration

There was stark silence surrounding him as he scribbled out points from the morning meeting of the Diagnostics Team along with some of his own observations from the patient charts. The days have been nothing out of the blue since his return from the Cholera-ridden district of Amazons.

The steam from the warm coffee filled the entire office with its sweet aroma. With winters in their full force, there was a mystic chill all around the city and the warmth the coffee gave was extremely welcomed.

It took him 30 minutes to the tee to complete his morning paperwork. And as he arranged the white sheets in a clean stack, a slow groan escapes him. He had been so engrossed in work, that he had completely missed the fact that he had emptied his coffee cup.

Ethan looks up from his desk to the windows giving an enchanting view of the brumal grounds. Snowflakes, basking in the distant sun's glory, shining like iridescent jewels, fell slowly, silently to meet their origin.

It's too serene of a day to waste indoors.

The thought caught him somewhat by surprise, even if it was his encephalon producing it.

He had spent long years of his life away from focusing on diminutive happenings like the weather or the warmth of his favourite Vienna on a frosty day.

To appreciate the beauty of falling of the snowflakes today, was a slightly unusual change. He couldn't help but wonder as to what would have caused it.

He didn't need to wait long for an answer. Like a response to his unuttered query, the notification bell of his phone brought him out of his reverie and displayed her name with the joy of a student who had solved a difficult problem with ease on the first try. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an email of her completed reports.

And yet, he was unable to control the breakout of butterflies in his stomach.

The feeling was orphic, and yet irenic.

As his heels tapped on the white floors, supposedly conducting an intriguing conversation with them, a faint intermix of voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.

"You're wearing all black." It wasn't a question, but a fact that Alexandra's voice enunciated.

"Are you surprised?" A concordant voice questioned. Even if he didn't acknowledge it, it was one of his favourite euphonies.

"No. Impressed."

"I lost a bet to Bryce, and this is what I get in return." There is a pause. "It's a nice change though."

He can feel the smile that emerges out on her face at the end and feels his lips curl up, like a magnetic connection. He was caught off guard as he stood there thinking of the sweet nothings and sweet everythings of his reminiscences with her.

"Good Morning Dr Ramsey!"

It took him all his power to straighten himself, and to put on the stoic façade before responding,

"Good Morning Dr Walton."

Alexandra didn't initiate a conversation, just like he had expected. Bidding goodbye to her companion, she strode off her way.

Now, it was just him and her, standing in the middle of nowhere, eyes locked in intense focus, tied together with a string they find themselves unable to break.

She looked striking like she always did.

In every hue, every ensemble, at every hour, she knew how to induce that unnamed feeling in his heart.

All she had to do was to look at him the way she did, and his idiotic heart would skip a beat, and an ambrosial emotion would follow.

And what does one do when emotions go out of control?

Self Preservation.

Giving her a brisk nod, he dropped his gaze, hurrying away past her, not having the courage to look at the hurt caused.

Idiotic.

That's the only word he could use to describe his actions.

He could think of a trillion excuses, travel through a hundred bends on the roads of justification, but nothing would be enough to balance out the pain he was giving her. Not even his playlist of curses that he played in his mind every day to remind himself what he truly was.

An asshole.

As soon as his steps took him to the outdoors, the crisp cold winds blew through his hair, and he cherished the moment.

The apricity hugged him, and the scene that met his eyes, the world draped with a veil of phosphorescing snow, generated a euphoria he was unfamiliar with. As a minuscule flakelet fell on his outstretched hand, he realized that no one needs to spend a billion dollars to get happiness.

It is hidden amidst mundane things, and the only thing one has to do is to keep foraging for it.

Happiness can be made, it can be found. But can it be bought?

Never.

------------------

It was unusually calm at Derry's in the morning hours.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

In comfortable, long sips, he lets the caffeine overtake the tiredness and the heartache coursing through his body. The glare of the screen and ping of his cellular broke the aura of comfort that had spread out through the coffee shop. He wants to shut it off and throw it in a corner away from his sight, but decides against it.

It's a text from Naveen.

Skipping is not an option for today night!

A groan escapes him, the annoyance of another meet and greet taking away all the calm. He tried to convince him, but all efforts went futile. He plays the discussion all over again to find any loophole he can to escape the torture.

Flashback:

It's after hours and the wing of the hospital where Naveen's office was situated bore a silence. The amicable old man sat in his chair, leaning back as the younger one stood, with his back at him. It was obvious they had been arguing, but it seemed more like amusement for the old mentor and annoyance for the young protégé.

"There is no need-"

"Ethan, you have been repeating the same words for fifteen minutes now." Naveen chuckles.

"I very well know that there is no need for anything, dear friend. I just want a little bit of happiness and merriment in the hard times."

"I am not stopping you from doing that, Naveen, you know that. But what is the need of the celebration being about me?"

"Because you are a reason I am alive today." The man gives a melancholy smile, vision blurred as the near-death experience of the past year come sailing in front of him.

"This celebration is about you and Dr Sharma. Without the two of you, I would not have been here."

Ethan's features are clouded by the pain of losing his mentor, who has been like a father to him, and inspiration. His frown softens, annoyance long lost, as he comes as takes a seat and places his hand on his.

"Fine. I will do this. But only for you, okay?"

Naveen's lips curl up in a grateful, happy smile as if wordlessly conveying his thanks. As Ethan stands up and proceeds to leave, he cannot stop himself from laying out his observation,

"For her too."

And Ethan knew. He knew exactly whom this was about. And as much as he wanted to deny the assumption, he couldn't help but accept the truth in it. Of course, he was doing it for Naveen. But he was doing it for her too. She deserved it so much more than him. If she hadn't been there, the seat occupied by his mentor today would have been...

Flashback ends

As his eyes skim through the crisp pages of the medical journal absent-mindedly, he thinks of her again. The permanent occupant of his daydreams, who would still manage to come back, no matter how many resets he carried out.

He thinks of her attire from the hour before, hair in a neat long braid, dressed in a meticulously embroidered Indian attire. And then of the celebration at dusk, where she will finally receive the recognition she deserves.

All the doubts regarding her promotion to the Diagnostics Team would be washed away.

He remembers what she had told him a few days after he had heard those nasty rumours,

"I have proved myself and I know what's true. I don't need to show anyone else the testament of my abilities. As long as I am fair and just, their words can do no harm to me."

His admiration for her had increased phenomenally when she spoke those words to him.

His pride, his faith had not been misplaced when he picked her for the difficult voyage named Edenbrook.

He has never felt so proud of any other intern as much as he does of her.

His heart sings to him, his choice was correct. He doesn't let it elaborate itself, because one wrong move from his side would be more than enough to ruin this unpolished gem before she even gets a chance to shine.

Yes, he did tell her that some things are worth any risk, she is worth any risk, back in Miami. The reminiscences of the day still played on the screen of his mind in sepia, they lulled him to sleep.

But the risk to harm her fragile career before it even blossoms?

It wasn't just a risk, it was like a crime for him.

One which he refused to commit.

---------------------

As dusk falls and winter blues colour the land of snow in multichromatic hues, hiding any bit of orange from the setting sun, Pooja Sharma hums along with her favourite songs as she dresses up for the special evening.

No matter how much she wants to curl up in the folds of the soft Cashmere, she has to be in attendance. It's a strict order from her grand mentor and impossible for her to go past.

It's all black day, she reminds herself when picking the outfit. And she doesn't forget to leave a thank you note for Lekh as she finds the perfect one.

And now, as she stands, trying to complete the arduous job of creating a perfect eyeliner wing, a certain someone's reminiscences trouble her pained heart.

No matter how much she scolds it for its stupidity, trying to explain the futility of the hope of getting together, it never heeds, just continues to trouble her with the baritone of his that enchants her mind, the cologne that overpowers all her senses.

As she looks at the reflection in the speculum, she cannot help but imagine his reaction.

Will she even get a reaction?

Maybe just a nod, or a look.

No words.

She has convinced herself with it. It took some time, some stops, some pulls of an invisible harness, but she has convinced herself.

She's stopped hoping, soothing herself with whatever they shared, memories that felt like they belong to a bygone era, and a promise of treasuring them, just in case he ever decided to come back.

---------------------

In the vespertine hours, the diamond dust made the sun devoid city look like a fairytale. Any other time, he would have just worried about the sharp chill, probably cursing the snow.

Being so observant of the places he is a regular visitor at, it was a new experience for him.

Strange, even.

It's something that will take some time to get used to.

The interiors are warm. Minimally decorated, as he had requested. Not wanting to create a fuss, he bee-lines to the corner of the room, where the only occupant was emptiness. He decided to cherish the moments of solace before the bother of the vivacious crowd began, wanting to start a colloquy.

On instinct, he looks around, not being able to comprehend the reason why his heart leaps to his throat. And then a pang of disappointment overlaps that sudden nervousness.

The absence of one person, the feeling so profound.

It's magical.

Dangerous, but still, magical.

A mute scold follows. No matter how hard he tries, strives towards that unannounced aim of reset, his stupid heart and its childishness always ruin his plans.

The call of his name makes him turn around.

Naveen stands, jolly smile fixed in place, eyes sparkling with joy and...

Gratitude.

They chat, topics ranging from Diagnostic team cases to complaints of coffee. His orbs casually drift towards the entryway, in hope of seeing his dearest.

And as the astrologers say, the stars align, the universe comes into play, and the shimmer of black in the lambent atmosphere makes his heart skip a beat. He feels a smile emerging and hastily hides it with a scowl.

If he had to, he would have sworn that he looked like a clown.

Her ambers gaze around in a lucid, tender manner, in strike contrast to his a while ago.

There is a lack of haste, of worry, of unease.

Her very presence fills the air with tranquility and without his consent, his soul basks in it. After what felt like an eternity, their gazes meet.

Melt into each other like the wax of two candles.

Become inseparable.

She smiles, it's faint.

It seems more of a formality than a wish. The momentary cheer is replaced by a somber, melancholic expression. Her orbs drift away, gaze turns away as if to hide whatever was to come from him.

And he knows.

He's the reason.

Silence is suffocating, but right now, the chaos is even more constricting to him.

Everyone chatters, mingles, smiles.

Everyone except her.

She stands too still, flashing a half-hearted smile and half-hearted gaze here and there, as she is surrounded by the rest of her friends, preventing him from getting a better look.

As conflict rises in his interior, a to go or not to debate, the gulps of scotch become more frequent, the frown gets tighter and guilt gets heavier. Before he can drown down into the never-ending cascade of crippling self-hatred, there is a call of his name.

Naveen.

---------------------

Claps and whoots surround her, along with a cheer. She becomes the recipient of numerous bear hugs, and compliments as Naveen elaborates on her contribution to his recovery. It feels like a reel of situations played from her sweven. It took a pinch for her to realize that it wasn't.

A mic tap follows, it's Ethan's turn to speak. She freezes upon hearing her name getting repeated again. There is an uncanny depth to it, she notices. An indication that it conceals so much more than is visible. Not just pride, not just intoxicating happiness.

Gratitude, raw and pure gratitude.

And something else (or maybe not?)

Her focus all over the place, she missed a lot of the address. What stayed carved in golden words was a single sentence, unremarkably remarkable.

"It's not me, it's her. I lost all hope, but she was the one who fought till the very end, never giving up, even if she had thousands of storms to navigate through."

"There can be only one recipient of the applause today, and it's Dr Sharma."

Two contrasting emotions put her in a dilemma. Whether to let the water drops she held strongly to herself or to let the heartfelt joy induce the grin that would shine brighter than the stars the twinkle along with the forlorn moon?

Unable to decide, she let the cracks in her stoic mask deepen, let the faint upturn of lips become visible to the world. Every applaud fell short, in a haze, as the mere words spoken mere moments before played in a loop like a soft harmony.

The 360-degree turn of the evening gave her the most unexpected and the most precious memories.

The change of the blithe chilly eve to heartwarming dusk.

Rare, mysterious and yet, magnificent.

Selcouth.

---------------------

Ethan Ramsey, for the past decade of his extremely brilliant career, has never displayed even a minuscule amount of emotions. Never. The mask of stoicism fixed so perfectly, that no power could ever induce a crack in it.

No one could.

Until one day, an intern waltzed into his life like an unforeseen plot twist and induced changes no one ever could.

The mask has cracked, even if to a small degree, letting the minuscule details of a transformation out. Sometimes it could be as evident as a smile, or a genuine compliment to an intern. In other instances, it would be just the absence of the forehead frown (which had become a permanent resident at a point).

And now, the beloved plot twist of his novel stood before him, her eyes expertly decorated with kohl. She was quieter than usual, engaging in casual conversation, but prevented going into depths of it.

Their gazes never meet, only slide past each other.

He missed looking into the amber of hers, trying to figure out her thoughts like someone engaged with a very complex puzzle that ends up in a phenomenal picture.

He missed listening to her sweet whispers, mumbles which made him smile more than he had for the past decade.

He missed her.

The universe is always planning a conspiracy to make destiny true. And it's definitely an action of its, that his hand extends towards her, wordlessly.

She gazes at it, gazes at him, thinks for a while.

And finally, slips her hand, bejeweled with that bracelet she wore in Miami. He still remembers it placed on his heart, which beat at an erratic rhythm.

Which beats at an erratic rhythm now.

Looking at the Bostonian sky, only drapes of translucent mist could be seen all around. No twinkles, even the moonbeams were struggling to reach them. The silence is comfortable, only interrupted by the sips of steaming hot coffee.

Her eyes are fixed above, in a search for the hidden celestial elements. His focus stayed on the snowflakes resting on his jacket.

He leans back, places a hand down.

There is a lack of warmth.

Soon enough, another hand joins him.

The cold is gone.

And so is his search of moonbeams.

Her touch felt like light, his own moonbeam. So soft, so warm, so dear. Something he could keep etched on his skin forever.

She was his moon.

And for her, those summery blue orbs held depths of the ocean, the faint, soft wrinkles that languid years leave behind as a mark of their passing like map lines of some unknown lands.

He was her world.

In every universe, through trials and tribulations, through pain and smiles, they were destined to find their way to each other. No one powerful enough to keep them apart.

Not even they themselves.

It was a cosmic state of comfort they found themselves in. His hand in hers, their fingers interwoven, the reflex etched in his mind with an everlasting ink.

He has never believed in soulmates, but as he as leans back, eyes closed, hair fluttering along with the icy-cold breeze, having her by his side, he couldn't bring himself to believe this was anything less than destiny.

That even after so many trials of forgetting her, he would always come back to her, searching for the serenity he only finds in her presence.

The feeling is rare, confusing, maybe terrifying.

But right now, he basks in the warmth that it provides, all worries and all woes are hidden in a wooden box, discarded away from his sight. And unbeknownst to even him, he waits for the day he can kiss her the way he wants to, no ties, no binds holding them away.

Yes, he waits for the day.

PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags💕 (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed) :

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @izzyourresidentlawyer @jessiembruno

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010 @headoverheelsforramsey @estellaelysian @shanzay44

Ethan x Pooja: @aleynareads @choicesaddict5 @stygianflood @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @takemyopenheart

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[kookiecrumb]

Hi! I'm the Anon that asked for tips to describe myself, so thank you for that!

If you're still doing ships, I would love one!

---

I'm someone who's a supporter and a collaborator. I like to take leadership roles but even in my leadership, I'm usually looking to support other people in the group and help them in any way I can. I'm the eldest daughter and I'm also the mom friend. I'm a really good listener; when you're talking, my head is nodding to every word and I will verbally assure you that I'm listening. I'm quite outgoing with the people I know, and not afraid to have a laugh (a little too loud sometimes). Even with the people I don't know, I will tend to strike up a conversation. I tend to compliment random strangers. I have a broad sense of humor so I can laugh at anything, even bad jokes or childish humor.

But, sometimes I don't really know how to comfort people except tell them that I'm sorry they're going through whatever they're going through. My type of comfort-giving is usually action-based in that I give advice (still working on not doing this all the time, but rather sitting with the person while they're feeling whatever they're feeling). I'm also an overthinker, especially when it comes to my and others' emotions. Being a supporter sucks when you're constantly giving the benefit of the doubt to other people instead of validating yourself lol. I have many friends but I have a hard time (impossible, even) forming deep, long-lasting friendships because I can't seem to let my guard down ever (unless I'm alone in my room). I'm a procrastinator and I'm tired of procrastinating because it's gotten really bad this past academic year but I can't seem to stop.

On a happier note, moving right along to my achievements. I won my school's spelling bee in 8th grade so I'm pretty proud of myself for that one because I'd been participating for four years by then. I was also an intern for a graphic designer. Another thing I'm proud of is being on the board of and involved with a university student organization that means a lot to me.

I love to paint and read, and sometimes I write (usually fanfic and occasionally poems). I also like to do graphic design. I love watching and reading romance (the fluffier and angstier the better) thrillers, and mysteries. Recently I've been hooked on Snowdrop on Disney+ (I seriously recommend it if you're into romance, action, slow-burn, and mutual pining).

I like to travel as well. I'm definitely a stop-and-smell-the-roses kinda gal and I enjoy the simple pleasures like natural floral scents when I'm walking on campus. Essentially I enjoy Namjooning lol. My favorite season is spring (even if I have pollen allergies).

My favorite apps are Pinterest, Instagram, Wattpad, and Tumblr (though I'm in an off/on relationship with Tumblr). My favorite colors are light pink, lilac, and lavender.

As for my cultural background, I'm/my family is Indian, but I'm also American because I was born and raised and still live in the U.S. Specifically, I'm from Tamil Nadu in South India, and I LOVE Indian food, but I'll eat anything. I'm a non-vegetarian. I'm also Muslim.

I don't really know how to describe my style but I do dress girly and wear Indo-Western fusion outfits. Maybe I'd consider my style feminine with an edgy touch. Since I'm Muslim, I wear full-sleeved and full-length loose-fitting clothing. Wide legged jeans and pants are a staple in my wardrobe. I love a good flowy dress. I also prioritize being comfortable so you won't often catch me in heels or restricting clothing. I also like to wear rings, chokers or small necklaces, and big earrings.

Here are some examples pictures of outfits I'd wear:

---

I hope this was helpful, and I sincerely apologize for how long this got!!! Thank you again for doing ships, I can't wait to see mine!

AAAAA salaam alaikum and Ramadan Mubarak to you!

You'd be best friends first 🤭 those are always the best relationships.

You need someone who would put you in the spotlight and clearly that isn't going to be a difficult feat for this match. You shine very brightly and whoever they are will need to compliment your light and ease your worries.

Someone to break you out of your shell, someone who truly gets you. You are a listener, because I feel like you love to know people. You seek out the natural pleasures of life and enjoy the more simple things.

You have a creative edge, it looks like. You'll need someone who encourages your leadership and is proud of your assertiveness, AKA someone who lacks insecurity in that aspect.

Furthermore, I ship you with...

Jimin!

It would be quite the surprise when he'd show up with a proposal. There would have always been an energy between you two, but he would be hesitant to act on it in case you were already waiting on somebody.

Aestheically, he would compliment you very well. He'd encourage your growth and progress at work and he'd reward you greatly as your husband. Although Jimin is career-driven, he would encourage his spouse to do the same and match his standard.

He overthinks as well, and so long as you two can relate to one another about it and connect to problem-solve within the relationship, it would be harmonious.

Although Jimin does strike me as the city-type, I don't think he would mind at all partaking in retreats and vacations with his spouse, so long as he can make as many memories as possible with you.

Your shared appreciation for art and design would be a nice compliment. You'd have no trouble decorating the house together.

Jimin's rich, so...no problem, financially 😅

He'd find you elegant. "My queen," "My moon and stars," "My everything," "My spectacular wife,"

There could be a drinking issue 🤔

Every time he'd be out in the city, he'd pass by a bookstore and peek in to see if your favorite series has updated. He's a FANTASTIC storyteller and loves small, intimate parties. He would encourage you to lean on his shoulder while he told his friends all about his endeavors, making little jokes every now and then about miscellaneous things.

Jimin would make an amazing husband over all o/////o

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Eight

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Eight

Once the sun rose, Adrien gave up on getting any more fitful sleep and rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day.

Plagg grumbled groggily at being disturbed, but, instead of resettling and drifting off again like he would have done back in the day, Plagg relocated to Adrien’s hair, doing a little circle before curling up to resume his slumber atop Adrien’s head.

Adrien smiled fondly at his kwami as he took care not to jostle Plagg too much.

Plagg had definitely been more clingy since their reunion. It used to be that Plagg would go off exploring on his own or stay behind in Adrien’s room or bag while Adrien showered or ate dinner or attended class or practiced fencing.

Over the past few days, Plagg hadn’t let Adrien out of his sight. He’d even gone so far as to follow Adrien from one room to the next in the small flat, even when Adrien just went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

It was reassuring in a way. It warmed Adrien’s heart and really drove home how much Plagg cared.

“Marc’s probably still here, so you’ll have to hide when we go out into the main room,” Adrien cautioned as he went to his closet and picked out clothes for the day.

Plagg hummed disinterestedly but obediently phased into Adrien’s left shoulder to hide when they exited Adrien’s bedroom.

 There was no sign of life in the apartment, so Adrien quietly brushed his teeth and combed his hair before heading to the kitchen. He took inventory of their supplies, made a shopping list in the notes app of his phone, and then left a note on the counter informing Luka and Marc that he had gone to the store.

When he got back, the flat was still silent and devoid of movement, so he took up residence in the kitchen. He snacked on the mediocre croissant that he’d picked up at the store and missed Marinette more and more by the second as he prepared big batches of three different kinds of soup.

Adrien figured that they could have some of the soup now and freeze the rest in individual portions for later, if and when they were feeling too drained to cook. He reasoned that it would be good to have something healthy and nutritious on hand if Adrien were ever out and Luka needed something quick and easy to eat.

Marc emerged from Luka’s room a little after eleven o’clock and sheepishly greeted Adrien.

“Looks like you’re being industrious already. It smells like an Indian restaurant in here, and it’s got my mouth watering,” Marc chuckled.

Adrien blushed, using his wrist to sweep a few stray hairs back out of his face. “I’m glad you approve. I know my cooking can be a little fragrant, but I’ve always loved ethnic food. Cumin and coriander are two of my favourite things, and Luka’s liked the dishes I’ve made so far, so…”

He shifted nervously, feeling a little awkward and out of place.

“I just want to be helpful,” Adrien hastened to explain. “I feel really anxious when I’m sitting around being useless.”

Marc crossed the living room into the kitchen and rested a reassuring hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You are far from useless. Don’t ever think that about yourself, Adrien.”

Adrien gave him a tentative smile, not sure whether he believed Marc was right. “Thank you. …How’s Luka doing?”

Marc winced, pulling away to rock back on his heels. “He’s…been better. He’ll live, though. I’m going to get him out of bed and up and dressed.”

Adrien nodded, turning again to the pot on the stove and pointedly avoiding Marc’s gaze. “I’m so sorry. I should have done a better job looking out for him last night. I said I was going to watch him until you got there, but…I guess I didn’t realize I’d let him have too much.”

Marc’s hand was back on Adrien’s shoulder in an instant, giving it a bolstering squeeze. “Adrien, no. Seriously. That wasn’t your fault, so please don’t blame yourself.”

Timidly, Adrien met Marc’s gaze. “You’re not mad at me?”

Marc shook his head, giving Adrien a tired smile. “Listen, Kid. Luka…”

He took a deep breath and slowly sighed it out, shaking his head. “Luka has problems. Maybe you’ve noticed, but he puts all of his energy into taking care of other people and never bothers to take care of himself. He’s been imploding for a couple months now, but this is just the culmination of years of unhealthy behavior and putting himself last.”

Adrien cringed, recognizing what Marc was describing because Luka had been that way for as long as Adrien had known him, but having Marc spell it out like that put it in a new light.

“You can’t make him care about himself, and you can’t make his problems your own responsibility,” Marc explained gently. “Try to save someone from drowning, and they might pull you down with them. All you can do is throw them a life raft and try to tow them in. You get what I’m saying?”

Adrien’s teeth sank into his bottom lip as he tried to absorb Marc’s words.

Hesitantly, he nodded. “I think I understand what you’re getting at.”

Marc smiled and gave Adrien’s shoulder a pat. “You’re a good person with a big heart, and I know it can be hard to say no when someone asks you for something, but you have to know your own limits. If it ever gets to be too much for you to handle, please call me or Jacob or Josie. You don’t have to go it alone to be useful or pay Luka back for giving you a place to stay or anything like that. Okay?”

A grateful smile slowly stretched across Adrien’s lips, and he nodded again, more certain this time. “Thank you, Marc. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good,” Marc affirmed, giving Adrien’s arm a pat before stepping back and making to return to Luka’s room. “Well, I’m going to go get Luka up. Happy cooking.”

“I can start on breakfast, if you’d like,” Adrien volunteered, sensing an opportunity to be helpful. “Do you have any food sensitivities? I was reading up on good hangover foods. Do you want me to make some coffee?”

Marc blinked, surprised, before bursting out into a hardy laugh. “You’re wonderful. Thank you so much Adrien. That would actually help out a lot. Coffee would be fantastic, and I eat anything so long as it’s not green pepper or olives.”

Marc gave a shudder at the mere mention of the foods.

“Got it,” Adrien confirmed with a chuckle. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes and then start so that it’s not cold by the time you’re ready for it.”

 “I am so sorry for anything and everything I said or did last night,” Luka blurted out, hanging his head as he took a seat at the island.

Adrien waved away Luka’s apology. “You’re fine. I promise you didn’t do anything embarrassing, so don’t worry about it.”

Luka was about to protest and apologize again, but Adrien cut him off. “How are you feeling?”

Luka grimaced. “Like a freight train ran over my skull. I guess it serves me right for drinking so much. I swear I’m not normally like this.”

Marc focused his attention on his coffee and kindly refrained from calling Luka out for stretching the truth.

Adrien, mercifully, didn’t press the issue either. “Here.”

He set an egg, spinach, tomato, bacon, and avocado sandwich down in front of Luka.

“I looked into hangover cures a little this morning, and the internet said that this should help you feel better.”

He next fetched a cup of coffee, a glass of water, and some pain killers.

“The articles I read said you should make sure to hydrate too, so hopefully something here helps.” Adrien finished with a tentative smile, still feeling uneasy and desperate to be useful even after Marc’s pep talks.

Luka’s bloodshot eyes filled with warmth and gratitude as he gazed at Adrien.

“Thank you, Angel. You’re amazing,” he breathed, humbled by Adrien’s thoughtfulness and the amount of care Adrien had put into the meal.

Adrien perked up at the praise, and a bit of the edge came off his anxiety at this affirmation of his worth.

“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help,” he insisted.

“Luka’s lucky to have you,” Marc added approvingly, nodding towards his own breakfast sandwich. “And it’s a huge relief to know that I don’t have to worry about Luc eating anymore. You make some delicious, nutritious food, Adrien.”

A pleased blush spread across Adrien’s cheeks as he took a seat and started in on his own meal. “Thanks, Marc. Like I said, I’m really happy to be helpful.”

As breakfast wound down, Marc turned to Luka. “I need to head home. Are you going to be okay?”

Luka started to nod but stopped when it made him feel dizzy. “Yes. Thanks, Marc. I really appreciate you, and I’m sorry that that happened.” He lowered his voice to shamefully add, “again”.

Marc rolled his eyes and gently tussled Luka’s hair. “You’re good. You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Luka frowned. “Yes, but—”

“—No buts,” Marc tsked, getting to his feet and ghosting a quick kiss against Luka’s temple. “I’ll text to check on you later. Take care, all right?”

Marc turned to Adrien and raised a hand in parting. “I’ll see you Tuesday for practice. Thanks for everything, Adrien. Just text if you need anything, okay?”

Adrien nodded, waving back as Marc made his way to the door. “Thank you, Marc.”

Suddenly, the flat was awkwardly quiet.

“…He’s not the Marc you dated before, is he?” it suddenly occurred to Adrien to ask.

He wasn’t sure why he abruptly felt threatened by Marc, but he did. He was jealous of the way Luka trusted Marc implicitly while Adrien was kept at a bit of a distance. Adrien wanted to be able to take care of Luka the way Marc did.

Adrien understood what Marc had said about Luka wanting Adrien to respect him and think he was cool and not see him as a mess, but…Adrien couldn’t help but long for Luka to rely on Adrien. Adrien wanted to be trusted like that.

Luka winced. “No. The Marc I dated was a different Marc. Our Marc is straight, and he’s only had eyes for his wife Wakana for a little over a decade now.”

“Oh. Okay. Just wondering,” Adrien explained, trying to shrug it off like an inconsequential whim as he set about cleaning up from that morning’s cooking binge.

“The only person in the band I’ve dated is Jacob—a youthful folly of mine,” Luka attempted to excuse himself. “A lapse of judgment.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I remember you talking about him when we were teenagers. You slept with him.”

Luka crumpled, his ears starting to glow red.

“You only sleep with people you’re in love with,” Adrien pressed, finding a strange pleasure in making Luka squirm.

“What is love but an extended lapse of judgment?” Luka muttered.

“You don’t actually believe that.” Adrien sniffed indignantly. “You told me once that being in love lifted you to a higher plane of existence.”

“I say a lot of dumb things when I’m in love,” Luka grumbled into his coffee.

“I thought it was beautiful,” Adrien hummed softly. “Sixteen-year-old Adrien swooned when you said things like that.”

Luka choked, spraying coffee onto the counter. “Seriously?”

Adrien peeked back over his shoulder with an impish grin. “Mmhm. You were my biromantic awakening. I thought everything you said was so cool and wise and suave.”

“And now you know better,” Luka chuckled darkly, sopping up the coffee splatter with his napkin as he internally mourned the missed opportunity to sweep Adrien off of his feet.

“Not necessarily.” Adrien smiled as he grabbed a damp cloth and helped with the cleanup.

Luka quirked an eyebrow. “How could you possibly still think I was suave or cool or wise after seeing me last night?”

Adrien shrugged. “After all this time, you’re still the you I remember from back then. You haven’t changed much…and you saved me last week by taking me in. That buys you a lot of grace with me, so I’m willing to overlook last night’s indiscretion and give you a pass.”

Luka winced, squeezing his coffee mug reflexively as he bowed his head. “Thank you, Adrien. Again, I’m really sorry that you had to see that.”

Adrien leaned across the island to tip Luka’s chin up.

“No apologies needed.”

Luka’s eyes widened as his gaze flicked back and forth between Adrien’s eyes and mouth.

Adrien pulled back with a soft smile. “I know you’ve been suffering since The Breakup, so I’m proud of you for keeping it together all week while I’ve been here. You’re doing a good job, Luka.”

Luka dropped his gaze once more. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

“You’re biased, so my opinion is the only one that counts,” Adrien announced, going back to rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.

Luka chuckled and drained his coffee mug. “I’m not the only biased party here. At some point in time, you actually thought I was suave.”

Luka got up, disposed of his trash, and came over to the sink to rinse his plate and cup.

With some trepidation, Adrien turned to look at Luka. “I still think you’re suave. Like when you told me the other day that I deserved to have nice things and that I deserved things I didn’t necessarily need just because I wanted them and when you bought me my Chat Noir the Third plushie so that I’d have a reminder that I was loved.” He swallowed and reiterated, “I still think you’re amazing, Luka.”

Fighting down a rampant blush, Luka stepped in and pulled Adrien into a hug.

He couldn’t be sure if Adrien was just projecting onto Luka because Luka had given him a home and food and luxuries Adrien had been denied the past four years, so Luka didn’t want to read into what Adrien had said. He didn’t want to get himself hurt by allowing himself to misinterpret Adrien’s feelings.

“God, you’re so sweet,” Luka sighed into Adrien’s hair. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Adrien replied simply, like it was obvious.

Adrien pulled back and looked up, finally asking the question that had been bothering him since the previous night: “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Luka’s mouth dropped open. “What? No. P5, why would you think I was mad at you?”

Adrien went back to the dishes, shaking his head. “I just…last night you said that I was going to hurt you. It was kind of confusing. You didn’t seem mad. You seemed more sad than anything, and you kept telling me you loved me, but…I’m sorry. It just bothered me.”

He looked searchingly at Luka. “Do you have any idea why you would have said that I was going to hurt you?”

Luka scrubbed at his face with his hands, mentally kicking himself while simultaneously thanking his lucky stars that Papillon and akumatization were a thing of the past because he was so mortified in that moment that he’d surely register as a target.

“I am so sorry, Adrien,” Luka replied through the spaces between his fingers. “I was drunk. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I promise you I didn’t mean it, and I’m not mad at you. I probably thought I was talking to someone else. I’m really sorry.”

He held his breath and hoped that Adrien bought it because Luka couldn’t bring himself to admit what he had told his other bandmates about his doomed feelings for Adrien and Adrien’s impending relationship with Marinette once they were reunited.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed. “…So…you’re not mad?”

Luka dropped his hands from his face and shook his head. “Adrien, you’ve been an absolute blessing. Why would I be mad at you?”

Adrien pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either,” Luka assured. “…So…are we okay?”

“…Yeah,” Adrien decided. “Yeah, I think we are.”

“Good,” Luka sighed in relief, feeling like he’d avoided an apocalyptic catastrophe.

“…So…what happened with you and Jacob?” Adrien easily slid back into their former topic of conversation. “You were in love with him, and then…? What? You two seem cool now. Like, not awkward or anything.”

Luka shrugged, grabbing a plate and rinsing it off before handing it to Adrien to put in the dishwasher.

He didn’t exactly relish discussing his love life with Adrien, but it was better than having to explain his drunken indiscretions of the night before.

“Nothing really happened with me and Jacob. We were young teenagers in love…and then we weren’t anymore. We grew up a little, started wanting different things, grew apart… It was a mutual breakup. We decided we still cared about each other and wanted to stay friends, but it wasn’t working romantically anymore,” Luka explained with a shrug. “It happens.”

Adrien nodded, happy to finally understand the dynamic between Jacob and Luka. It had been one thing when Jacob was just a name casually mentioned in Luka’s stories, but now that Jacob had a face to go along with the name, it felt different, and Adrien was glad to be able to fit Luka and Jacob’s relationship into a clearly defined box.

“Have you kissed him since you guys broke up?” Adrien inquired, continuing to air his morbid curiosity while they were on the subject of Luka’s love life.

Luka groaned. “A handful of times? Not recently.”

“How about Josie? Have you kissed her?” Adrien pushed his luck.

Luka exploded in laughter but quickly got it under wraps when it made his head feel like it was exploding. “Josie is aggressively lesbian. She would be insulted you even asked.”

“She’d forgive me, though,” Adrien snickered. “She likes me.”

“She does,” Luka confirmed with an affectionate smile. “…Do I get to ask you questions about your love life now?”

“I don’t have a love life,” Adrien snorted. “I have no updates to report since the last time I whined at you about how my love life was nonexistent four years ago.”

“Have you ever kissed Nino?” Luka asked with a smirk.

Adrien’s entire epidermis lit up like a Roman candle, and he pointedly avoided Luka’s eyes.

[thetypedwriter]

Firekeeper’s Daughter Book Review

Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that all of my in-depth reviews contain spoilers. 

Firekeeper’s Daughter Book Review by Angeline Boulley 

Well, this book review came quicker than I thought it would (which after weeks since my last published review for an actual novel that may sound absurd, but I promise it isn’t). 

There’s a lot of great things about this book and a lot of really important representation, but I also found it to be an incredible slog to trudge through. 

Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley is the story of a girl by the name of Daunis Fontaine who finds herself stuck between two worlds: her Fontaine side, also known as her zhaaganaash or white side, and her Native side, or known as her Anishinaabe side, or even more specifically, Ojibwe side. 

The debut novel from Boulley mainly describes Daunis’ struggle between these two worlds, the important people in them, and the war within herself to follow her heart, her gut, and her mind. 

In the background of this identity struggle, or perhaps largely influenced by it, Daunis finds herself inexplicably tangled up in a secret federal investigation into a specific type of meth being produced in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula that affects people not only in her community, but other Native communities as well. 

Suddenly finding herself becoming a spy, Daunis starts to learn and keep secrets, those in regards to the investigation as well as those regarding her feelings for fellow investigator-Jamie Johnson-an undercover narcotics cop posing as the cute new highschooler in town. 

As Daunis deals with her own internal struggles, her community, her relationships, and her burgeoning romance, her past, future, and present all collide and come to a head in this new novel. 

Now. Reading this summary, you might be thinking: this book sounds awesome! Love? Undercover cops? Drugs? Mystery? It has everything. 

And you’d be right. 

When I first read the jacket cover for this novel I knew it was a book I was inevitably going to read. Everything from the gorgeous cover art, to the intriguing summary, to the representation of Native Americans, I was completely drawn in. 

Too bad I didn’t like it very much. 

I will start off by saying that I think this book is incredible in its realistic depiction of the Ojibwe experience and I know how important it is to increase representation of all kinds of people and backgrounds in literature, especially YA literature. 

Boulley did an absolutely stunning job of relaying the nitty-gritty of the Ojibwe community-the elders, the geography, the food, the stigma, the finances, the politics, the reputation, the racism, the prejudice, the community, the love, the healing, and so much more. 

I always am in awe when authors utilize the golden rule of write what you know. Per the back jacket of the novel, Boulley herself states that she is an enrolled member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians and an active storyteller of the Ojibwe community. 

This is beyond incredible. Having an accurate and active portrayal of people writing and drawing from their own experiences are powerful and significant. I could taste, feel, and see how clear and how real Boulley made the novel. 

I questioned a lot of things during this read, but the Ojibwe community in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula was not one of them. From vocabulary to the extreme details depicting Sugar Island to the care and craft when talking about specific ceremonies like funerals, Boulley did an outstanding job of bringing in what she knows from her own experience and that of her community in order to breathe life into these pages. 

This was by far the best part of the novel for me. 

On the back jacket, Boulley also states that she was a former Director of the Office of Indian Education at the U.S. Department of Education. While I did not know this until a few minutes ago when I sat down to write this review, I am in no way surprised. 

The book was extremely intelligent. I could viscerally tell that Boulley knows her stuff and does her research. Everything from biology and chemistry processes and vocabulary, to mushroom identification, to legal matters like having an underage informant, politics regarding becoming a member of the Ojibwe Tribe, and due process of the law regarding FBI cases was very clear cut, very detailed, and obviously very accurate. 

I appreciated how much time and effort was put into this, even if I did find a lot of it bone dry and dull, I still could appreciate the time, effort, and knowledge to make sure that everything in the novel was precise and correct. 

That being said, it also made the book come across almost like an informational pamphlet at times, or like I was reading non-fiction. I understand being accurate, and I applaud her for that, but I don’t need or want five pages of in-book description of how one of these processes work. Just give me the bare-bones outline and I will go from there and look it up more if I so desire. 

This brings me to my first critique of this book and a large reason it was so tedious to get through: it was mind-numbingly long. 

Now. I just read a 2,000 page fanfiction not that long ago. That is long, you could argue, and you would be right. But, none of All of the Young Dudes was a bore to get through (sad, sure, but not boring), whereas whole sections of Firekeeper’s Daughter were too dragged out and too explicitly explained that I inevitably got bored and nodded off. 

The pace was too slow and too bogged down with unimportant details, like Daunis’ daily visits to the elders or her overthinking every single thing, or her making lists of all the things she doesn’t know (these are long lists). 

She often spends whole pages grieving about her Uncle David as well as her best friend Lily, and while understandable and realistic in real life, it was not fun nor productive to read about over and over and over again. 

Take for example, the very beginning of the book. It takes over 100 pages for Daunis to realize the new-boy-next-door isn’t who he says he is and that he’s actually an undercover cop here to investigate a new strain of meth and asks for her help. 

Over 100 pages of set up. 

It was so goddamn boring. 

It got better once she became involved with the investigation, but then so did the whining, the overthinking, and the reflecting. The first 100 pages could have been condensed to 20. No joke, I would have gotten the same exposition out of that I did. 

In addition, despite things taking so long or not serving a purpose, I was often confused about what was happening, which is an overall unpleasant experience. Boulley simultaneously describes everything and yet nothing at the same time.

 The reason for this discrepancy is because she often used native language to describe feelings, events, people, etc and while some of the words I learned over time, often the words left me confused or bewildered. 

I appreciate the use of native language, but it also left me with big gaps while reading or made me struggle to put pieces together as they were happening. 

The pace of the novel overall was incredibly bad. Things either took 12 years or two minutes. The actual plot to show up? 12 Years. Daunis and Jamie to fall in love classic YA style? Two minutes. Daunis to find Uncle David’s notebook? 12 years. The final confrontation of the bad guys? Two minutes. 

With any event, it either felt sluggish or way too quick and mashing these two together in one novel was disorienting and frustrating, not to mention it made me not want to read. 

Additionally, while I generally thought the plot was very interesting, who doesn’t like undercover cop stories? I thought all of the characters were very forgettable or downright shells. 

Daunis was...a textbook female character in my eyes. The way she spouted off knowledge like the periodic table to fall asleep or reciting the scientific method wasn’t cool or new, it was irritating.

To me she wasn’t real. 

She was someone’s idea of a female character who seemed cool, but wasn’t. Nothing about Daunis made me think of her as a great character. If anything, she just seemed like an empty vessel I was reading the book through, like the book was happening to me instead (cough cough Mary Sue). 

Some of you may be upset with this statement, and that’s fine, but other than her love of science, her knowledge of geography, and her ties to the community, nothing about Daunis was a real person. 

She hardly had friends, I don’t recall learning anything she liked or disliked (other than Jamie, hockey, and running) , and she was entirely surmised of the people who had left her and the identity struggle she had been born with. I don’t mean to undermine people who struggle with their identity, I know that’s important, but there is more to people than just that. 

None of the other characters are frankly worth mentioning. 

You might ask, what about Jamie? The shadowy, scarred love interest?

*Shrugs*

He’s fine. Genuinely that’s all I can say about him. We don’t even learn his real name as Jamie Johnson is a fake. All I know is that he’s got curly hair, a scar, and doesn’t know who he is. It’s hard to like a character when the character themselves have no idea of who they are. 

The other characters either die or are in the background to progress the plot along. 

To be fair, it’s a good plot. It’s intriguing, it’s mysterious, and I learned more than I ever thought I would about meth and mushrooms, but it doesn’t make up for the dead-end characters or the pacing issues. 

I didn’t hate it, but I also didn’t like it. I guess I can say that I feel indifferent about this book, although the representation of Native Americans bumps it up slightly for me from being dead average. 

The storytelling isn’t spectacular, even if the idea is promising, but if you have been searching for representation like this in YA I can see how this book would be much more impactful and important and I’m happy to have it as a part of the YA collective. 

Recommendation: At the end of the day, this novel is a true smorgasbord. I love the representation, the draws from Boulley’s real life, and the intelligence, but I didn’t see any of the characters as real people, the pacing issues made it hard to gain and keep interest going, and the dialogue often came across to me as someone's warped version of what teenager’s sound like. 

Score: 6/10

[taking-over-his-life]

The old shop

Written by my old friend Colt.

On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.

The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.

In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.

A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.

The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.

"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."

It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.

"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.

"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"

"Not a clue."

"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."

The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.

"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.

Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.

"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.

I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.

"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"

"So you don't know where it came from?"

"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."

He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.

"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."

Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.

Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.

"Do you want a bag?"

Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.

"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."

"What about your shoes?"

"Oh. . . yes."

I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.

Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.

In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.

One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.

His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.

Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?

With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.

The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.

One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.

A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.

The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:

"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."

I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:

"How can you be sure that this is for me?"

"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."

I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.

"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.

"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."

"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"

"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."

"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.

"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."